Nor half a man for a’ that.
It comes to this, dear Robert Burns,
The truth is old and a’ that,
The rank is but the guinea’s stamp,
The man’s the gowd for a’ that.
And though you put the minted mark
On copper, brass, and a’ that,
The lie is gross, the cheat is plain,
And will not pass, for a’ that.
For a’ that and a’ that