My Louis loved me oh so well And spiered me for his wife; He would have haled me from the hell That was my bawdy life: The mother of his bairns to be, Daftlike he saw in me. But I, a hizzie of the town Just telt him we must part; Loving too well to drag him down I tore him from my heart: To save the honour of his name I went back to my shame. They say he soared to starry fame, Romance flowed from his pen; A prince of poets he became, Pride of his fellow men: My breast was pillow for his head, Yet naught of his I've read. Smoking my cutty pipe the while, In howths of Leith I lag; * My Louis lies in South Sea isle As I a sodden hag Live on . . . Oh Love, by men enskied The day you went--I died. *R.L.S.