|
Post by Waverley on Oct 16, 2009 7:33:23 GMT 1
Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame, Fareweel our ancient glory! Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name. Sae famed in martial story! Now Sark rins over Salway sands, 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 Is wrought now by a coward few For hireling traitor's 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! 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! 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! One can only wonder what Rabbie would have to say about the present day Scots Parliament if he was alive...over to you BlueRon221. ;D
|
|
|
Post by helen on Oct 16, 2009 9:27:02 GMT 1
Burns wid probably hiv voted SNP Charlie his song wiz an anti union song and wiz cursin the thirty wan Scots that kerried the treaty of 1707, Burns saw thame as traitors who selt us oot fur English money and favour. Ahv goat the Corries singing this song and ah luv the tune and whit kin ah say aboot the wurds, except that they wurr written by the greatest poet known tae man Rabbie Burns.
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Oct 18, 2009 20:27:37 GMT 1
Rabbie could be a bit fickle at times. He wisnae always railing against the Establishment:
Does haughty Gaul invasion threat, Then let the louns bewaure, Sir! There's wooden walls upon our seas And volunteers on shore, Sir! The Nith shall run to Corsincon, And Criffel sink in Solway, Ere we permit a foreign foe On British ground to rally!
O, let us not, like snarling tykes, In wrangling be divided, Till, slap! come in an unco' loun, And wi' a rung decide it! Be Britain still to Britain true, Amang oursels united! For never but by British hands Maun British wrongs be righted!
The kettle o' the Kirk and State, Perhaps a clout may fail in't, But de'il a foreign tinkler loun Shall ever ca' a nail in't! Our fathers' blude the kettle bought, And wha wad dare to spoil it, By Heavens! the sacrilegious dog Shall fuel be to boil it!
The wretch that would a tyrant own, And the wretch, his true-sworn brother, Who'd set the mob above the throne, May they be damned together! Who will not sing, God Save the King Shall hang as high's the steeple; But while we sing, God Save the King, We'll ne'er forget the people!
|
|