What mak's the mighty differ?
Discount what scant occasion gave
That purity ye pride in,
An' (what's aft mair than a' the lave)
Your better art o' hiding.
Think, when your castigated pulse
Gi'es now an' then a wallop,
What ragings must his veins convulse,
That still eternal gallop.
Wi' wind an' tide fair i' your tail,