What the hammer, what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? Did God smile his work to see? Did He who made the lamb make thee? _ROBERT BURNS_ SCOTS WHA HAE SCOTS, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led; Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victorie! Now's the day, and now's the hour; See the front of battle lour; See approach proud Edward's power-- Chains and slaverie! Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee! Wha for Scotland's King and Law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Free-man stand, or free-man fa'? Let him follow me! By Oppression's woes and pains! By your sons in servile chains! We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be free! Lay the proud usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty's in every blow! Let us do, or die! FOR A' THAT IS there, for honest poverty, That hings his head, and a' that; 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's stamp: The man's the gowd for a' that. What tho' on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin grey, 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, tho' e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that. Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,' Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that: For a' that, and a' that, His riband, star, an' a' that, The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' that. A prince can mak' a belted knight, A marquis, duke, an' a' that; But an honest man's aboon his might, Guid faith he mauna fa' that! For a' that, an' a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o sense an' pride o' worth, Are higher rank 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, an' 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. A RED, RED ROSE O, MY luve 's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June: O, my luve's like the melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonie lass, So deep in luve am I: And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun: I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only luve, And fare thee weel awhile! And I will come again, my luve Tho' it were ten thousand mile! COMIN' THRO' THE RYE O, JENNY'S a' weet, poor body, Jenny's seldom dry; She draigl't a' her petticoatie, Comin' thro' the rye. Comin' thro' the rye, poor body, Comin' thro' the rye, She draigl't a' her petticoatie, Comin' thro' the rye!