Pleyel's reputation was second only to that of Haydn in London in the 1790s. Both composers were commissioned to produce updated versions of well-known Scottish songs, in this case "Tweedside".

Lyrics: Robert Crawford

What beauties does Flora disclose,
How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed?
Yet Mary's still sweeter than those,
Both nature and fancy exceed.
No daisy nor sweet blushing rose,
Nor all the gay flowers of the field,
Nor Tweed gliding gently thro' those,
Such beauty and pleasure does yield.

The warblers are heard in each grove,
The linnet, the lark and the thrush,
The blackbird, and sweet cooing dove
With music enchant ev'ry bush.
Come, let us go forth to the mead,
Let us see how the primroses spring;
We'll lodge in some village in Tweed,
And love while the feather'd folks sing.

How does my love pass the long day?
Does Mary not tend a few sheep?
Do they never carelessly stray,
While happily she lies asleep?
Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest,
Kind nature indulging my bliss;
To relieve the soft pains of my breast,
I'd steal an ambrosial kiss.

'Tis she does the virgins excel,
No beauty with her can compare;
Love's graces around her do dwell,
She's fairest where thousands are fair.
Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray?
Oh! tell me at noon where they feed:
Shall I seek them on sweet-winding Tay?
Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed?