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!
Ye see yon birkie, ca’d a lord,
Wha struts, and stares, and a’ that;
Though hundreds worship at his word,