To Burns! Brave Scotia's laurel'd son,
Who drove his plough on Helicon;
Who with his doric rhyme erewhile
Taught English bards to mend their style;
And by the humour of his pen
Fairly befool'd old Nickie-ben!

Blithe Robbie Burns, we love thee well
Because thou wert so like thysel':
And in full cups with festive cheer
We toast thy fame from year to year.