Knaves wha hae wi' Haggart bled, Thieves whom jails hae often fed, Triumph in the daring trade, Of burglary for me! Now's the day, and now the hour, The morning clouds begin to lour, Up, up the stairs like freemen pour Spite of chains and pillory! Wha for Inverkeithing's king, Tory papers would na bring, Though to-morrow he should swing, On the Gallows tree? Wha would be a Coward brave? Wha would fill a traitor's grave? Wha sa base as be a slave? But those who can make free.
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