What though on soup and fish we dine,
Wear evening togs and a’ that,
A man may like good meat and wine,
Nor be a knave for a’ that.
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Their fustian talk and a’ that,
A gentleman, however clean,
May have a heart for a’ that.
You see yon prater called a Beales,
Who bawls and brays and a’ that,