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25 January 2007 @ 10:04 pm
A man's a man, for a' that  
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 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, tho' 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 ribband, star, an' 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 rank 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 brithers be for a' that.
 
 
 
smhwpf on January 25th, 2007 10:42 pm (UTC)
Agh! Burns Night and I have no Scotch in! Only Jack.

Ah, well...

When chapman billies leave the street
And drouthy neebors neebors meet
As market days are wearing late
And folk begin tae tak' the gate

As we sit bousing at the nappy
Getting fou' and unco' happy
We think nae on the lang Scots miles
The mosses, waters, slaps and styles

That lie between us and our hame
Whare sits oor sulky, sullen dame
Gath'ring her brows like gath'ring storm
Nursing her wrath tae keep it warm...

Hmm, but this could take quite some time! *g*
the girl who used to dance on fire and brimstone: dw//in Scotland?/t&c - a quirkofmatterwhiskyinmind on January 26th, 2007 10:20 am (UTC)
This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter:
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonie lasses).

O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise,
As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was na sober;
That ilka melder wi' the Miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on
The Smith and thee gat roarin' fou on;
That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday,
She prophesied that late or soon,
Thou wad be found, deep drown'd in Doon,
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloway's auld, haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,
To think how mony counsels sweet,
How mony lengthen'd, sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises!

....

yeah, this could take waaaay to long!
smhwpf on January 26th, 2007 07:47 pm (UTC)
But to our tale: ae market nicht
Tam had got planted unco' richt
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely
Wi' reaming swats that drank divinely.

And at his elbow, Souter Johnnie
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony.
Tam loved him like a very brither
They twa had been fou for weeks the'gither!

The night drew on with sangs and clatter
And aye the ale was getting better!
The landlady and Tam grew gracious
Wi' secret favours, sweet and precious.
The souter tauld his queerest stories
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus.

As bees fly hame wi' lades of treasure
The minutes wing'd their ways wi' pleasure.
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious
O'er all the ills o' life victorious!

But pleasures are like poppies spread
You seize the flow'r, the bloom is shed
Or like the snaw falls in the river
A moment white - then melts forever
Or like the Boreaolis race
That flit 'ere you can point their place.
Or like the rainbow's lovely form
Evanishing amidst the storm

Nae man can tether time nor tide;
The hour approaches Tam maun ride
That hour, o' nicht's black arch the keystane
That very hour Tam mounts his beast in!
And sich a nicht he taks the road in
As ne'er poor sinner were abroad in!

....

Way too long. And I might have to consult the book soon!
the girl who used to dance on fire and brimstone: saltire - mewhiskyinmind on January 26th, 2007 08:00 pm (UTC)
*clears throat*

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd;
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd:
That night, a child might understand,
The deil had business on his hand.

Weel-mounted on his grey mare, Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet,
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet,
Whiles glow'rin round wi' prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares;
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Where ghaists and houlets nightly cry.

By this time he was cross the ford,
Where in the snaw the chapman smoor'd;
And past the birks and meikle stane,
Where drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane;
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,
Where hunters fand the murder'd bairn;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Where Mungo's mither hang'd hersel'.
Before him Doon pours all his floods,
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods,
The lightnings flash from pole to pole,
Near and more near the thunders roll,
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze,
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing,
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst make us scorn!
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil;
Wi' usquabae, we'll face the devil!
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,
Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle,
But Maggie stood, right sair astonish'd,
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd,
She ventur'd forward on the light;
And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!

... over to you

(By the way, there was an excellent programme on BBC 2 Scotland last night which is up on the site here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/burns - Karen Dunbar did an incredible reading of this, and Dawn Steele (Lexie from Monarch, sweetest girl in the world!) read To A Louse and To A Mouse and the latter would bring tears to a glass een...)
smhwpf on February 1st, 2007 12:02 am (UTC)
Been racking my brains - think this is right! Might have to cheat soon!

Warlocks and witches in a dance!
Nae cotillon brent new frae France
But hornpipes, gigs, Strathspeys and reels
Put life and mettle in their heels!

A winnock bunker in the East
There sat Auld Nick, in shape o' beast
A tousie tyke, black grim and large
Tae gie them music was his charge
He screwed the pipes and gart them skirl
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.

[aaaah, think there's some missing lines here...]

Coffins stood round in open presses
That showed the dead in their last dresses
And, by some devilish cantrip sleight,
Each in his cauld hand held a light
By which heroic Tam was able
To spy upon the haly table:

A murderer's banes in gibbet airns
Twa span-lang, wee unchristened bairns
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape
A garter that a babe had strangled
A knife a father's throat had mangled
Wham his ain son o' life bereft
The grey hairs still clung tae the heft.

Wi' more o' horrible and awfu'
That e'en tae name would be unlawfu'!
Three lawyers' tongues turned inside out
Wi' lies, seamed like a beggar's clout
Three priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck
Lay stinking, vile in every neuk.

And that's as far as I get for now!

Thanks for those links, look good!