Classic Poem

Is there for honest poverty
That hangs his head, an' a' that?
The coward slave, we pass him by
We dare be poor for a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
Our toil's obscure, and a' that;
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,-
The man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin' grey, an' a' that?
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,-
A man's a man, for a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their tinsel show an' a' that;
The honest man, though e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord,
Wha struts an' stares an' a' that,-
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that;
For a' that, an' a' that
His riband, star, and a' that;
The man o' independent mind,
He looks an' laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak' a belted knight
A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,-
Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!
For a' that, an' a' that;
Their dignities an' a' that,
The pith o' sense an' pride o' worth,
Are higher ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,-
(As come it will for a' that),-
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree an' a' that.
For a' that an' a' that,
It's coming yet for a' that,-
That man to man, the world o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that!