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In the hot rage of battle I've oft’ dar’d the foe,
The strength of my valour to prove;
And the scars of renown I bear with me, I know,
Will endear me the more to your love:
While in search pf new conquests I plough the rough sea,
Yet ne’er shall they blow my affection from thee.
The strength of my valour to prove;
And the scars of renown I bear with me, I know,
Will endear me the more to your love:
While in search pf new conquests I plough the rough sea,
Yet ne’er shall they blow my affection from thee.
I will fight in the cause of Britannia, till Peace
Yield me back to my dear girl again;
And your praise will the laurels of glory increase
When I tell our exploits, on the main:
Then repaid are the perils I meet with at sea,
In the joys of returning, sweet Polly, to thee.
Yield me back to my dear girl again;
And your praise will the laurels of glory increase
When I tell our exploits, on the main:
Then repaid are the perils I meet with at sea,
In the joys of returning, sweet Polly, to thee.
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For a’ that, and a’ that.
By Burns.
What tho’ on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden-grey, and a’ that,
Gi’e fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man’s a man tor a’ that.
For a’ that, and a' that,
Their tinsel shew, and a' that;
An honest man, tho’ ne’er sae poor,
Is chief o’ men for a’ that.
Wear hodden-grey, and a’ that,
Gi’e fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man’s a man tor a’ that.
For a’ that, and a' that,
Their tinsel shew, and a' that;
An honest man, tho’ ne’er sae poor,
Is chief o’ men for a’ that.
Wha wad, for honest poverty,
Hing down his head, and a’ that?
The coward slave we pass him by
And dare be poor for a’ that.
Hing down his head, and a’ that?
The coward slave we pass him by
And dare be poor for a’ that.
D2
