Poem for February 27, 2027

WHEN Princes and Prelates,

And hot-headed zealots,

A’ Europe had set in a low, a low,

The poor man lies down,

Nor envies a crown,

And comforts himself as he dow, as he dow,

And comforts himself as he dow.

The black-headed eagle,

As keen as a beagle,

He hunted o’er height and o’er howe,

In the braes o’ Gemappe,

He fell in a trap,

E’en let him come out as he dow, dow, dow,

E’en let him come out as he dow.

· · · · · · · But truce with commotions,

And new-fangled notions,

A bumper, I trust you’ll allow;

Here’s George our good king,

And Charlotte his queen,

And lang may they ring as they dow, dow, dow,

And lang may they ring as they dow.