From the pen of Robert Burns

[flakey_foont]

change a few of the words...and well, maybe a little prescient, no?

SUCH A PARCEL OF ROGUES IN A NATION

Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame,
Fareweel our ancient glory,
Fareweel even to the Scottish name,
Sae famed in martial story.
Now Sark runs o'er the Solway sands,
And Tweed runs 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 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 lain in clay
Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!
But pith and power, till my last hour,
I'll make this declaration,
We're bought and sold for English gold:
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation.

[1monster]

1. Bobby Burns did have a way with words. Here's another. If you

picture Lady Liberty as the Bonnet wearing Lady in the Church, it also rings as prescient, especially the fianl verse.

To A Louse
Robert Burns
On Seeing One on a Lady's Bonnet at Church

Ha! whare ye gaun' ye crowlin ferlie?
Your impudence protects you sairly;
I canna say but ye strunt rarely
Owre gauze and lace,
Tho faith! I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an sinner,
How daur ye set your fit upon her--
Sae fine a lady!
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner
On some poor body.

Swith! in some beggar's hauffet squattle;
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle;
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle;
In shoals and nations;
Whare horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle
Your thick plantations.

Now haud you there! ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rils, snug an tight,
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right,
Till ye've got on it--
The vera tapmost, tow'rin height
O' Miss's bonnet.

My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump an grey as onie grozet:
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell, red smeddum,
I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't,
Wad dress your droddum!

I wad na been surpris'd to spy
You on an auld wife's flainen toy
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy,
On's wyliecoat;
But Miss's fine Lunardi! fye!
How daur ye do't?

O Jeany, dinna toss your head,
An set your beauties a' abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie's makin!
Thae winks an finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin!

O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us
An foolish notion:
What airs in dress an gait wad lea'es us,
An ev'n devotion!

[DeepModem Mom]

2. Yes! Thanks, flakey. nt

[Idylle Moon Dancer]

3. Great poem

I used to have a recording of it set to music by Steeleye Span. Alas, no more.

[flakey_foont]

4. I have that album

a few of Steeleye Span's thing...all great