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Is there, for honest poverty,

That hings 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 toils obscure, an' a' that;
The rank is but the guinea's stamp;
The man's the gowd for a' that.

What tho' on hamely fare we dine,

Wear hodden-gray,' an' a' that;

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,

A man's a man for a' that.

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ΙΟ

For a' that, an' a' that,

It's coming yet, for a' that,

That man to man, the warld o'er,

Shall brothers be for a' that.

JOANNA BAILLIE (1762-1851)

WOO'D AND MARRIED AND A'

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The bride she is winsome and bonny,
Her hair it is snooded sae sleek,
And faithfu' and kind is her Johnny,
Yet fast fa' the tears on her cheek.
New pearlins are cause of her sorrow,
New pearlins and plenishing too;
The bride that has a' to borrow
Has e'en right mickle ado.
Woo'd and married and a'!
Woo'd and married and a'!

Is na' she very weel aff

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To be woo'd and married at a'?

Her mither then hastily spak,

"The lassie is glaikit wi' pride; In my pouch I had never a plack On the day when I was a bride. E'en tak to your wheel and be clever, And draw out your thread in the sun; The gear that is gifted it never Will last like the gear that is won.

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Woo'd and married and a'!

Wi' havins and tocher sae sma'!

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gold 2 coarse grey cloth 3 young fellow fool

linen

4 furnishings

$ befooled

finery, laces, • small coin

7 given

8 goods and dowry 9 colt

10 fellow

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SAMUEL ROGERS

I'm baith like to laugh and to greet When I think of her married at a'!"

Then out spak the wily bridegroom,
Weel waled were his wordies, I ween,
"I'm rich, though my coffer be toom,
Wi' the blinks o' your bonny blue e'en.
I'm prouder o' thee by my side

Though thy ruffles or ribbons be few,
Than if Kate o' the Croft were my bride
Wi' purfles and pearlins enow.

Dear and dearest of ony!

Ye're woo'd and buikit and a'!

And do ye think scorn o' your Johnny,
And grieve to be married at a'?"

She turn'd, and she blush'd, and she smiled,
And she looked sae bashfully down;
The pride o' her heart was beguiled,

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A hat of ceremony? On he glides,
Slip-shod, ungartered; his long suit of black
Dingy, thread-bare, tho', patch by patch, renewed
Till it has almost ceased to be the same.

At length arrived, and with a shrug that pleads
"Tis my necessity!" he stops and speaks,
Screwing a smile into his dinnerless face.
"Blame not a Poet, Signor, for his zeal -
When all are on the wing, who would be last?

The splendour of thy name has gone before

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him?

Such questions hourly do I ask myself;
And not a stone, in a cross-way, inscribed
"To Manua"-"To Ferrara" - but excites
Surprise, and doubt, and self-congratulation.

O Italy, how beautiful thou art!

Yet I could weep

for thou art lying, alas, Low in the dust; and we admire thee now

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As we admire the beautiful in death.
Thine was a dangerous gift, when thou wert

born,

The gift of Beauty. Would thou hadst it not; Or wert as once, awing the caitiffs vile

That now beset thee, making thee their slave! Would they had loved thee less, or feared thee more!

But why despair? Twice hast thou lived already;

Twice shone among the nations of the world,
As the sun shines among the lesser lights
Of heaven; and shalt again. The hour shall

come,

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When they who think to bind the ethereal spirit, Who, like the eagle cowering o'er his prey,

Watch with quick eye, and strike and strike again

If but a sinew vibrate, shall confess

Their wisdom folly. Even now the flame

Bursts forth where once it burnt so gloriously,
And, dying, left a splendour like the day,
That like the day diffused itself, and still
Blesses the earth the light of genius, virtue, 30
Greatness in thought and act, contempt of

death,

God-like example. Echoes that have slept Since Athens, Lacedæmon were themselves, Since men invoked "By those in Marathon!"

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