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| FAREWEEL to a’ our Scottish fame, | |
| Fareweel our ancient glory; | |
| Fareweel ev’n to the Scottish name, | |
| Sae fam’d in martial story. | |
| Now Sark rins over Solway sands, | 5 |
| An’ 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, | |
| Thro’ many warlike ages, | 10 |
| Is wrought now by a coward few, | |
| For hireling traitor’s wages. | |
| The English stell we could disdain, | |
| Secure in valour’s station; | |
| But English gold has been our bane— | 15 |
| Such a parcel of rogues in a nation! | |
| |
| O would, or I had seen the day | |
| That Treason thus could sell us, | |
| My auld grey head had lien in clay, | |
| Wi’ Bruce and loyal Wallace! | 20 |
| But pith and power, till my last hour, | |
| I’ll mak this declaration; | |
| We’re bought and sold for English gold— | |
| Such a parcel of rogues in a nation! | |
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