The Merry fairs of Falkirk,
Where are the poets, are they all dead;
Or is the mule from Falkirk fled
That nothing of our country's said
Tho' its so rich and braw
Six fairs we have into the year,
When lads does at the lasses spier,
My dear will ye go to the fair;
For friends or foes ye need not fear
To Falkirk let's awa.
For friends &c.
When to our town they do advance,
Like ladies in fine clothes they glance,
And now and then they take a dance,
With lads that's neat and braw,
And when they are going home at night,
Each merchant strives with all his might,
Whose windows shall show the best light,
And all their shores does shine full bright,
To light them all awa.'
Each Thursday is our market day'
When farmers to their their servants say,
Make haste, and let us all away
To Falkirk ane and a,'
Then each Side of our street they deck,
