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?
Or will we send a sodger?
Or him wha led o'er Scotland a
The meikle Ursa-Major?
Come, will ye court a noble lord,
Or buy a score o' lairds, man?
For worth and honour pawn their word,
Their vote shall be Glencaird's, man!
Ane gies them coin, ane gies them wine,
Anither gies them clatter;
Annbank, wha guess'd the ladies' taste,
He gies a Fête Champêtre.
When Love and Beauty heard the news,
The gay greenwoods amang, man,
Where, gathering flowers and busking bowers,
They heard the blackbird's sang, man-
A vow, they seal'd it with a kiss,
Sir Politics to fetter,
As theirs alone, the patent-bliss,
To hold a Fête Champêtre.
Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome wing,
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,
On th' bonnie 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',
Clamb up the starry sky, man:
Reflected beams dwell in the streams,
Or down the current shatter;
The western breeze steals through the trees To view this Fête Champêtre !
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,
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,
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
This festive Fête Champêtre !
HOM will you send to London town,
To Parliament and a' that?
Or wha in a' the country round
The best deserves to fa' that?
For a' that, an' a' that,
Thro' Galloway and a' that!
Where is the laird or belted knight
That best deserves to fa' that?
Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett,
And wha is't never saw that?
Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree met
And has a doubt of a' that?
For a' that, an' a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
The independent patriot,
The honest man, an' a' that.
Tho wit and worth in either sex,
St. Mary's Isle can shaw that;
Wi' dukes an' lords let Selkirk mix,
And weel does Selkirk fa' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
The independent commoner
Shall be the man for a' that.
But why should we to nobles jouk,
And is't against the law that?
For why, a lord may be a gouk,
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
A lord may be a lousy loun,
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that.
A beardless boy comes o'er the hills,
Wi' uncle's purse an' a' that;
But we'll hae ane frae 'mang oursels,
A man we ken, an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
For we're not to be bought an' sold
Like naigs, an' nowt, an' a' that.
Then let us drink the Stewartry,
Kerroughtree's laird, an' a' that,
Our representative to be,
For weel he's worthy a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
A House of Commons such as he,
They would be blest that saw that.
"Y, let us a' to Kirkcudbright,
FY, us a' to there;
For Murray's light-horse are to muster,
And O, how the heroes will swear!
An' there will be Murray commander,
And Gordon the battle to win;
Like brothers they'll stand by each other
Sae knit in alliance an' kin.
An' there will be black-lippit Johnny,
The tongue o' the trump to them a';
An' he get na hell for his haddin'
The Deil gets na justice ava';
An' there will be Kempleton's birkie,
A boy no sae black at the bane,
But, as for his fine nabob fortune,
We'll e'en let the subject alane.
An' there will be Wigton's new sheriff;
Dame Justice fu' brawlie has sped,
She's gotten the heart of a Bushby,
But, Lord, what's become o' the head?
An' there will be Cardoness, Esquire,
Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes;
A wight that will weather damnation,
For the Devil the prey will despise.
An' there will be Douglasses doughty,
New christ'ning towns far and near,
Abjuring their democrat doings,
By kissing the arse o' a peer!
An' there will be Kenmure sae gen'rous,
Whose honour is proof to the storm,
To save them from stark reprobation
He lent them his name to the firm.
But we winna mention Redcastle,
The body, e'en let him escape!
He'd venture the gallows for siller,
An' 'twere na the cost o' the rape.
An' where is our King's Lord Lieutenant,
Sae fam'd for his gratefu' return?
The billie is gettin' his Questions,
To say in St. Stephen's the morn.
An' there will be lads o' the Gospel, Muirhead wha's as good as he's true; An' there will be Buittle's apostle,
Wha's more o' the black than the blue; An' there will be folk frae St. Mary's, A house o' great merit and note, The deil ane but honours them highly,The deil ane will gie them his vote!
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