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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 make sic fuss Now thou art buy 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 claught 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, shall yet be given, Is every Great man's faith; But he, the helpless, needful wretch, Shall lose the mite he hath.
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