My Mother Dear
by Robert Burns
A man of strife ye've born me:
For sair contention I maun bear;
They hate, revile, and scorn me.
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.
I, a coin-denied wight,
By Fortune quite discarded;
Ye see how I am, day and night,
By lad and lass blackguarded!