Classic Poem

Y E'RE welcome, leddies, ane and a',
Ye're welcome to our County Ha';
Sae weel ye look when buskit braw,
To grace our County Meeting!
An', gentlemen, ye're welcome, too,
In waistcoats white and tartan too,
Gae seek a partner, mak' yere bow,
Syne dance our County Meeting.

Ah, weel dune now, there's auld Sir John,
Wha aye maun lead the dancin' on,
An' Leddy Bet, wi' her turban prim,
An' wee bit velvet 'neath her chin.
See how they nimbly, nimbly go!
While youngsters follow in a row,
Wi' mony a Belle, an' mony a Beau,
To dance our County Meeting.

There's the Major, and his sister too,
He in the bottle-green, she in the blue;
(Some years sin' syne that gown was new,
At our County Meeting).
They are a worthy, canty pair,
An' unco proud o' their nephew Blair;
O' sense, or siller, he's nae great share,
Though he's the King o' the Meeting.

An' there's our Member, and Provost Whig,
Our Doctor in his yellow wig,
Wi' his fat wife, wha takes a jig
Aye at our County Meeting.
Miss Betty, too, I see her there,
Wi' her sonsy face, and bricht red hair.
Dancin' till she can dance nae mair
At our County Meeting.

There's beauty Bell, wha a' surpasses,
An' heaps o' bonnie country lasses;
Wi' the heiress o' the Gowden Lee,
Fo'k say she's unco dorty —
Lord Bawbee, aye, he's lookin' there,
An' sae is the Major, and Major's heir
Wi' the Laird, the Shirra, and mony mair,
I could reckon them to forty.

See Major O'Neill has got her hand,
An' in the dance they've ta'en their stand;
(Impudence comes frae Paddy's land,
Say the lads o' our County Meeting).
But ne'er ye fash! gang through the reel, —
The Country dance, ye dance sae weel, —
An' ne'er let Waltz or dull Quadrille
Spoil our County Meeting.

Afore we end, strike up the spring
O' Thulichan and Hieland-fling,
The Haymakers, and Bumpkin fine!
At our County Meeting.
Gow draws his bow, folk haste away,
While some are glad and some are wae,
A' blithe to meet some ither day,
At our County Meeting.