The Puir Folk
A SONG .
" Some grow fu" proud o'er bags o' gowd,
And some are proud o' learning:
An honest poor man's worthy name
I take delight in earning.
Slaves needna try to run us down —
To knaves we're unco dour folk;
We're aften wrang'd, but, deil may care!
We're honest folk, though puir folk!
Wi' Wallace wight we fought fu' weel,
When lairds and lords were jinking;
They knelt before the tyrant loon —
We brak his crown I'm thinking.
The muckle men he bought wi' gowd —
Syne he began to jeer folk;
But neither swords, nor gowd, nor guile,
Could turn the sturdy puir folk!
When auld King Charlie tried to bind
Wi' airn, saul and conscience,
In virtue o' his right divine,
An' ither daft-like nonsense;
Wha raised at Marston such a stour,
And made the tyrants fear folk?
Wha prayed and fought wi' Pym and Noll?
The trusty, truthfu' puir folk!
Wha ance upon auld Scotland's hills
Were hunted like the paitrick,
And hacked wi' swords, and shot wi' guns,
Frae Tummel's bank to Ettrick, —
Because they wouldna' let the priest
About their conscience steer folk?
The lairds were bloodhounds to the clan —
The martyrs were the puir folk!
When Boston boys at Bunker's hill
Gart Slavery's minions falter;
While ilka hearth in a' the bay
Was made fair freedom's altar;
Wha fought the fight, and gained the day?
Gae wa', ye knaves! 'twas our folk:
The beaten great men served a king —
The victors a' were puir folk!
We sow the corn and haud the plough —
We a' work for our living;
We gather naught but what we've sown —
A' else we reckon thieving: —
And for the loon who fears to say
He comes o' lowly, sma' folk,
A wizen'd saul the creature has —
Disown him will the puir folk!
Great sirs, and mighty men o' earth,
Ye aften sair misca' us;
And hunger, cauld, and poverty
Come after ye to thraw us.
Yet up our hearts we strive to heeze,
In spite of you and your folk;
But mind, enough's as gude's a feast,
Although we be puir folk!
We thank the powers for good and ill,
As gratefu' folk should do, man;
But maist o' a' because our sires
Were tailors, smiths, and ploughmen.
Good men they were, as staunch as steel —
They didna wrack and screw folk:
Wi' empty pouches — honest hearts —
Thank God, we come o' puir folk!
" Some grow fu" proud o'er bags o' gowd,
And some are proud o' learning:
An honest poor man's worthy name
I take delight in earning.
Slaves needna try to run us down —
To knaves we're unco dour folk;
We're aften wrang'd, but, deil may care!
We're honest folk, though puir folk!
Wi' Wallace wight we fought fu' weel,
When lairds and lords were jinking;
They knelt before the tyrant loon —
We brak his crown I'm thinking.
The muckle men he bought wi' gowd —
Syne he began to jeer folk;
But neither swords, nor gowd, nor guile,
Could turn the sturdy puir folk!
When auld King Charlie tried to bind
Wi' airn, saul and conscience,
In virtue o' his right divine,
An' ither daft-like nonsense;
Wha raised at Marston such a stour,
And made the tyrants fear folk?
Wha prayed and fought wi' Pym and Noll?
The trusty, truthfu' puir folk!
Wha ance upon auld Scotland's hills
Were hunted like the paitrick,
And hacked wi' swords, and shot wi' guns,
Frae Tummel's bank to Ettrick, —
Because they wouldna' let the priest
About their conscience steer folk?
The lairds were bloodhounds to the clan —
The martyrs were the puir folk!
When Boston boys at Bunker's hill
Gart Slavery's minions falter;
While ilka hearth in a' the bay
Was made fair freedom's altar;
Wha fought the fight, and gained the day?
Gae wa', ye knaves! 'twas our folk:
The beaten great men served a king —
The victors a' were puir folk!
We sow the corn and haud the plough —
We a' work for our living;
We gather naught but what we've sown —
A' else we reckon thieving: —
And for the loon who fears to say
He comes o' lowly, sma' folk,
A wizen'd saul the creature has —
Disown him will the puir folk!
Great sirs, and mighty men o' earth,
Ye aften sair misca' us;
And hunger, cauld, and poverty
Come after ye to thraw us.
Yet up our hearts we strive to heeze,
In spite of you and your folk;
But mind, enough's as gude's a feast,
Although we be puir folk!
We thank the powers for good and ill,
As gratefu' folk should do, man;
But maist o' a' because our sires
Were tailors, smiths, and ploughmen.
Good men they were, as staunch as steel —
They didna wrack and screw folk:
Wi' empty pouches — honest hearts —
Thank God, we come o' puir folk!
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