Ah, Woe Is Me, My Mother Dear

Robert Burns

Ah, woe is me, my mother dear! 
A man of strife ye've born me: 
For sair contention I maun bear; 
They hate, revile, and scorn me. 

I ne'er could lend on bill or band, 
That five per cent. might blest me; 
And borrowing, on the tither hand, 
The deil a ane wad trust me. 

Yet I, a coin-denied wight, 
By Fortune quite discarded; 
Ye see how I am, day and night, 
By lad and lass blackguarded!

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