IS THERE FOR HONEST POVERTY Is there for honest poverty That hangs 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 toil's obscure, and a' that: The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that. What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin gray, and a' that? Gi'e 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. Ye see yon birkie,[31] ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that: Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof[32] 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 prince can mak' a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that, But an honest man's aboon his might-- Guid faith, he mauna 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! FOOTNOTES: [31] Spirited fellow. [32] Fool. TO A MOUSE Flying before a Plow Wee, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie, Oh, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou needna start awa' sae hasty, Wi' bick'ring brattle![33] I wad be laith to rin and chase thee, Wi' murd'ring pattle![34] I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken nature's social union, And justifies that ill opinion Which mak's thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion And fellow-mortal! I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen icker in a thrave[35] 'S a sma' request: I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, And never miss 't! Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! Its silly[36] wa's the win's are strewin'! And naething now to big[37] a new ane O' foggage[38] green! And bleak December's winds ensuin', Baith snell[39] and keen! Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, And weary winter comin' fast, And cozie here, beneath the blast Thou thought to dwell, Till, crash! the cruel coulter past Out through thy cell. That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Now thou's turned out for a' thy trouble, But house or hauld,[40] To thole[41] the winter's sleety dribble, And cranreuch[42] cauld!