He wrote in Greek and French, and many of his Latin poems were published under the title 'Delitiae Poetarum Scotorum' (Amsterdam, 1637). His English poems on such themes as a 'Love Dirge,' 'The Poet Forsaken,' 'The Lover's Remonstrance,' 'Address to an Inconstant Mistress,' etc., do not show depth of emotion. He says of himself:-- "Yet have I been a lover by report, Yea, I have died for love as others do; But praised be God, it was in such a sort That I revived within an hour or two." The lines beginning "I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair," quoted below with their adaptation by Burns, do not appear in his MSS., collected by his heir Sir John Aytoun, nor in the edition of his works with a memoir prepared by Dr. Charles Rogers, published in Edinburgh in 1844 and reprinted privately in 1871. Dean Stanley, in his 'Memorials of Westminster Abbey,' accords to him the original of 'Auld Lang Syne,' which Rogers includes in his edition. Burns's song follows the version attributed to Francis Temple. Aytoun passed his entire life in luxury, died in Whitehall Palace in 1638, and was the first Scottish poet buried in Westminster Abbey. His memorial bust was taken from a portrait by Vandyke. INCONSTANCY UPBRAIDED I loved thee once, I'll love no more; Thine be the grief as is the blame: Thou art not what thou wast before, What reason I should be the same? He that can love unloved again, Hath better store of love than brain; God send me love my debts to pay, While unthrifts fool their love away. Nothing could have my love o'erthrown, If thou hadst still continued mine; Yea, if thou hadst remained thy own, I might perchance have yet been thine. But thou thy freedom didst recall, That it thou might elsewhere inthrall; And then how could I but disdain A captive's captive to remain? When new desires had conquered thee, And changed the object of thy will, It had been lethargy in me, Not constancy, to love thee still. Yea, it had been a sin to go And prostitute affection so; Since we are taught no prayers to say To such as must to others pray. Yet do thou glory in thy choice, Thy choice of his good fortune boast; I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice To see him gain what I have lost. The height of my disdain shall be To laugh at him, to blush for thee; To love thee still, but go no more A-begging to a beggar's door. LINES TO AN INCONSTANT MISTRESS I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair, And I might have gone near to love thee, Had I not found the slightest prayer That lips could speak had power to move thee. But I can let thee now alone, As worthy to be loved by none.