The rich man sat in his father's seat--
Purple an' linen, an' a'thing fine!
The puir man lay at his yett i' the street--
Sairs an' tatters, an' weary pine!

To the rich man's table ilk dainty comes,
Mony a morsel gaed frae't, or fell;
The puir man fain wud hae dined on the crumbs,
But whether he got them I canna tell.

Servants prood, saft-fittit, an' stoot,
Stan by the rich man's curtained doors;
Maisterless dogs 'at rin aboot
Cam to the puir man an' lickit his sores.

The rich man deeit, an' they buried him gran',
In linen fine his body they wrap;
But the angels tuik up the beggar man,
An' layit him doun in Abraham's lap.

The guid upo' this side, the ill upo' that--
Sic was the rich man's waesome fa'!
But his brithers they eat, an' they drink, an' they chat,
An' carena a strae for their Father's ha'!

The trowth's the trowth, think what ye will;
An' some they kenna what they wad be at;
But the beggar man thoucht he did no that ill,
Wi' the dogs o' this side, the angels o' that!