By Robert Burns
(Scotland’s most popular poet, 1759-1796)
Is there, for honest poverty,
That hangs his head, and a’ that?
The coward slave, we pass him by,
We daur be puir, for a’ that!
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Our toils obscure and a’ that,
The rank is but the guinea’s stamp—
The man’s the gowd for a’ that.