Were I the morning star
I could never shine so fair
Lady in your sequin gown
Riding on a milk with palfrey
Popinjay and minstrel gaily
Riding down a forest road
Knights and ladies come ye well
To be at Falkland Grene
To be at Falkland Grene
Sand your coat of steel my lord
You could have a winesome favour
Ride you fair and speak you well
Maybe know a ladys pleasure
Stuart lord in gold and crimson
Hunt the boar and fleetfoot deer
Poet if your lines be true
Then come to Falkland Grene
Come to Falkland Grene
Blow cold the winter wind
Whistle you a mournful song
Jesters words they pealed like bells
Down below the rims of Lomond
Flew the hawk and waltzed the courtier
In the gardens were they seen
In days of wine and madrigal
Down at Falkland Grene
Down at Falkland Grene