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( 92 )
Then fill up your glasses,
Ye sons of Parnassus,
This toast I'm sure you'll allow, allow,
Here's to Geordie our King,
And Charlotte his Queen,
And lang may they live for to mow, mow, mow.
And why shouldna, &c.
An alternative version of the last stanza.
But truce with commotions, and new fangled notions,
A bumper I trust you'll allow, allow;
Here's George our good King, and long may he ring,
And Charlotte and he tak' a mow, mow, mow.
And why shouldna, &c.
