The brave auld Duke of York, poor loon
Was up when up and doun when doun;
But puff’d and blawn, he stood stock still,
When only halfway up the hill
I ance mair my youthfu’ prime,
Arthur’s Seat I aft did climb,
wadna try my puff sae sair,
climb a toilsome flicht o’ stairs
hech, sirs! Noo losh me! It
ane o’ Jacob’s ten-mile dreams
sair’s my fecht (when sair’s my feet)
climb the stair in Castle Street
grievance noo ye’ll quickly guess,
fein would see our E.P.S.
rooms mair flash, no just sae high,
mair o’ foreground, and less sky.
Noo let this thocht your mind engage,
Develop slowly stage by stage;
With £. S. D. if wisely mixed,
The scheme might soon be toned and fixed
’T wad make us far mair up to date
swell our ranks at sic a rate,
progress and complete success
crown the good old E.P.S.