O' mighty Nature's handywarks, The common, or uncommon, There's nocht thro' a her limits wide Can be compar'd to Woman. The Farmer toils the Merchant trokes. Frae dawin to the gloamin The Farmer's pains, the Merchant's cares, Are baith to please a Woman. The sailor spreads the daring sail, Thro' angry seas a foaming; The jewels, gems o' foreign shores He gies to please a Woman. The Sodger fights o'er crimson fields In distant climates roaming; Yet lays, wi' pride, his laurels down, Before all-conquering Woman. A Monarch lea'es his golden throne, Wi' other men in common, He flings aside his crown, and kneels A Subject to a Woman. Tho' I had a' e'er man possess'd, Barbarian, Greek or Roman; It wad nae a' be worth a strae, Without my goddess Woman.
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Music of Dalkeith Copyright © 2001, Jack Campin