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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 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, 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 gray 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.
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