My blessings aye attend the chiel,
Wha pitied Gallia's slaves, man,
And staw a branch, spite o' the deil,
Frae yont tho western waves, man.
Fair Virtue watered it wi' care,
And now she sees wi' pride, man,
How weel it buds and blossoms there,
Its branches spreading wide, man.
But vicious folk aye hate to see
The works o' Virtue thrive, man;
The courtly vermin's banned the tree,
And grat to see it thrive, man;
King Loui' thought to cut it down,
When it was unco sma', man
For this the watchman cracked his crown,
Cut aff his head and a', man.
A wicked crew syne, on a time,
Did tak a solemn aith, man,
It ne'er should flourish to its prime,
I wat they pledged their faith, man.
Awa they gaed wi' mock parade
Like beagles hunting game, man,
But soon grew weary o' the trade,
And wished they'd been at hame, man.
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