It is, sir, but the Guinness’ stamp;
My honest pewter needs no handle.
A Song for Midlothian.
Is there, for double U. E. G.,
That curls his lip and a’ that?
The Tory loon, we’ll let him be,
And gae oor ways for a’ that!
For a’ that and a’ that,
Election-cries, and a’ that;