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Is there for honest poverty,

Wha hangs his head and a’ that,

The coward slave, we pass him by,

And dare be poor for a’ that.

For a' that, and an’ a’ that,

Our toils cbscure an’ a’ that,

The rank is but the guinea-stamp,

The man’s the goud for a’ that.

That tho’ on hamely fare we dine,

Wear hodden gray, and a’ that;

Gi’e fools their silk, and knaves their wine,

A man’s a man for a’ that.

For a’ that, and a’ that,

Their tinsel shew ard a’ that;

An honest man tho’ e’er sae poor,

Is chief 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 cuif for a’ that,

For a’ that and a’ that,

His ribbond, star, and a’ that;

The man of independent mind,

Can look, and laugh at a’ that.