DOST thou not rise, indignant Shade,
And smile wi' spurning scorn,
When they wha wad hae starv’d thy life,
Thy senseless turf adorn.------

They wha about thee mak sic fuss
Now thou art but a name,
Wad seen thee damn'd ere they had spar'd
Ae plack to fill thy wame.------

Helpless, alane, thou clamb the brae,
Wi' meikle, meikle toil,
And claucht th' unfading garland there,
Thy sair-won, rightful spoil.----

And wear it there! and call aloud
This axiom undoubted--------
‘Wouldst thou hae Nobles' patronage,
First learn to live without it!’

To whom hae much, more shall be given,
Is every Great man's faith;
But he, the helpless, needful wretch,
Shall lose the mite he hath.---