| |
| O WHA will to Saint Stephen’s House, | |
| To do our errands there, man? | |
| O wha will to Saint Stephen’s House | |
| O’ th’ merry lads of Ayr, man? | |
| Or will we send a man o’ law? | 5 |
| Or will we send a sodger? | |
| Or him wha led o’er Scotland a’ | |
| The meikle Ursa-Major? 1 | |
| |
| Come, will ye court a noble lord, | |
| Or buy a score o’lairds, man? | 10 |
| For worth and honour pawn their word, | |
| Their vote shall be Glencaird’s, 2 man. | |
| Ane gies them coin, ane gies them wine, | |
| Anither gies them clatter: | |
| Annbank, 3 wha guessed the ladies’ taste, | 15 |
| He gies a Fête Champêtre. | |
| |
| When Love and Beauty heard the news, | |
| The gay green woods amang, man; | |
| Where, gathering flowers, and busking bowers, | |
| They heard the blackbird’s sang, man: | 20 |
| A vow, they sealed it with a kiss, | |
| Sir Politics to fetter; | |
| As their’s alone, the patent bliss, | |
| To hold a Fête Champêtre. | |
| |
| Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome wing | 25 |
| O’er hill and dale she flew, man; | |
| Ilk wimpling burn, ilk crystal spring, | |
| Ilk glen and shaw she knew, man: | |
| She summon’d every social sprite, | |
| That sports by wood or water, | 30 |
| On th’ bonie banks of Ayr to meet, | |
| And keep this Fête Champêtre. | |
| |
| Cauld Boreas, wi’ his boisterous crew, | |
| Were bound to stakes like kye, man, | |
| And Cynthia’s car, o’ silver fu’, | 35 |
| Clamb up the starry sky, man: | |
| Reflected beams dwell in the streams, | |
| Or down the current shatter; | |
| The western breeze steals thro’the trees, | |
| To view this Fête Champêtre. | 40 |
| |
| How many a robe sae gaily floats! | |
| What sparkling jewels glance, man! | |
| To Harmony’s enchanting notes, | |
| As moves the mazy dance, man. | |
| The echoing wood, the winding flood, | 45 |
| Like Paradise did glitter, | |
| When angels met, at Adam’s yett, | |
| To hold their Fête Champêtre. | |
| |
| When Politics came there, to mix | |
| And make his ether-stane, man! | 50 |
| He circled round the magic ground, | |
| But entrance found he nane, man: | |
| He blush’d for shame, he quat his name, | |
| Forswore it, every letter, | |
| Wi’ humble prayer to join and share | 55 |
| This festive Fête Champêtre. | |
