Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
289 . SongAwa, Whigs, Awa
Chorus.—Awa’ Whigs, awa’!
Awa’ Whigs, awa’!
Ye’re but a pack o’ traitor louns,
Ye’ll do nae gude at a’.
And bonie bloom’d our roses; But Whigs cam’ like a frost in June, An’ wither’d a’ our posies. Awa’ Whigs, &c. Deil blin’ them wi’ the stoure o’t! An’ write their names in his black beuk, Wha gae the Whigs the power o’t. Awa’ Whigs, &c. Surpasses my descriving: The Whigs cam’ o’er us for a curse, An’ we hae done wi’ thriving. Awa’ Whigs, &c. But we may see him wauken: Gude help the day when royal heads Are hunted like a maukin! Awa’ Whigs, &c.