Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/420

 

Weary fa' the Lawland loon Wha took frae him the British croun; But blessings on the kilted clans That fought for him at Prestonpans.

Geordie sits in Charlie's chair, Deil tak him gin he bide there; Charlie yet shall mount the throne, Weel ye ken it is his own.  undefined 

Farewell to a' our Scottish fame, Farewell our ancient glory; Farewell e'en to the Scottish name, Sae famed in ancient story! Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands, And Tweed rins to the ocean, To mark where England's province stands: Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

What force or guile could not subdue Through many warlike ages, Is wrought now by a coward few For hireling traitors' wages. The English steel we could disdain, Secure in valour's station; But English gold has been our bane: Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

I would, ere I had seen the day That treason thus could sell us, My auld grey head had lain in clay Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace! But pith arid power, to my last hour I'll make this declaration,— We're bought and sold for English gold: Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!  undefined