Fareweel to a' our Scotish fame, 
Fareweel our ancient glory; 
Fareweel ev'n to the Scotish name, 
Sae fam'd in martial story! 
Now Sark rins o'er the Solway 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' [bad word] 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!