Complete Songs Of Robert Burns - online book

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No. 278. Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair.
Tune: Awa, Whigs, awa I Scots, Musical Museum, 1790, No. 263.
Chorus. [Awa, Whigs, awa! Awa, Whigs, awa ! Yire but a pack o' traitor louns, Yell do nae gude at a\
Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair,
And bonie bloom'd our roses; But Whigs cam like a frost in June,
An' wither'd a' our posies.]
Our ancient crown's fa'en in the
Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't,
And write their names in his black
Wha gae the Whigs the power o't!
[Our sad decay in Church and State
Surpasses my descriving : The Whigs cam o'er us for a curse,
An' we hae done wi' thriving.]
Grim Vengeance lang has taen a nap, But we may see him waukin ; Gude help the day when royal heads Are hunted like a maukin !