The poem
They asked the Bard of Ayr to dine; The banquet hall was fit and fine, With gracing it a Lord; The poet came; his face was grim To find the place reserved for him Was at the butler's board.
So when the gentry called him in, He entered with a knavish grin And sipped a glass of wine; But when they asked would he recite Something of late he'd chanced to write He ettled to decline.
Then with a sly, sardonic look He opened up a little book Containing many a gem; And as they sat in raiment fine, So smug and soused with rosy wine, This verse he read to them.
'You see yon birkie caw'ed a Lord, Who struts and stares an' a' that, Though hundreds worship at his word He's but a coof for a' that. For a' that and a' that, A man's a man for a' that.
He pointed at that portly Grace Who glared with apoplectic face, While others stared with gloom; Then having paid them all he owed, Burns, Bard of Homespun, smiled and strode Superbly from the room.