'And what care I for your row-foot earls,
Or all the sons o' your body?
Before they win to the Pride o' Name,
I trow they all ask leave o' me.
'For I make Honour wi' muckle mouth,
As I make Shame wi' mincin' feet,
To sing wi' the priests at the market-cross,
Or run wi' the dogs in the naked street.
'And some they give me the good red gold,
And some they give me the white money,
And some they give me a clout o' meal,
For they be people o' low degree.
'And the song I sing for the counted gold
The same I sing for the white money,
But best I sing for the clout o' meal
That simple people given me.'
The King cast down a silver groat,
A silver groat o' Scots money,
'If I come wi' a poor man's dole,' he said,
'True Thomas, will ye harp to me?'
