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 I've paint and I’ve perfume,

For those who may use them;

Young ladies, I presume,

You all will refuse them;

The bloom on your cheek shows that you never use them

Yet buy a little toy of Poor Rose of Lucerne.

A little toy, a little toy:

Yet buy a little toy of Poor Rose of Lucerne.

I’ve a cross to make you smart,

On your breast you may bear it,

Just o’er your little heart,

I advise you to wear it;

And I hope that no other cross e’er will come near it;

Yes I do;—so buy a toy of Poor Rose of Lucerne

Yes, I do; Yes, I do:

So buy a toy, buy a toy of poor Rose of Lucerne.

With an honest old friend, and a merry old song,

And a flask of old port, let me sit the night long,

And laugh at the malice of those who repine,

That they must swig porter, whilst I can drink wine

I envy no mortal, though ever so great,

Nor scorn I a wretch for his lowly estate:

But what I abhor, and esteem as a curse,

Is poorness of spirit, not poorness in purse.

Then dare to be generous, dauntless, and gay,

Let’s merrily pass life’s remainder away:

Upheld by our friends, we our foes may despise,

For the more we are envied the higher we rise.

Strike up, strike up, strike up, Scottish minstrels so gay

Tell of Wallace, that brave warlike man:

also of Bruce—your banners display,

While each chief leads on his bold clan,

Here’s success, Caledonia, to thee!

To the sons of the thistle so true!

Then march, gaily march, so canty and free-

There's none like the banners o' blue.