Guid-Mornin' to our Majesty! May Heaven augment your blisses On ev'ry new birth-day ye see, A humble poet wishes. My bardship here, at your Levee On sic a day as this is, Is sure an uncouth sight to see, Amangthae birth-day dresses Saefine this day. I see ye're complimented thrang, By mony a lord an'
Expect na, sir, in this narration, A fleechin, fleth'rinDedication, To rooseyou up, an' ca' you guid, An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid, Because ye're surnam'd like His Grace- Perhaps related to the race: Then, when I'm tir'd-and sae are ye, Wi' mony a fulsome, sinfu' lie, Setup a face how I stop short, For
Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, Owre blateto seek, owre proud to snool, Let him draw near; And owrethis grassy heap sing dool, And drapa tear. Is there a bard of rustic song, Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, That weekly this area throng, O, pass not by!