Do ye mean the Scottish poet who wrote:

    Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame,
    Fareweel our ancient glory;
    Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name,
    Sae fam'd in martial story.
    Now Sark rins over Solway sands,
    An' Tweed rins to the ocean,
    To mark where England's province stands-
    Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

    What force or guile could not subdue,
    Thro' many warlike ages,
    Is wrought now by a coward few,
    For hireling traitor's wages.
    The English steel we could disdain,
    Secure in valour's station;
    But English gold has been our bane -
    Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

    O would, ere I had seen the day
    That Treason thus could sell us,
    My auld grey head had lien in clay,
    Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!
    But pith and power, till my last hour,
    I'll mak this declaration;
    We're bought and sold for English gold-
    Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

and

The drums of war were sounding far,
When Johnnie Cope cam tae Dunbar,
When Johnnie Cope cam tae Dunbar,
Upon a misty Morning

Cope Sent a a Message tae Dunbar
Said; 'Charlie meet me if you daur,
'And I'll learn you the arts of war,
'If you'll meet me in the morning'

Chorus:
Hey Johnnie Cope are you wauking yet,
Or are your drums a- beating yet?
If you were wauking I would wait,
Tae gang tae The Coals in the morning

When Charlie looked this letter upon,
He drew his sword the scabbard from,
Come follow me my merry men,
And we'll meet Johnnie Cope in the morning.

When Johnnie Cope he heard o' this,
He thought it wouldna be amiss,
To hae a horse in readiness,
To flee awa' inthe morning.

Fye now Johnnie, get up and run,
The Highland bagpipes mak a din,
It's better tae sleep in a hale skin.
For 'twill be a bloody morning.

When Johnnie Cope tae Dunbar came,
They spiered at him, 'where's a' your men?'
'The Deil confound me gin I ken,
For I left them a this morning.'

Now Jonnie troth, ye were na blate,
Tae come wi' news o' your ain defeat,
And leave your men in sic a strait
So early in the morning.

'Faith', quo Johnnie, 'I had sic fegs,
Wi' their claymores and their philabegs,
If I face them again Deil brak ma legs,
So I wish you a' good morning.'