Alexander McLachlan, The Emigrant, and Other Poems (Toronto: Rollo and Adam, 1861): 27-28. Internet Archive.
1Old England is eaten by knaves,
2 Yet her heart is all right at the core,
3May she ne'er be the mother of slaves,
4 Nor a foreign foe land on her shore.
5I love my own country and race,
6 Nor lightly I fled from them both,
7Yet who would remain in a place
8 Where there's too many spoons for the broth.
9The squire's preserving his game.
10 He says that God gave it to him,
11And he'll banish the poor without shame,
12 For touching a feather or limb.
13The Justice he feels very big,
14 And boasts what the law can secure,
15But has two different laws in his wig,
16 Which he keeps for the rich and the poor.
17The Bishop he preaches and prays,
18 And talks of a heavenly birth,
19But somehow, for all that he says,
20 He grabs a good share of the earth.
21Old England is eaten by knaves,
22 Yet her heart is all right at the core,
23May she ne'er be the mother of slaves,
24 Nor a foreign foe land on her shore.
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