To Hulme (T. E.) And Fitzgerald
Is there for feckless poverty
That grins at ye for a' that!
A hired slave to none am I,
But under–fed for a' that;
For a' that and a' that,
The toils I shun and a' that,
My name but mocks the guinea stamp,
And Pound's dead broke for a' that.
Although my linen still is clean,
My socks fine silk and a' that,
Although I dine and drink good wine—
Say, twice a week, and a' that;
For a' that and a' that,
My tinsel shows and a'that,
These breeks 'll no last many weeks
'Gainst wear and tear and a' that.
Ye see this birkie ca'ed a bard,
Wi' cryptic eyes and a' that,
Aesthetic phrases by the yard;
It's but E. P. for a' that,
For a' that and a' that,
My verses, books and a' that,
The man of independent means
He looks and laughs at a' that.
One man will make a novelette
And sell the same and a' that.
For verse nae man can siller get,
Nae editor maun fa' that.
For a' that and a' that,
Their royalties and a' that,
Wib time to loaf and will to write
I'll stick to rhyme for a' that.
And ye may prise and gang your ways
Wi' pity, sneers and a' that,
I know my trade and God has made
Some men to rhyme and a' that,
For a' that and a' that,
I maun gang on for a' that
Wi' verse to verse until the hearse
Carts off me wame and a' that.