This rortie wretched city Sair come down frae its auld hiechts The hauf o't smug, complacent, Lost til all pride of race or spirit, The tither wild and rouch as ever In its secret hairt But lost alsweill, the smeddum tane, The man o'independent mind has cap in hand the day Sits on its craggy spine And drees the wind and rain That nourished all its genius Weary wi centuries This empty capital snorts like a great beast Caged in its sleep, dreaming of freedom.
Notice the smug suppressions of his face. In his mouth are Lies in the shape of false teeth.
Webster's New World Dictionary of Quotations Copyright © 2010 by Chambers Harrap Publishers Ltd. All rights reserved. Published by Wiley, Hoboken, NJ. Used by arrangement with John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
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