12

I never drank the Muses' stank,
Castalia's burn, an' a' that;

But there it streams an' richly reams,
My Helicon I ca' that.

For a' that, &c.

Great love I bear to a' the fair,
Their humble slave an' a' that;
But lordly will, I hold it still
A mortal sin to thraw that.
For a' that, &c.

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet,
Wi' mutual love an' a' that;
But for how lang the flie may stang,
Let inclination law that.

For a' that, &c.

Their tricks an' craft hae put me daft,
They've taen me in, an' a' that;

But clear your decks, and here's "The Sex!"
I like the jads for a' that.

Chorus

For a' that, an' a' that,

An' twice as muckle's a' that;
My dearest bluid, to do them guid,
They're welcome till't for a' that.

Recitativo

So sang the bard-and Nansie's wa's
Shook with a thunder of applause,
Re-echo'd from each mouth!

They toom'd their pocks, they pawn'd their duds,
They scarcely left to co'er their fuds,

To quench their lowin drouth: Then owre again, the jovial thrang The poet did request

To lowse his pack an' wale a sang,

A ballad o' the best;

He rising, rejoicing,

Between his twa Deborahs, Looks round him, an' found them Impatient for the chorus.

Air

Tune "Jolly Mortals, fill your Glasses." See the smoking bowl before us, Mark our jovial ragged ring! Round and round take up the chorus, And in raptures let us sing

Chorus

A fig for those by law protected!
Liberty's a glorious feast!
Courts for cowards were erected,
Churches built to please the priest.

What is title, what is treasure,
What is reputation's care?
If we lead a life of pleasure,
'Tis no matter how or where!
A fig for, &c.

With the ready trick and fable,
Round we wander all the day;
And at night in barn or stable,
Hug our doxies on the hay.
A fig for, &c.

Does the train-attended carriage
Thro' the country lighter rove?
Does the sober bed of marriage
Witness brighter scenes of love?
A fig for, &c.

Life is all a variorum,

We regard not how it goes; Let them cant about decorum, Who have character to lose. A fig for, &c.

Here's to budgets, bags and wallets!
Here's to all the wandering train.
Here's our ragged brats and callets,
One and all cry out, Amen!

Chorus

A fig for those by law protected!
Liberty's a glorious feast!
Courts for cowards were erected,
Churches built to please the priest.

SONG FOR A' THAT'

Tune "For a' that."

THO' women's minds, like winter winds,
May shift, and turn, an' a' that,
The noblest breast adores them maist-
A consequence I draw that.

Chorus

For a' that, an' a' that,

And twice as meikle's a' that;
The bonie lass that I loe best
She'll be my ain for a' that.

Great love I bear to a' the fair,
Their humble slave, an' a' that;

But lordly will, I hold it still
A mortal sin to thraw that.
For a' that, &c.

But there is ane aboon the lave,
Has wit, and sense, an' a' that;

A bonie lass, I like her best,

And wha a crime dare ca' that?
For a' that, &c.

In rapture sweet this hour we meet,

Wi' mutual love an' a' that,

1A later version of "I am a bard of no regard" in "The Jolly Beggars."

133

But for how lang the flie may stang,

Let inclination law that.

For a' that, &c.

Their tricks an' craft hae put me daft.
They've taen me in, an' a' that;

But clear your decks, and here's "The Sex!"
I like the jads for a' that.

For a' that, &c.

SONG-MERRY HAE I BEEN TEETHIN A HECKLE
Tune "The bob o' Dumblane."

O MERRY hae I been teethin' a heckle,
An' merry hae I been shapin' a spoon;
O merry hae I been cloutin' a kettle,
An' kissin' my Katie when a' was done.
O a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer,

An' a' the lang day I whistle and sing;
O a' the lang night I cuddle my kimmer,
An' a' the lang night as happy's a king.

Bitter in dool I lickit my winnins

O' marrying Bess, to gie her a slave:
Blest be the hour she cool'd in her linnens,

And blythe be the bird that sings on her grave!

Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie;

O come to my arms and kiss me again!
Drucken or sober, here's to thee, Katie!
An' blest be the day I did it again.

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT
Inscribed to R. Aiken, Esq., of Ayr.

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the Poor.

GRAY.

My lov'd, my honour'd, much respected friend!
No mercenary bard his homage pays;