That hangs his head，and a‘that；The coward slave，we pass him by，We dare be poor for a’that！For a‘that，and a’that，Our toil‘s obscure，and 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 hoddengray，and 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，and a‘that；The honest man，though e’er sae poor，Is king o‘men for a’that.
Wha struts，and stares，and a’that；Though hundreds worship at his word，He‘s but a coof for a’that；For a‘that，and a’that，His riband，star，and a‘that：
The man o’independent mind，He looks and laughs at a‘that.
A prince can mak a belted knight，A marquis，duke，and a’that；But an honest man‘s aboon his mightGuid faith he mauna fa’that！
The pith o’sense，and pride o‘worth，Are higher ranks 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，and a’that.
It‘s coming yet，for a’that，That man to man，the warld o‘er，Shall brothers be for a’that.
Robert Burns
THE PARTING OF MARMION AND DOUGLAS
Not far advanced was morning day，When Marmion did his troop array？？To Surrey‘s camp to ride；He had safeconduct for his band，Beneath the royal seal and hand，？？And Douglas gave a guide.
The ancient Earl，with stately grace，Would Clara on her palfrey place，And whispered in an undertone，“Let the hawk stoop，his prey is flown.”The train from out the castle drew，But Marmion stopped to bid adieu：“Though something I might plain，”he said，“Of cold respect to stranger guest，Sent hither by your King’s behest，？？While in Tantallon‘s towers I stayed；Part we in friendship from your land，And，noble earl，receive my hand.”
But Douglas round him drew his cloak，Folded his arms，and thus he spoke：
“My manors，halls，and bowers，shall still Be open，at my Sovereign ’s will，To each one whom he lists，howe‘er Unmeet to be the owner’s peer.
My castles are my King‘s alone，From turret to foundationstone：The hand of Douglas is his own；And never shall，in friendly grasp，The hand of such as Marmion clasp.”
Burned Marmion’s swarthy cheek like fire，And shook his very frame for ire；？？And“This to me，”he said，“An ‘t were not for thy hoary beard，Such hand as Marmion’s had not spared？？To cleave the Douglas‘head！And，first，I tell thee，haughty peer，He who does England’s message here，Although the meanest in her state，May well，proud Angus，be thy mate：
Here in thy hold，thy vassals near （Nay，never look upon your lord，And lay your hands upon your sword，）？？I tell thee，thou‘rt defied！And if thou saidst，I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here，Lowland or Highland，far or near，？？Lord Angus，thou hast lied！”
On the Earl’s cheek the flush of rage O‘ercame the ashen hue of age：
Fierce he broke forth：“And darest thou，then，To beard the lion in his den，？？The Douglas in his hall？
And hopest thou hence unscathed to go？No，by Saint Bride of Bothwell，no！
Up drawbridge，grooms！what，Warder，ho！
？？Let the portcullis fall.”
Lord Marmion turned，well was his need，And dashed the rowels in his steed，Like arrow through the archway sprung，The ponderous grate behind him rung：To pass there was such scanty room，The bars，descending，razed his plume.
The steed along the drawbridge flies，Just as it trembles on the rise；Nor lighter does the swallow skim Along the smooth lake’s level brim：
And when Lord Marmion reached his band，He halts，and turns with clenchèd hand，And shout of loud defiance pours，And shook his gauntlet at the towers.
“Horse！horse！”the Douglas cried，“and chase！”But soon he reined his fury‘s pace：
Though most unworthy of the name.A letter forged！Saint Jude to speed！
Did ever knight so foul a deed！At first，in heart，it liked me ill，When the King praised his clerkly skill.Thanks to Saint Bothan，son of mine，Save Gawain，ne’er could pen a line.Saint Mary mend my fiery mood！
Old age ne‘er cools the Douglas blood；I thought to slay him where he stood.’Tis pity of him，too，”he cried，“Bold can he speak，and fairly ride：I warrant him a warrior tried.”With this his mandate he recalls，And slowly seeks his castle halls.
Enter the Knifeboy .Hamper for Briggses！
Master Brown .Hurray，Tom Briggs！I‘ll lend you my knife.
If this story does not carry its own moral，what fable does，I wonder？Before the arrival of that hamper，Master Briggs was in no better repute than any other young gentleman of the lower school；and in fact I had occasion myself，only lately，to correct Master Brown for kicking his friend’s shins during the writinglesson.But how this basket，directed by his mother‘s housekeeper，and marked “GLASS WITH CARE，”whence I concluded that it contained some jam and some bottles of wine probably，as well as the usual cake and gamepie，and half a sovereign for the elder Master B.，and five new shillings for Master Decimus Briggshow，I say，the arrival of this basket alters all Master Briggs’s circumstances in life，and the estimation in which many persons regard him！
If he is a goodhearted boy，as I have reason to think，the very first thing he will do，before inspecting the contents of the hamper，or cutting into them with the knife which Master Brown has so considerately lent him，will be to read over the letter from home which lies on top of the parcel.He does so，as I remarked to Miss Raby （for whom I happened to be mending pens when the little circumstance arose），with a flushed face and winkingeyes.Look how the other boys are peering into the basket as he readsI say to her，“Isn‘t it a pretty picture？”Part of the letter is in a very large hand.That is from his little sister.And I would wager that she netted the little purse which he has just taken out of it，and which Master Lynx is eyeing.
“You are a droll man，and remark all sorts of queer things，”Miss Raby says，smiling，and plying her swift needle and fingers as quick as possible.
