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Nae mair to visit Auld Moscow,
Or set the Kremlin in a lowe,
As lang's a hair sticks on his powe i
They've fix'd him in his station.
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN.
What need ye heed that Gobbet's clash,
Or mind the least his balderdash;
'Bout rev'nue, finance, trade an' taxes.
As if the Earth had slipt her axis?
Cheer up my lads, our Isle's as steady
As when his Grannie rock'd his Daddy.
We've kye an' horses, mares an' asses,
An, for their food, we've florin grasses—

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