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Is there for honest poverty,
That hangs his head, and a that 2
The coward slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a that!
For a' that, and a that,
Our toils obscure, and a that ;
The rank is but the guinea-stamp,

The man's the gowd for a that!

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden gray, and a' that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a that '
For a that, and a that,
Their tinsel show, and a' that ;
The honest man, though e'er sae poor,

Is king o' men for a that!

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Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, and stares, and a that;
Though hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a that :
For a that, and a that,
His riband, star, and a that;
The man of independent mind,

He looks and laughs at a that

A king can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a that;

But an honest man's aboon his might,
Guid faith, he maunna fa’ that

For a that, and a' that,

Their dignities, and a' that;

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth,

Are higher ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may—

As come it will for a that

That sense and worth, o'er a the earth,
May bear the gree, and a that:

For a that, and a' that,
It's comin' yet for a that,

That man to man, the warld o'er,

Shall brothers be for a that

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Their groves o’ sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon,

Where bright-beaming summers exalt their perfume ; · Far dearer to me yon lone glen o green breckan,

Wi’ the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom :

bom :

Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers,

Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen ; For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers,

A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.

Though rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys,

And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave; Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, What are they ?- The haunt o' the tyrant and slave !

The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains,

The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ;
He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains,

Save Love's willing fetters—the chains o' his Jean.

Dh, wert thou in the Cauld Blast.

Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast

On yonder lea, on yonder lea, My plaidie to the angry airt,

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee : Or did Misfortune's bitter storms

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, Thy bield should be my bosom,

To share it a', to share it a'.

Or were I in the wildest waste,

Sae bleak and bare, sae bleak and bare, The desert were a paradise,

If thou wert there, if thou wert there : Or were I monarch o' the globe,

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, The brightest jewel in my crown

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.


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