21
The summer's sun may mildly shine,
n' winter's moon may grace the night,
The sea may row its saftest waves,
But these can ne'er my heart delight.
How can I e'er be glad again,
My all of life is ta'en frae me?
Oh! I will wander waefu' still
For her that liv'd near Woodhouselee.
Oh! I ha'e seen the morning sun,
The highest heath'ry mountain gild,
An' I ha'e seen his downward ray
Darting upon the waving field:
But soon the dark-red clouds convene,
The thunders roll an' light'nings flee:
Oh! sic has been my waefu' fate
For her wha liv'd near Woodhouselee.
A Man's a Man for a' that.
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 a' that,
Our toils obscure and a' that,
The rank is but the guinea stamp,
The man's the goud for a' that.
