Poets' Corner - Robert Burns

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For A' That

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!; Robert Burns

O, JENNY'S a' weet, poor body,: Jenny's seldom dry;
She draigl't a' her petticoattie: Comin thro' the rye.; Chorus:; Comin thro the rye, poor body,; Comin thro the rye,; She draigl't a'her petticoatie,; Comin thro the rye!
Gin a body meet a body: Comin thro the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,: Need a body cry ?
Gin a body meet a body: Comin thro the glen,
Gin a body kiss a body,: Need the warld ken?; Robert Burns

GO fetch to me a pint o wine,: And fill it in a silver tassie;
That I may drink, before I go,: A service to my bonie lassie:
The boat rocks at the Pier o' Leith,: Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry,
The ship rides by the Berwick-law,: And I maun leave my bonie Mary.
The trumpets sound, the banners fly,: The glittering spears are ranked ready,
The shouts o' war are heard afar,: The battle closes deep and bloody.
It's not the roar o' sea or shore,: Wad make me langer wish to tarry;
Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar--: It's leaving thee, my bonie Mary!; Robert Burns

FAREWELL to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birthplace of valour, the country of worth!
Wherever I wander, wherever I roam,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.: Chorus; My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here.; My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer,; A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe--; My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go!
Farewell to the mountains, high-cover'd with snow,
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below,
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods,
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods!: Robert Burns

MY love, she's but a lassie yet,; My love, she's but a lassie yet!
We'll let her stand a year or twa,: She'll no be half sae saucy yet!; I rue the day I sought her, O!; I rue the day I sought her, O!
Wha gets her need na say he's woo'd,: But he may say he has bought her, O.; Come draw a drap o' the best o't yet,; Come draw a drap o' the best o't yet!
Gae seek for pleasure whare ye will,: But here I never miss'd it yet.; We're a'dry wi' drinkin o't,; We're a'dry wi' drinkin o't!
The minister kiss't the fiddler's wife--: He could na preach for thinkin o't!; Robert Burns

O, SAW ye bonie Lesley,: As she gaed o'er the Border?
She's gane, like Alexander,: To spread her conquests farther!
To see her is to love her,: And love but her for ever;
For Nature made her what she is,: And never made anither!
Thou airt a queen, fair Lesley--: Thy subjects, we before thee!
Thou art divine, fair Lesley--: The hearts o' men adore thee.
The Deil he could na skaith thee,: Or aught that wad belang thee,
He'd look into thy bonie face,: And say:--`I canna wrang thee!'
The Powers aboon will tent thee,: Misfortune sha'na steer thee:
Thou'rt like themsels sae lovely,: That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.
Return again, fair Lesley,: Return to Caledonie!
That we may brag we hae a lass: There's nane again sae bonie.; Robert Burns

Chor.--Green grow the rashes, O;; Green grow the rashes, O;; The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,; Are spent amang the lasses, O.
THERE'S nought but care on ev'ry han',: In ev'ry hour that passes, O:
What signifies the life o' man,: And 'twere na for the lasses, O.; Green grow, &c.
The war'ly race may riches chase,: An' riches still may fly them, O;
An tho' at last they catch them fast,: Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O; Green grow, &c.
But gie me a cannie hour at e'en,: My arms about my dearie, O;
An' war'ly cares, an' war'ly men,: May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!; Green grow, &c.
For you sae douce, ye sneer at this;: Ye're nought but senseless asses, O:
The wisest man the warl e'er saw,: He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.; Green grow, &c.
Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears: Her noblest work she classes, O:
Her prentice han' she try'd on man,: An' then she made the lasses, O.; Green grow, &c.; Robert Burns