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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 shops do shine full bright,
To light them all awa', awa', &c.
Each Thursday is our market-day.
When Farmers to their ſervants ſay,
Make haste and let us all away
To Falkirk ane and a'.
Then each ſide of our street they deck
With beans and pease, full many a ſack,
And beer and corn, with a large peck.
Which never on the ſeas did tack,
That's come not far awa', awa', &c:
And the Muirlands do all they can,
To feed and nourish our fine town.
For cheeſe and butter they bring down,
The pound's ounces twenty-twa.
From east and west comes all things good,
All neceſſaries for clothes and food;
And there's nothing bad that is allow'd,
Or thoſe that ſell ſhall ſorely ru't,
And with shame be ſent awa, awa', &c.,
Then turn about to the east hand,
The Kerſes all like gardens stand,
