Is there for Whig and Tory men
Who fumes and frets and a’ that,
Who dips in gall his loveless pen,
With wrath of man and a’ that.
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Their factions, feuds, and a’ that;
In quiet nook we know to brook,
A fruitful life for a’ that.
What though we make no mighty din
With place and power and a’ that;