A Filial Remonstrance.
Scotland, mine auld respected mither, Sin threescore years have chased ilk ither Each son o' thine I've greeted "brither," Myself a Scot; And a' these years, without a swither, Have blest my lot. Down to last simmer, augkty-sax, Proud of my people and their acks: But since ! Gin e'er a Southron tax Me with my nation, I feel my very haffits wax Red as carnation! Monday, Pope Will swears white is white; Tuesday, that white is black as night. " What matters that the Tories flyte ? He never errs ! 'lis all tho same, black, white, wrang, right, To worshippers. " Blow up tho chanter, banners wave ; -Who trusts not Gladstone is a knave ; Wale none but his twice-shackled slave As representant!" One day you'll scowl upon his grave, O'er late repentant! What serpent tongue with forked stang, What rabid tyke with venom'd fang, Prevails to drive our Scots thus wrang In blood and brain ? Guid send Pasteur come soon alang To kill the bane !
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/ESD18871008.2.37.4
Bibliographic details
Evening Star, Issue 7337, 8 October 1887, Page 1 (Supplement)
Word Count
165A Filial Remonstrance. Evening Star, Issue 7337, 8 October 1887, Page 1 (Supplement)
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