This page has been validated.
8
My daughters, come with een sae blue,
Your garlands reave, your wild flow'rs strew;
He ne'er saw fairer flow'rs than you—
Carle, now the King's come.
What shall we do for the propine,
We used to offer something fine,
But de'il a groan's in pouch of mine—
Carle, now the King's come.
De'il care—for that I'se never start.
We'll welcome him with Highland heart;
Whate'er we have he's get a part—
Carle, now the King's come.
I'll show him mason-work this day—
Nane of your bricks of Babel clay.
But towers shall stand till Time's away—
Carle, new the King's come.
And here's Sir John of projects rife,
Will win the thanks of an auld wife,
And bring her health and length of life—
Carle, now the King's come.
FINIS
