Youâ€™ve come early to see us this year, John Frost,
Wiâ€™ your crispinâ€™ anâ€™ poutherinâ€™ gear, John Frost,
Â Â Â Â Â For hedge, tower, anâ€™ tree,
Â Â Â Â Â As far as I see,
Are as white as the bloom oâ€™ the pear, John Frost.
Youâ€™re very preceese wiâ€™ your wark, John Frost!
Althoâ€™ ye haâ€™e wrought in the dark, John Frost,
Â Â Â Â Â For ilka fit-stap,
Â Â Â Â Â Frae the door to the slap,
Is braw as a new linen sark, John Frost.
There are some things about ye I like, John Frost,
And ithers that aft gar me fyke, John Frost;
Â Â Â Â Â For the weans, wiâ€™ cauld taes,
Â Â Â Â Â Crying â€œshoon, stockings, claes,â€
Keep us busy as bees in the byke, John Frost.
And gae â€™waâ€™ wiâ€™ your lang slides, I beg, John Frost!
Bairnâ€™s banes are as bruckleâ€™s an egg, John Frost;
Â Â Â Â Â For a cloit oâ€™ a faâ€™
Â Â Â Â Â Gars them hirple awaâ€™,
Like a hen wiâ€™ a happity leg, John Frost.
Ye haâ€™e fine goings on in the north, John Frost!
Wiâ€™ your houses oâ€™ ice and so forth, John Frost!
Â Â Â Â Â Thoâ€™ their kirnâ€™s on the fire,
Â Â Â Â Â They may kirn till they tire,
Yet their butterâ€”pray what is it worth, John Frost?
Now, your breath would be greatly improven, John Frost,
By a scone pipinâ€™-het frae the oven, John Frost;
Â Â Â Â Â And your blae frosty nose
Â Â Â Â Â Nae beauty wad lose,
Kent ye mair baith oâ€™ boiling and stovinâ€™, John Frost.