Some Books Are Lies Frae End To

Now A' Is Done That Men Can Do, And A' Is Done In Vain.

Pleasures Are Like Poppies Spread: You Seize The Flow'r, Its Bloom Is Shed.

But Facts Are Chiels That Winna Ding, An' Downa Be Disputed.

And Let Us Mind, Faint Heart Ne'er Wan A Lady Fair. Wha Does The Utmost That He Can Will Whyles Do Mair.

The Best-laid Schemes O' Mice An' Men, Gang Aft A-gley, And Leave Us Nought But Grief And Pain, For Promised Joy.