But here, in beautiful, sunny France
It brings us music and many a dance,
(Whirls and dances through these two lines.)
With feasting and calling on each dear friend,
With pleasure and jollity without end.
(Bows, curtseys back to place, throwing kisses.)
Ireland enters—
Ould Scotland has her heather,
An’ England has her rose,
But Ireland has her shamrock green,