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I've met him in a silken robe,

Wi' titles to his name,
But high or low, or rich or poor,
I've found him


the same.

The thinking head, the feeling heart,

To him are ever dear,
He honours them as loyally,

In peasant as in peer.

Nae sma suspicious thochts disturb,

His faith in human worth, He still believes there's such a thing,

As friendship upon earth.

He calls things by their proper names,

With him a knave's a knave, A prince may be a beggar born,

A lord may be a slave.


He never sanctions party work,

With either tongue or pen,
His creed is simply, “Honour God,

And love your fellow men.

He never speaks but as he thinks,

Yet hates to find a flaw,
Ae face can always serve his turn,

Nae need has he for twa.

E'en for the very warst o’ folk,

He has a heart to feel,
And finds some hidden virtue in

The biggest neer-do-weel.

Who still for poor humanity,

Does a' the good he can, And does it through a brother's love

O! that's the gentleman.


Come sound a welcome to the Prince,

Let every head uncover,
In honour of Old England's hope,

And of his Sovereign Mother ;
A loyal band with heart and hand,

Come join each Whig and Tory, And be the toast from coast to coast,

Her moral worth and glory.

O may our land of maple green,

The land of lake and river, The brightest gem in Britain's crown,

Be British blue for ever ; Long may our sons and sires rejoice,

Each heart leap at the story, Of Britain's right of Britain's might,

Of Britain's power and glory.

Long may she rear the sturdy race,

Which laid her deep foundations,
The brain and bone that made her throne,

The bulwark of the nations ;
Long may she reign o'er art's domain,

Her flag in peace be furled,
And on her isle sit throned the while,

The glory of the world.

Long may she have a loyal race,

Of peasants in her valleys,
And be their humble hearths secure,

As is their monarch's palace ;
Success attend her sons of toil,

Her merchant prince's navies, And still a long succeeding line,

Of Jennings, Watts, and Davys.

And in her Legislative halls,

When truth with falsehood tussels, O may she never lack the breed,

Of Hampdens and of Russells ; The homebred knaves in church or state,

May British pluck undo'em,

And smite him with the thunders of

A Chatham and a Brougham.

Long may she keep an iron duke,

To thrash unruly neighbours, And keep her hearths and homes secure,

From cunning French invaders; But may she never seek the fight,

Nor shun it like the Quakers, But when it comes have handy by,

Her Nelsons and her Napiers.

And when upon her distant plains,

Rebellion's wave is rolling, She'll send a Highland hurricane,

With sturdy, staunch Sir Colin ;
But may she never strike the blow,

As long's she can avoid it,
But still be hers the powerful arm,

And thinking head to guide it.

May wisdom guide the Prince's heart,
And from all ill preserve it,


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