Now mirk December's dowie face
 Glours our the rigs wi' sour grimace,
 While, thro' his minimum of space,
 The bleer-ey'd sun
 Wi' blinkin light and stealing pace,
 His race doth run.

 From naked groves nae birdie sings,
 To shepherd's pipe nae hillock rings,
 The breeze nae od'rous flavour brings
 From Borean cave,
 And dwyning nature droops her wings,
 Wi' visage grave.

 Mankind but scanty pleasure glean
 Frae snawy hill or barren plain,
 Whan Winter, 'midst his nipping train,
 Wi' frozen spear,
 Sends drift owr a' his bleak domain,
 And guides the weir.

 Auld Reikie! thou'rt the canty hole,
 A bield for mony caldrife soul,
 Wha snugly at thine ingle loll,
 Baith warm and couth;
 While round they gar the bicker roll
 To weet their mouth.

 When merry Yule-day comes, I trow
 You'll scantlins find a hungry mou;
 Sma' are our cares, our stamacks fou
 O' gusty gear,
 And kickshaws, strangers to our view,
 Sin Fairn-year.

 Ye browster wives, now busk ye bra,
 And fling your sorrows far awa';
 Then come and gie's the tither blaw
 Of reaming ale,
 Mair precious than the well of Spa,
 Our hearts to heal.

 Then, tho' at odds wi' a' the warl',
 Amang oursells we'll never quarrel;
 Tho' Discord gie a canker'd snarl
 To spoil our glee,
 As lang's there's pith into the barrel
 We'll drink and 'gree.

 Fiddlers, your pins in temper fix,
 And roset weel your fiddle-sticks,
 But banish vile Italian tricks
 From out your quorum,
 Nor fortes wi' pianos mix,
 Gie's Tulloch Gorum.

 For nought can cheer the heart sae weil
 As can a canty Highland reel,
 It even vivifies the heel
 To skip and dance:
 Lifeless is he what canna feel
 Its influence.

 Let mirth abound, let social cheer
 Invest the dawning of the year;
 Let blithesome innocence appear
 To crown our joy,
 Nor envy wi' sarcastic sneer
 Our bliss destroy.

 And thou, great god of Aqua Vitæ!
 Wha sways the empire of this city,
 When fou we're sometimes capernoity,
 Be thou prepar'd
 To hedge us frae that black banditti,
 The City-Guard.