Classic Poem

Tune your fiddles, tune them sweetly,
Play the Marquis' reel discreetly,
Here we are, a band completely
Fitted to be jolly. —
Come, my boys, blythe and gawcie,
Every youngster chuse his lassie,
Dance wi' life, and be not saucy,
Shy nor melancholy.
Come, my boys, &c.

Lay aside your sour grimaces,
Clouded brows, and drumly faces,
Look about, and see their Graces ,
How they smile delighted;
Now's the season to be merry,
Hang the thoughts of Charon's ferry,
Time enough to turn camsterry
When we're auld and doited.
Now's the season, &c.

Butler, put about the claret,
Thro' us a' divide and share it,
Gordon-Castle well can spare it,
It has claret plenty.
Wine's the true inspiring liquor,
Draffy drink may please the Vicar,
When he grasps the foaming bicker,
Vicars are not dainty.
Wine's the true inspiring liquor, &c.

We'll extoll our noble M ASTER ,
Sprung from many a brave ancestor, —
Heaven preserve him from disaster,
So we pray in duty.
Prosper, too, our pretty D UCHESS ,
Safe from all distressful touches,
Keep her out of Pluto's clutches,
Long in health and beauty.
Prosper, too, our pretty Duchess, &c.

Angels guard their gallant boy,
Make him long his father's joy,
Sturdy, like the heir of Troy,
Stout and brisk and healthy.
Pallas, grant him every blessing,
Wit and strength and size increasing,
Plutus, what's in thy possessing,
Make him rich and wealthy.
Pallas, grant him every blessing, &c.

Youth, solace him with thy pleasure,
In refin'd and worthy measure;
Merit, gain him choicest treasure,
From the Royal donor.
Famous may he be in story,
Full of days, and full of glory,
To the grave, when old and hoary,
May he go with honour!
Famous may he be in story, &c.

G ORDONS , join our hearty praises,
Honest, though in homely phrases,
Love our cheerful spirits raises,
Lofty as the lark is:
Echo, waft our wishes daily,
Thro' the grove, and thro' the alley,
Sound o'er every hill and valley,
Blessings on our Marquis
Echo, waft our wishes daily, &c.