Women's Minds
Tune - "For a' that."
Tho' women's minds , like winter winds,
May shift, and turn, an' a' that,The noblest breast adores them maist,
A consequence I draw that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
And twice as meikle's a' that;
The bonie lass that I loe best
She'll be my ain for a' that.Great love I bear to a' the fair ,
Their humble slave, an' a' that;But lordly will, I hold it still
A mortal sin to thraw that.
For a' that, &c.But there is ane aboon the lave ,
Has wit, and sense, an' a' that;A bonie lass, I like her best,
And wha a crime dare ca' that?
For a' that, &c.In rapture sweet this hour we meet,
Wi' mutual love an' a' that,But for how lang the flie may stang ,
Let inclination law that.
For a' that, &c.Their tricks an' craft hae put me daft .
They've taen me in, an' a' that;But clear your decks, and here's, "The Sex!"
I like the jads for a' that.
For a' that, &c.Back
For a' That
Tune - "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 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, and 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,
Guid faith, he mauna 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,
May 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.Back
Holy Willie's Prayer
"And send the godly in a pet to pray." - Pope.
Argument.O Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell,
Holy Willie was a rather oldish bachelor elder, in the parish of Mauchline, and much and justly famed for that polemical chattering, which ends in tippling orthodoxy, and for that spiritualized bawdry which refines to liquorish devotion. In a sessional process with a gentleman in Mauchline - a Mr.Gavin Hamilton - Holy Willie and his priest, Father Auld, after full hearing in the presbytery of Ayr, came off but second best; owing partly to the oratorical powers of Mr. Robert Aiken, Mr. Hamilton's counsel; but chiefly to Mr. Hamilton's being one of the most irreproachable and truly respectable characters in the county. On losing the process, the muse overheard him [Willie] at his devotions, as follows:
Who, as it pleases best Thysel',
Sends ane to heaven an' ten to hell,
A' for Thy glory,And no for onie guid or ill
They've done afore Thee!I bless and praise Thy matchless might,
When thousands Thou hast left in night,
That I am here afore Thy sight,
For gifts an' graceA burnin an' a shinin light
To a' this place.What was I, or my generation,
That I should get sic exaltation?
I, wha deserve sic just damnation
For broken laws,Five thousand years 'fore my creation,
Thro' Adam's cause.When frae my mither's womb I fell,
Thou might hae plunged me in hell,
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail,
In burnin' lake,Where damned devils roar and yell,
Chain'd to a stake.Yet I am here a chosen sample,
To show thy grace is great and ample;
I'm here a pillar o' Thy temple,
Strong as a rock,A guide, a buckler, and example,
To a' Thy flock.O Lord, Thou kens what zeal I bear,
When drinkers drink, an' swearers swear,
An' singin there, an' dancin here,
Wi' great and sma';For I am keepit by Thy fear
Free frae them a'.But yet, O Lord! confess I must,
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust:
An' sometimes, too, wi' wardly trust,
Vile self gets in:But Thou remembers we are dust,
Defil'd wi' sin.O Lord! yestreen, Thou kens, wi' Meg -
Thy pardon I sincerely beg,
O! may't ne'er be a livin plague
To my dishonour,An' I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg
Again upon her.Besides, I farther maun allow,
Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow;
But Lord, that Friday I was fou,
When I came near her;Or else, Thou kens, Thy servant true
Wad ne'er hae steer'd her.Maybe Thou lets this fleshly thorn
Buffet Thy servant e'en and morn,
Lest he owre high and proud should turn,
'Cause he's sae gifted:If sae, Thy hand maun e'en be borne,
Until Thou lift it.Lord, bless Thy chosen in this place,
For here Thou hast a chosen race:
But God confound their stubborn face,
An' blast their name,Wha bring Thy elders to disgrace
An' public shame.Lord, mind Gaw'n Hamilton's deserts;
He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at cartes,
Yet has sae monie takin arts,
Wi' grit and sma',Frae God's ain priest the people's hearts
He steals awa.An' when we chasten'd him therefore,
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,
As set the warld in a roar
O' laughing at us; -Curse Thou his basket and his store,
Kail an' potatoes.Lord, hear my earnest cry and pray'r,
Against that Presbyt'ry o' Ayr;
Thy strong right hand, Lord, make it bare
Upo' their heads;Lord, weigh it down, an' dinna spare,
For their misdeeds.O Lord my God, that glib-tongued Aiken,
My vera heart and soul are quakin,
To think how we stood sweatin, shakin,
An' piss'd wi' dread,While he, wi' hingin lip an' snakin,
Held up his head.Lord, in Thy day o' vengeance try him;
Lord, visit them wha did employ him,
And pass not in Thy mercy by 'em,
Nor hear their pray'r,But for Thy people's sake, destroy 'em,
An' dinna spare.But, Lord, remember me an' mine
Wi' mercies temp'ral an' divine,
That I for gear an' grace may shine,
Excell'd by nane,An' a' the glory shall be thine,
Amen, Amen!Back
Address to the Unco Guid, or The Rigidly Righteous
My Son, these maxims make a rule,
An' lump them aye thegither;The Rigid Righteous is a fool,
The Rigid Wise anither:The cleanest corn that ere was dight
May hae some pyles o' caff in;So ne'er a fellow-creature slight
For random fits o' daffin.
Solomon. - Eccles. vii. 16.O ye wha are sae guid yoursel',
Sae pious and sae holy,Ye've nought to do but mark and tell
Your Neebours' fauts and folly!Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill,
Supply'd wi' store o' water;The heapet happer's ebbing still,
An' still the clap plays clatter.Hear me, ye venerable Core,
As counsel for poor mortalsThat frequent pass douce Wisdom's door
For glaikit Folly's portals:I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes,
Would here propone defences -Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes,
Their failings and mischances.Ye see your state wi' their's compar'd,
And shudder at the niffer,But cast a moment's fair regard,
What maks the mighty differ;Discount what scant occasion gave,
That purity ye pride in;And (what's aft mair than a' the lave),
Your better art o' hidin.Think, when your castigated pulse
Gies now and then a wallop,What ragings must his veins convulse,
That still eternal gallop;Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail,
Right on ye scud your sea-way;But in the teeth o' baith to sail,
It maks an unco leeway.See Social Life and Glee sit down,
All joyous and unthinking,Till, quite transmugrifiy'd, they're grown
Debauchery and Drinking:O would they stay to calculate
Th' eternal consequences;Or your more dreaded hell to state,
Damnation of expenses!Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames,
Tied up in godly laces,Before ye gie poor Frailty names,
Suppose a change o' cases;A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug,
A treach'rous inclination -But let me whisper i' your lug,
Ye're aiblins nae temptation.Then gently scan your brother Man,
Still gentler sister Woman;Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang,
To step aside is human:One point must still be greatly dark, -
The moving Why they do it;And just as lamely can ye mark,
How far perhaps they rue it.Who made the heart, 'tis He alone
Decidedly can try us;He knows each chord, its various tone,
Each spring, its various bias:Then at the balance let's be mute,
We never can adjust it;What's done we partly may compute,
But know not what's resisted.Back