He was a care-defying blade
As ever Bacchus listed!
Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid,
His heart, she ever miss'd it.
He had no wish but--to be glad,
Nor want but--when he thirsted;
He hated nought but--to be sad,
An' thus the muse suggested
His sang that night.




Air

Tune--"For a' that, an' a' that."


I am a Bard of no regard,
Wi' gentle folks an' a' that;
But Homer-like, the glowrin byke,
Frae town to town I draw that.




Chorus

For a' that, an' a' that,