Songs, naval and military. [Two lines from Pope]

SONGS, NAVAL AND MILITARY.

RULE BRITANNIA.

WHEN Britain first at Heaven's command, Arose from out the azure main, This was the charter, the charter of the land, And guardian Angels sung the strain, Rule, Britannia, Britannia rule the waves, Britons never will be slaves.

II.

The Nations (not so blest as thee) Must in their turns to Tyrants fall; While thou shalt flourish great and free, The dread and envy of them all.

III.

Still more majestic shalt thou rise, More dreadful from each foreign stroke▪ As the loud blast that tears the skies, Serves but to root thy native oak.

IV.

Thee, haughty Tyrants ne'er shall tame; All their attempts to bend thee down, Will but arouze thy gen'rous flame, But work their woe, and thy renown.

V.

To thee belongs the rural reign, Thy cities shall with commerce shine; All shine shall be the subject Main, And ev'ry shore it circles thine.

VI.

The Muses still with freedom found, Shall to thy happy coasts repair; Blest Isle! with matchless beauty crown'd, And manly hearts to guard the Fair. Rule, Britannia, Britannia rule the waves, Britons never shall be slaves.

GOD SAVE THE KING

I.

GOD save great GEORGE our King, Long live our noble King, God save the King. Send him victorious, Happy and glorious, Long to reign over us, God save the King.

II.

O Lord our God arise, Scatter his enemies, And make them fall; Confound their politics, Frustrate their knavish tricks, Or him our hopes we fix; God save us all.

III.

Thy choicest gifts in store, On GEORGE be pleased to pour, Long may he reign;

May he defend our Laws, And ever give us cause With heart and voice to sing God save the King.

I.

WHEN mighty Roast Beef was the English|man's food, It enobled our veins, and enriched our blood; Our soldiers were brave, and our courtiers were good. O the roast beef of Old England! And Old English roast beef.

II.

But since we have learnt from all conqu'ring France To eat their ragouts as well as to dance, We're fed up with nothing—but vain complai|sance; O the roast beef, &c.

III.

Our fathers of old, were robust, stout and strong, And kept open house with good cheer all day long Which made their plump tenants rejoice in this song: O the roast beef, &c.

IV.

But now we are dwindled to—what shall I name? A sneaking poor race, half begotten—and tame, Who sully those honours that once shone in fame; O the roast beef, &c.

V.

When good Queen Elizabeth sat on the throne, Ere coffee, or tea, or such slip-slops were known, The world was in terror, if e'er she did frown; O the roast beef, &c,

VI.

In those days, if fleets did presume on the main, They seldom or never return'd back again; As witness the vaunting Armada of Spain. O the roast beef, &c.

VII.

Oh! then they had stomachs to eat and to fight, And, when wrongs were a cooking, to do them|selves right; But now we're a pack of—I could—but good night. O the roast beef of Old England! And Old English roast beef.

I.

SAY, lovely peace, that grac'd our Isle, Why you withdraw th'indulgent smile? Is it, you fly the sons of fame, That they the pride of France may tame? For Mars is rouz'd by war's alarms, And calls the Britons forth to arms.

II.

Our chief's, renown'd upon the main, Once more shine forth in arms again, Whose steady courage dares oppose And stem the pow'r of Gallic foes, For Mars, &c,

III.

What state but does its fate deplore, Where e'er the British thunders roar? All, all must in subjection bow; And to Britannia's sons 'tis due. For Mars, &c.

IV.

As Rome of old her terrors hurl'd, And prov'd the mistress of the world,

The globe itself must subject be To Albion's sons, who rule the sea; For Mars, &c.

V.

Arise, arise, to war's great call; Prepare to meet th' audacious Gaul; And, in return for all your toils, Return with victory and spoils: For Mars is rouz'd by war's alarms, And calls the Britons forth to arms.

I.

BRITANNIA, Queen of Ocean rise, Perfidious Gallia's threats despise, Send sorth the fleet;—each hostile shore, Shall tremble when thy cannons roar.

II.

Thy sword the hand of justice draws, And Heaven approves thy righteous cause; Nor forts nor forces stop thy way, So Minden so Quebec can say.

III.

Not more affrighted flies the deer, When he perceives the hunter near, Than Gallia's fleets when they descry, The British ensign waving high.

IV.

Then strike again some deadly blow, And urge thy vengeance on thy foe; Till vanquish'd tyranny submit, To what is just and what is fit.

V.

Nor may kind Heav'n the time prolong, E'er thou shalt verify my song;

Shalt bid the horrid havock cease, And give the nations lasting peace.

VI.

Return sweet peace return once more, With commence spread the ocean o'er; Ah! soon return and spread the sail, And riches bring with every gale.

I.

FROM those eternal regions bright, Where Suns that never set in night, Diffuse the golden day; Where spring, unfading, pours around, O'er all the dew impearled ground, Her thousand colours gay, Her thousand colours gay.

II.

The Messenger of Heaven's high King, I come, and happy tidings bring, To cheer this drooping Isle; Behold! her cruel foes are fled, Behold! fair freedom lifts the head, And all her children smile, And all her children smile.

III.

The dawn that now unveils her skies, Sees England's future glory rise, A better age is born; Then let each voice of sprightly strain Around, from warbling hill and plain, Hail this triumphant morn, Hail this triumphant morn.

RUSSEL's TRIUMPH.

I.

THursday in the morn, the nineteenth of May, Recorded be forever the famous ninety-two, Brave Russel did discern by break of day, The lofty sails of France, advancing too; All hands aloft they cry, Let English courage shine, Let fly a culverine, The signal of the line, Let every man supply his gun, Follow me, You shall see That the battle it will soon be won.

II.

Tourville on the main, triumphant roll'd, To meet the gallant Russel, in combat o'er the deep He led his noble troop of heroes bold, To sink the English Admiral and his fleet; Now every gallant mind, To victory does aspire, The bloody fight's begun, The sea is all on fire, And mighty fate stood looking on, Whilst the flood, All with blood, Fill the scuppers of the Rising Sun.

III.

Sulphur, smoke, and fire, disturbing the air, With thunder and wonder affright the Gallic shore, Their regulated bands stood trembling near, To see their lofty streamers now no more, At six o'clock the red The smiling victors led,

To give the second blow, The total overthrow. Now death and horror equal reign. Now they cry Run or die, British colours ride the vanquish'd main.

IV.

See they fly amaz'd o'er rocks and sands, One danger they grasp to shun a greater fate, In vain they cry for aid to weeping lands, The nymphs and sea-gods mourn their lost estate Forever more adieu, Thou ever-dazzling sun, From thy untimely end, Thy master's fate begun, Enough thou mighty God of war, Now we sing, Bless the King, Let us drink to every English tar.

BRITISH GRENADIERS

I.

SOME talk of Alexander, And some of Hercules, Of Nestor and Lysander, And some such scrubs as these: But all the world acknowledges, That courage true appears In the tow, row, row, dara dow Of the British Grenadiers.

II.

Not one of these Commanders E're saw a canon-ball,

Nor knew the force of powder To slay their foes withall. But we, brave boys, do know it well, And banish all our fears, With the tow, row, &c.

III.

The Grecians hide was iron, Except his Worship's heel, And all those rusty Heroes Were safely cased in steel, But we, brave boys, without it Wou'd make such Heroes stare. Achilles himself wou'd enter A British Grenadier

IV.

For when we are commanded To storm their pallisades, Our leaders march with fuses, And we with hand-grenades; We toss them from the glacis, About our enemies ears. With the tow, row, &c.

V.

Nor want we lads of metal To throw the hand-grenades, To overset their breast-works, And storm their pallisades. Behold the Sons of Thunder, With their caps of fur appear. With the tow, row, &c.

VI.

And when the seige is over, We march into the Town, The mob they cry huzza, boy, The Grenadiers are come.

The Ladies in their best attire, In silk and lace appear, Contending who shall first be kiss'd By a British Grenadier.

VII.

The God of War stood pleased, And great Bellona smil'd, To see the British Heroes March o'er the warlike field; And all the Gods celestial, Descending from their spheres, Beheld with admiration The British Grenadiers.

VIII.

No fabled God's protection We ask, nor do we boast. Great George himself commands us, 'Tis he who rules the roast. Nor dread we e'er their tow, row, row, To thunder in our ears; Obedience bends the valour Of the British Grenadiers.

IX.

Then be you Whig or Tory, Or any luke-warm thing, Give ear unto my story, Be true to George your King; For shou'd you prove rebellious He'll thunder in your ears, With the tow, row, row, dara dow▪ Of all his Grenadiers.

X.

Then let us fill our bumpers, And drink a health to those Who carry caps and pouches, And wear the looped cloaths.

May they and their Commanders Live happy many years. With the tow, row, row, dara dow, Of the British Grenadiers.

BRITAIN's REMEMBRANCER. For the Years 1758 and 1759.

I.

COME listen a while and I'll tickle your ears, With a few little vict'ries, by which it ap|pears We have gain'd from the French in two little years. Which no-body can deny, which no-body, &c.

II.

We have beat them, my boys; and I'll hold you a pound, We shall beat them, my boys, upon sea or dry ground, We shall beat them as long as the world goes round. Which no body, &.

III.

With Guadaloupe first I embellish my strain; Then a cluster of sorts croud into my brain, Crown-Point, Frontenac, Niagara, Duquesne. Which no-body, &c.

IV.

Quebec we have taken, and taken Breton; Tho' the coast was so steep, that a man might as soon, As the Frenchmen imagin'd, have taken the moon. Which no-body, &c.

V.

Senegal we have taken, and taken Goree, And thither we trade for our blacks, do you see; For who shou'd buy slaves, but those that are free? Which no-body, &c.

VI.

Then at Minden you know, we defeated our foes, Tho' our horse stood aloof without coming to blows, And why no-body's hanged for it, nobody knows. Which no-body, &c.

VII.

Boscawen at Lagos, and Hawke in the bay, Your vict'ries had I but room to display, I'm sure I should not have done singing to-day▪ Which no-body, &c.

VIII.

Oh! what is become of the fleet out of Brest? Some are burnt, some are taken, and where are the rest? Why some are fled east, and some are fled west. Which no-body, &c.

IX.

Some ten fathom deep in the sea may be found, And some in the river Villaine are a-ground, Where they lie very safe, but not very sound. Which no-body, &c.

X.

Let France then all title to glory resign, For these years shall unmatch'd in our histories shine, The renown'd fifty-eight, and the great fifty-nine. Which no-body can deny.

Sung in the Opera of Eliza.

WHEN all the Attic fire was fled, And all the Roman virtue dead, Poor freedom lost her seat. Poor freedom lost her seat. The Gothic mantle spread the night, That damp'd fair virtue's fading light. The muses lost their mate. The muses lost their mate. Where should they wander, Where should they wander. What new shore Had yet a laurel left in store. To this blest isle they steer, To this blest isle they steer. Soon the Parnassan choir was heard, Soon Virtue's sacred form appear'd, And freedom soon was here, And freedom soon was here. The lazy Monk has lost his cell, Religion rings her hollow bell, She calls thee now by me, She calls thee now by me. Hark, hark, hark, her voice all plaintive sounds, See, see, see, she receives a thousand wounds. If shielded not by thee. If shielded not by thee.

THE STORM.

CEASE, rude Boreas, blust'ring railer, List ye landsmen all to me; Mess-mates, hear a brother sailor Sing the dangers of the sea.

From bounding billows first in motion; When the distant whirlwinds rise, To the tempest troubled Ocean, Where the Seas contend with skies.

II.

Hark the Boatswain hoarsely bawling, By top-sail sheets and haul-yards stand, Down top-gallants, down be hauling,— Down your stay-sails, band, boys, hand! Now it freshens, set the braces,— Now the top—sail sheets let go, Luff, boys luff, don't make wry faces,— Up your top-sails nimbly clew.

III.

Now all you on down beds sporting, Fondly lock'd in beauty's arms; Fresh enjoyments, wanton courting, Safe from all but love's alarms. Around us roars the tempest louder, Think what fears our minds enthrall; Harder yet, it yet blows harder, Now again the Boatswain's call.

IV.

The top-sail yards point to the wind boys, See all clear to reef each course— Let the fore-sheet go, don't mind boys, Tho' the weather should be worse. Fore and aft the spritsail yard get, Reef the mizen, see all clear, Hands up, each preventer-brace set, Man the fore-yard, cheer lads, cheer.

V.

Now the dreadful thunder roaring, Peal on peal contending clash, On our head fierce rain falls pouring, In our eyes blue lightnings flash.

One wide water all around us, All above us one black sky; Different deaths at once surround us, Hark! what means that dreadful cry.

VI.

The foremast's gone! crys every tongue out, O'er the lee, twelve feet above deck; A leak beneath the chest-tree's sprung out, Call all hands to clear the wreck. Quick, the lanyards cut to pieces; Come my hearts be stout and bold, Plumb the well—the leak increases, Four feet water's in the hold!

VII.

While o'er the ship wild waves are beating We for wives or children mourn; Alass! from hence there is no retreating, Alass! to them there's no return. Still the leak is gaining on us, Both chain-pumps are choak'd below; Heaven have mercy here upon us! For only that can save us now.

VIII.

O'er the lee beam is the land boys, Let the the guns o'er beard be thrown, To the pump come every hand boys, See our mizen-mast is gone. The leak we've found, it cannot pour fast, We've lighten'd her a foot or more; Up and rig a jury fore-mast, She rights, she rights, boys we'er off shore.

IX.

Now once more on joys we'ere thinking, Since kind fortune sav'd our lives; Come the cann, boys let's be drinking, To our Sweet-hearts and our wives.

Fill it up, about ship wheel it, Close to the lips a brimmer join; Where's the tempest, now who feels it, None—all our danger's drown'd in wine.

The NEW ALBION SONG.

I.

IN strains harmonious sound the lay, That sings of Albion's noble race; Wnose free-born minds will ne'er decay, Nor time their glorious deeds deface. Nor time, &c.

II.

In valour matchless, divinely brave, We nobly conquer, humanely save; No dangers, fear nor toils we shun, Honour inspires each Albion son. Honour inspires, &c.

III.

In chearful ranks our bands advance, With heroic ardour dare the foe; Tho' haughty Spain and fickle France, With horror dreads the impending blow. In valour, &c.

IV.

Our fleets triumphant ride the main, With Albions mann'd, unknown to fear; Whose fame all nations shall proclaim, By conquest gain'd each warring year. In valour, &c.

V.

See liberty's propitious smile, And plenty's copious horn o'er flow,

To bless and guard our native isle. Where artists flourish, science grow. In valour, &c.

VI.

Illustrious sons of Albion's line, Who thus in legions firm unite, Require the all recording nine To sing your deeds and martial might. In valour, &c.

THE ORIGIN OF ENGLISH LIBERTY.

I

ONCE the Gods of the Greeks at ambrosial feast, Large bowls of rich nectar were quaffing, Merry Momus among them was sat as a guest; Homer says the Celestials lov'd laughing, On each in the synod the humourist droll'd, So none could his jokes disapprove; He sung, repartee'd, and some smart stories told, And at last thus began upon Jove:

II.

Sire Atlas who long has the universe bore, Grows grieviously tir'd of late, He says that mankind are much worse than be|fore, So he begs to be eas'd of their weight. Jove knowing the earth on poor Atlas was hurl'd From his shoulders commanded the ball; Gave his daughter Attraction command of the world, And she hung it up high in his hall.

III.

Miss pleas'd with the present review'd the globe round, To see what each climate was worth, Like a diamond the whole with an atmosphere bound, And she variously planted the earth; With silver, gold, jewels, she India endow'd, France and Spain she taught vineyards to fear, What suited each clime on each clime she be|stow'd, And freedom she found flourish'd here.

IV.

Four cardinal virtues she left in this Isle, As guardians to cherish the root, The blossoms of liberty gayly 'gan t' smile, And Englishmen fed on the fruit: Thus fed and thus bred from a bounty so rare, O preserve it as free as 'twas giv'n, We will while we've breath, nay, we'll grasp it in death, Then return it untainted to Heav'n.

SEE, see, the conqu'ring hero comes, Sound the trumpet, beat the drums, Sports prepare, the laurels bring, Songs of triumph to him sing: See the god-like youth advance, Breathe the flutes and lead the dance.

Written by Dr. Smollet, in the TARS of OLD ENGLAND.

.I

BEHOLD my brave Briton's the fair spring|ing gale, Fill a bamper and toss off your glasses,

Buss and part with your frolicksome lasses, Then aboard and unfurl the wide flowing sail.

CHORUS.

While British oak beneath us rolls, And English courage fires our souls; To crown our toils, the fates decree, The wealth and empire of the sea.

II.

Our canvas and cares to the winds we display, Life and fortune we cheerfully venture; We laugh and we quaff and we banter, Nor think of to-morrow, whilst sure of to-day▪

CHORUS.

While British Oak, &c.

III.

The streamers of France at a distance appear, We must mind other music than catches; Man your quarters and handle your matches, Your cannon advance and for battle prepare.

CHORUS.

While British Oak, &c.

IV.

Engender'd in smoke and deliver'd in flame, British vengeance roars loud as the thunder; Let the vault of the sky burst asunder, So victory follows with riches and fame.

CHORUS.

While British Oak, beneath us rolls, And Irish courage fires our souls; To crown our toils the fates decree, The wealth and empire of the sea.

THE TRUE BRITON.

I.

YE true Britons all, whose brave loyalty dares, To face the French King, and his Popi snares.

Exert all your might in sound liberty's cause, And stand by true Britons, and stand by their laws.

CHORUS.

Then arm, arm, arm let all true Britons cry, Let us live free, or Britons let us die.

II.

If France and the Pope, would your senses de|ceive, Be cautious to hearken, be slow to believe; They'll tell us fine stories to tickle our ears, And gild their designs, to dispel Briton's fears.

Then arm, &c.

III.

Come then brother Britons and join me in hand, United thus bravely, let's guard our own land. Mean while let our fleets but reside on the main, Then Britons most nobly their rights will main|tain.

Then arm, &c.

IV.

Then haste to the bottle, and joyously sing, To glory and health, and long life to our King; In a bumper drink lasting success to our arms, That Britons may ever be free from alarms.

CHORUS.

Then arm, arm, arm let all true Britons cry, Let us live free, or Britons let us die.

FOR SAINT GEORGE's DAY.

I.

WHEN Britain first at Heav'n's command Arose from out the azure main,

This was the charter of the land. And guardian Angels sung this strain:

Rule Britannia, Britannia rule the waves, Britons never shall be slaves,

II.

To guard this charter's sacred rights, St. GEORGE, the British champion rose, In foreign fields and martial fights. He still prevail'd o'er England's soes,

Hail great GEORGE, the British champion hail Thy deathless honours ne'er can fail,

III.

Success still crown'd his shining arms, Where e'er the call of freedom led; His breast the thirst of honour warms, And smiling beauty blest his bed.

CHORUS.

Hail, &c.

IV.

Subdu'd at length, by age and toils, The hero sought his native sky; And left his sons the well-earn'd spoils, Of honour, peace and liberty.

Hail, great GEORGE, triumphant hero hail, Tay, &c.

V.

From yonder heav'n illumin'd cloud, He views benign his children here, While kindred spirits warble loud, St. GEORGE'S sons deserve his care.

CHORUS.

Hail, &c.

VI.

Sweet vernal 〈◊〉〈◊〉 bedeck the morn, Let friendship crown the festive day; While heav'n born plenty pours her hera, And peace presides with harmony,

CHORUS.

Hail, &c.

I.

ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, The streamers waving in the wind, When black ey'd Susan came on board, Oh! where shall I my true-love find? Tell me jovial sailors, tell me true, If my sweet William sails among your crew?

II.

William, who high, upon the yard Rock'd by the billows to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard, He sigh'd and cast his eyes below; The cord slies swiftly thro' his glowing hands, And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.

III.

So the sweet lark, high pois'd in air, Shuts close his pinions to his breast, If chance his mate's shrill voice he hear, And drops at once into her nest. The noblest Captain in the British fleet Might envy William's lips those kisses sweet.

IV.

O Susan! Susan! lovely dear! My vows shall ever true remain; Let me wipe off that falling tear; We only part to meet again. Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee.

V.

Believe not what the landmen say, Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind; They'll tell the sailors, when away, In ev'ry port a mistress find: Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.

VI.

If to fair India's coast we sail, Thine eyes are seen in di'monds bright; Thy breath in Africa's spicy gale; Thy skin is ivory so white; Thus ev'ry beauteous object that I view Wakes in my soul some charms of lovely Sue

VII.

Tho' battle calls me from thy arms, Let not my pretty Susan mourn; Tho' cannons roar, yet safe from harm, William shall to his dear return: Love turns aside the balls that round me sly, Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.

VIII.

The Boatswain gave the dreadful word, The sails their swelling bosoms spread; No longer must she stay on board; They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head: Her less'ning boat unwilling rows to land; Adieu! she cry'd, and wav'd her lilly hand.

I.

WHO'd know the sweets of liberty? 'Tis to clime the mountain's brow, Thence to discern much industry At the harrow of the plow: 'Tis where my sons their crops have sown, Calling the harvest all their own.

II.

'Tis where the heart to trurth ally'd, Never felt unmanly fear,

'Tis where the eye, with milder pride, Nobly sheds sweet pity's tear. Such as Britannia yet shall see; These are the sweets of liberty,

COME CHEER UP MY LADS.

I.

COME cheer up my lads 'tis to glory we steer, To add something more to this wonderful year; To honour we call you, not press you like slaves, For who lives so free as we sons of the waves: Hearts of oak are our ships, Hearts of oak are our men, We always are ready, Steady, boys, steady, We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.

II.

We ne'er see our foes but we wish them to stay, They never see us but they wish us away; If they run, we follow, and drive them ashore, For if they won't fight us what can we do more. Hearts of oak, &c.

III.

They swear they'll invade us, these terrible foes, They frighten our women our children & beaus; But should their flat-bottoms in darkness get o'er, Still Britons they'll find to receive them on shore. Hearts of oak, &c.

IV.

We'll still make them run and we'll still make 'em sweat, In spight of the Devil and Brussel's gazette; Then cheer up my lads, with one voice let us sing, Our soldiers, our sailors, our Statesmen and King. Hearts of oak, &c.

The CHAISE MARINE.

I.

MY dearest life, wer't thou my wife, how happy should I be, And all my care in peace or war, Should be to pleasure thee; When up and down, from town to town, We jolly soldiers rove, Then you my Queen, in chaise marine, Small move like Queen of love.

II.

Your love I'd prize beyond the skies, Beyond the spoils of war, Would'st thou agree to follow me, In humble baggage car. For happiness tho in distress, In soldiers wives is seen, And pride in coach has more reproach, Than love in chaise marine.

III.

Oh! do not hold your love in gold, Nor set your heart on gain,

Behold the great with all their state, Their lives are care and pain. In house or tent, I'll pay no rent, Nor care nor trouble see, And every day I'll get my pay, And spend it merrily.

IV.

Love not those knaves great fortune's slaves, Who lead ignoble lives, Nor deign to smile on men so vile, Who fight none but their wives. For Britain's right and you we fight, And every ill defy, Should but the fair reward our care With love and constancy.

V.

If sighs nor groans nor tender moans, Can win your harden'd heart, Let love in arms, with all his charms, Then take a soldier's part. With fife and drum, the soldiers come, And all the pomp of war, Then don't think mean of Chaise Marine, 'Tis Love's triumphal Car

NEPTUNE's RESIGNATION, Written on the Naval Victory obtain'd by Sir Edward Hawke, Nov. 20, 1759, off Bellisle.

I.

THE wat'ry God, great Neptune, lay 〈◊〉〈◊〉 France 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and amorous play, On Amphitrite's breast;

When uproar rear'd its horrid head, The Tritons shrunk, the Neriads fled, And all their fear confest.

II.

Loud thunder shook the vast domain, The liquid world was wrapt in flame, The God amazed spoke! Ye winds go forth and make it known, Who dares to shake my coral throne, And fill my realms with smoke.

III.

The winds obsequious at his word, Sprung strongly up t'obey their lord, And saw two fleets away; One victorious Hawke was thine, The other Conflans wretched line, In terror and dismay.

IV.

Appall'd, they view Britannia's sons Deal death and slaughter from their guns, And strike the dreadful blow; Which caus'd ill-fated Gallic slaves To find a tomb in briny waves, And sink to shades below.

V.

With speed they fly and tell their chief That France was ruin'd past relief, And Hawke triumphant rode; Hawke! cry'd the fair, pray who is he, Who dare usurp this power at sea, And thus insult a God.

VI.

The Winds reply, in distant lands, There reigns a King, who Hawke commands, He scorns all foreign force;

And when his floating castles roll From sea to sea, from pole to pole, Geat Hawke directs their course,

VII.

Or when his winged bullets fly To punish fraud and perfidy, Or scourge a guilty land; Then gallant Hawke, serenely great, Tho' death and horror round him wait, Performs his dread command.

VIII.

Neptune with wonder heard the story, Of George's sway and Britain's glory, Which time can ne'er subdue; Boscawen's deeds and Saunders fame, Join'd to great Wolfe's immortal name, Then cry'd, can this be true.

IX.

A King! be sure must be a God, Who has such heroes at his nod, To govern earth and sea; I yield my trident and my crown, A tribute due to such renown, Great George shall rule for me.

A CANTATA.

RECITATIVE.

ALL in her fair sequester'd cell, Where happiness was wont to dwell, Contentment sat, with down-cast look, And these, (or words like these) she spoke.

AIR.

Genius of Albion! wake your Queen, Lo Gallia clouds the peaceful scene!

AIR changes.

Bid her arise her wrongs to see, Protect herself and cherish me!

RECITATIVE.

Britannia alarm'd, at Contentment's request. In a voice that confess'd her, her people addrest.

AIR.

Cast the olive wreath off, Arm, ye Britons, advance, Sound the trumpet, beat the drum, Point your thunders at France. Be brave▪ and convince them, their efforts are vain, For that GEORGE King of England, is King of the main; And that like your forefathers, these heroes of old, As you're born to be free, you've the sense to be bold.

I.

HE comes! he comes! the hero comes! Sound, sound your trumpets, beat, beat your drums; From port to port let cannons roar, His welcome to the British shore: His welcome, welcome, &c.

II.

Prepare, prepare your songs prepare, Loud, loudly rend the echoing air;

From pole to pole your joys resound, For virtue is with glory crown'd: For virtue, virtue, &c.

I.

IN story we're told How our Monarchs of old O'er France spread their royal domain; But no annals can show Their pride laid so low, As when brave GEORGE the second did reign.

II.

Of Roman and Greek Let same no more speak How their arms the old world did subdue: Thro' the nations around Let our trumpets now sound How Britons have conquer'd the new.

III.

East, west, north and south, Our cannon's loud mouth Shall the right of our Monarch maintain: On America's strand Amherst limit the land, Boscawen give law on the main.

IV.

Each poor and each town We still make our own, Cape-Breton, Crown point, Niagar; Guadaloupe, Senegal, Quebec's mighty sail Shall prove we've no equal in war.

V.

Tho Constans did boast He'd conquer our coast, Our thunder soon made Monsieur mute, Brave Hawke wing'd his way, Then pounc'd on his prey, And gave him an English salute.

VI.

At Minden you know, How we conquer'd the foe, While homeward their army now steers; Tho', they cry'd, British bands Are too hard for our hands, Begar we can beat them in heels.

VII.

While our heroes from home For laurels now roam, Shou'd the flat-bottom boats but appear, Our militia shall show No wooden shoe foe Can with freemen in battle compare.

VIII.

Our fortune, and lives, Our children and wives, To defend, is the time now or never; Then let each volunteer To the drum-head repair— King GEORGE and OLD ENGLAND forever.

HUZZA for the TARS of Old England.

I.

BRITANNIA no longer o'er injuries dreams, For France now has suffered for all her fly schemes,

Morblieu! cry the Monsieurs! indeed so it seems, Oh the brave tars of Old England, And oh, the Old English brave tars!

II.

Our George like our Henry, lo! makes France to bow! Our navy's our bulwark, the world shall allow; As long as we've Boscawen, Lockhart and Howe. Oh the brave tars of Old England, And oh, &c.

III.

Behold our Prince Edward, in glory's bright way, See conquest attends on his first bold essay, Then let's for the tars of Old England huzza! Oh the brave tars of Old England, And oh, &c.

For the Sons of ST. GEORGE.

Written at PHILADELPHIA.

Tune,—Black Sloven.

I.

YE SONS of ST, GEORGE, here assembled to day, So honest and hearty, so cheerful and gay; Come join in the chorus, and loyally sing In praise of your patron, your country and King

II.

Though plac'd at a distance from Britain's bold shore, From whence either we, or our fathers came o'er:

And in will, word, and deed, we are English|men all, Still true to her cause, and awake to her call.

III.

Let Cressey, Poitiers, and let Agincourt show, How our Ancestors acted some years ago; While Minden's red field, and Quebec shall proclaim, That their sons are not chang'd, or in nature or name.

IV.

Should the proud Spanish Dons but appear on the main, The Island * 1.1 they pilfer'd, by force to maintain; The brave sons of thunder our wrongs will re|dress, And teach them again what they learnt of Queen Bess.

V.

Tho' Rome's rapid eagle to Britain was borne; Both talons and feathers got plaguily torn; And Caesar himself, both with foot and with horse, Was glad to sneak off,—with "It's well 'twas no worse."

VI.

Tho' party contentions awhile may run high, When danger advances, they'll vanish and die; And all with one heart, hand, and spirit unite, Like Englishmen think, and like Englishmen fight.

VII.

Then here's to our King,—and O! long may he reign The Lord of those men, who are Lords of the main;

While all the contention among us shall be, To make him as happy as we are made free.

VIII.

And here's to the daughters of Britain's fair Isle, May freedom and they ever crown with a smile The sons of St. George, our good Knight so renown'd, The sons of St. George, even all the world round.

IN THOMAS AND SALLY.

RECITATIVE.

A VAST, my boy, avast, all hands on shore, Mess-mate, what cheer? Old England, hey once more, I'm thinking how the wenches will rejoice; Out with your presents, boys, and take your choice; I've an old Sweetheart—but look—there's the town: Weigh anchor, tack about and let's bear down.

AIR.

From plowing the ocean and thrashing Moun|seet, In Old England we're landed once more; Your hands, my brave comrades, holloo boys, what cheer? For a Sailor that's just come ashore:

II.

Those hectoring blades thought to scare us no doubt, And to cut us and flash us—Morblieu! But hold there, avast, they were plaguily out, We have slic'd them and pepper'd them too.

III.

Then courage my hearts, your own consequence know, Yon invaders shall soon do you right, The Lion may rouse when he hears the cock crow, But should never be put in a fright.

IV.

You've only to shun your nonsensical jars, Your damn'd party and idle contest; And let all your strife be, like us honest Tars, Who shall fight for his country best.

V.

A seafaring spark, if the maids can effect, Bid the simpering Gipsies look to't; Sound bottoms they'll find us in ev'ry respect, And our pockets well laden to boot.

VI.

The landsmen, may hap, in the way of discourse Have more art to persuade and the like; But 'ware those false colours; for better for worse Is the bargain we're willing to strike.

VII.

Now long live the King, may he prosperous reign Of no power, no faction afraid; May Britain's proud flag still exult o'er the main, At all points of the compass display'd.

VIII.

No quicksands endanger, no storms overwhelm, Steady, steady and safe may she sail;

No ignorant Pilots e'er sit at her helm, Or her anchor of liberty fail.

The MARQUIS OF GRANBY.

I.

THO' Austria and Russia, France, Flanders and Pruffia. Have heroes who claim truth's attention, In the roll of fair Fame, as he took down each name, Some Briton's I said he should mention: And since we have men, who are worthy his pen, Who for England act nobly as can be, When he saw me persist, then he open'd his list, And in front stood the Marquis of Granby.

II.

Old Time shook his Scythe, as he tott'ring stood by, His Iron Teeth dreadfully grated; Yet the sad looking Crone clear'd his brow from a frown, When Fame had my errand related. The Cheeks of the Churl, with a smile, seem'd to curl, And he answer'd me cheerful as can be, Saith the single look'd Seer, friend, this point's pretty clear, We all love the Marquis of Granby.

III.

Like curs in the manger, let malecontents rave, And talk how enfeebled our race is.

That our fathers were manly, were vig'rous and brave, And their hearts we might read in their faces; What our ancestors were, at present we are, I can prove it as plainly as can be, Let them that would see what a Briton should be, Behold but the Marquis of Granby.

IV.

Had the cynic Diogenes liv'd to this day, He'd thrown down his lanthorn to view him: He's esteem'd by the good and ador'd by the gay, And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 bark away to him; By his Monarch sent over, to break the French cover, With bold pack as staunch as staunch can be, And British true blues to hunt the French queves When led by the Marquiss of Granby.

V.

Bigot Spain has vast wealth, fickle France has rich wines, The Italians show marvellous banners. The Indians may boast of their emerald fill'd mines, But Lincolnshire boasts of its Manners; The di'mond when worn, the wearer adorn, And sparkle as brilliant as can be, But a flash from such toys is momentary joys, For the jewel of—is Granby.

VI.

Now the hazards of war for a season subside, His country commands not his duty; Blow winds to his wishes, be safety his guide, To England, love, friendship and beauty. From what do ye call Paderborn, may he happy return, Aye, quickly too, quickly as can be;

What shall we say then? Why their's Granby again, And again to the Marquis of Granby.

Written by Mr. GARRICK.

I.

HOW little do the landmen know, Of what we Sailors feel, When waves do mount, and grinds do blow! But we have hearts of steel. No danger can affright us; No enemy shall flout: We'll make the Monsieurs right us: So toss the can about.

II.

Stick stout to orders, mess-mates; We'll plunder, burn and sink: Then, France, have at your first-rates; For Britons never shrink. We rummage all we fancy; We'll bring them in by scores; And Moll, and Kate, and Nancy Shall roll in Louis d' ors,

III.

While here at Deal we're lying With our noble Commodore, We'll spend our wages freely, boys, And then to sea for more. In peace we'll drink and sing, boys; In war we'll never fly: Here's a health to George our King, boys, And the Royal Family.

BELLISLE MARCH; On the REVIEW.

I.

ALL hail to the King, That in youth's early spring, Such a promise of glory displays. May his race still extend, Freedom's cause to defend, And the fame of Old England to raise. May our Edwards of old, And our Harrys so bold, In his issue again and again be renew'd. That our sons on the main May their Empires maintain, And commerce in safety be pursu'd.

II.

With many a scar Behold from the war The brave legions of Britain advance: From Minden they come; Swell the fife, beat the drum, From Minden the terror of France: See the brave hardy crew As they pass in review, How they smile on their King's royal train: When these, their looks say Call us forth, we obey, And we'll fight all our battles again.

III.

From the east to the west, British valour confest, Standeth first on the records of fame.

Let Williamsdorf's plain, And the borders of Spain British faith, British courage proclaim. From the dangerous sword Of oppression restor'd, Fair freedom again shall display; In safety her wings For protection, while Kings Grateful homage to Britain shall pay.

IV.

The feats that were done By Philip's mad son, Were but trifles to glories like these; For ambition he fought, And the lust only sought Of his blood-thirsty rage to appease. But Britons more brave, Draw the sword but to save From such tyrants, the rights of mankind: And the weapon again When their end they obtain, Is in peace to the scabbard consign'd.

V.

A full flowing glass, Now to Granby we'll pass, And to each valiant leader beside; Nor forget the brave crew, That with hearts firm and true For their country all danger defy'd. Let the drum beat a charge, And the nation at large Rend the wide vaulted sky with their song, Till eccho the sound, From her grotto rebound, And the loud gratulation prolong.

The CAMP MEDLEY.

THE Lark was up, the morn was grey, The Drummers beat reveille; The jolly soldiers on the ground, In peaceful camp slept safe and sound:

Only one poor soldier who, Nought but love could e'er subdue; Wand'ring thro' the silent grove, There to vent his plaintive love.

For women are whimsical, changeable things, Their sweets, like the bees, they are mingled with stings, They're not to be got without toil, care and cost, They're hard to be got and are easily lost. For in seeking a fair one, I found to my smart, I know not the way, but I lost my own heart.

Ah, hapless, hapless day, When first I saw fair Biddy! My heart she stole away, My head she turn'd quite giddy. The world may laugh, and say, 'Tis wond'rous new to see A lover so sincere, A swain admire like me.

She's comely, tall, and slender, She's brighter than the sun: Her looks are kind and tender, But ah her heart's like stone, Too lovely still I found her, And every method tried,

In hopes to win and wound her, Yet still I was deny'd.

But now my hopes are over, What scheme then can I try? But like a hapless lover, Now lay me down and die. As on the ground he lay, Minerva came that way, In armour bright and gay, And thus to him did say:

Rise, soldier, rise, I'll take you by the hand, And I'll lead you thro' the land, I'll give you the command, Of a well-chosen band.

Rise, soldier, rise, Don't be stupid, Drive away Cupid, Follow Minerva's wise command.

Soldier, go home, Go home, ne'er mind your mistress's scorn; Slight, slight her again, For slighted love shou'd slight return.

The soldier then raised from his amorous sloth, Hasted away to his duty, Swore to Minerva a terrible oath, He never wou'd think of her beauty. Bachelor bluff, Bachelor bluff, Hey for a heart that is tougher than buff.

He that is single can never wear horns, He that is single is happy;

He that is married lays upon thorns, And always is ragged and shabby. Bachelor bluff, &c,

He that is single, he fears not the rout, Nothing to him can be sweeter; Having no wife that can whimper and pout, And cry can you leave me, dear creature. Bachelor bluff, &c.

Ye belles and flirts, so smart and so fair, Say, are not soldiers form'd for love? I'm sure you'll find them all sincere, Wou'd you but kind and constant prove.

But if you slight their passion still, And tyrannize, their wills to prove, Depend upon't, they'll all rebel, And will not give a thought to love.

Hold your prating, idle tongue. (Little laughing Cupid said) Have you never heard it sung, Constancy must win the maid?

Then ground your arms, ye sons of war, Who shine thro' Britain's happy Isle; Nor ever quarrel with the fair, But patient try to win their smile. Rule, ye fair, ye fair of Britain's isle, We'll patient try to win their smile.

YE HARDY SONS.

I.

YE hardy sons of honour's land, Where Freedom Magna Charta plan'd. Ye sov'reigns of the sea: On ev'ry shore where salt tides roll, From east to west, from pole to pole, Fair conquests celebrates your name, Witness'd aloud by wond'ring fame, When! when will you be free?

II.

Mistake me not, my hearts of oak, I scorn with liberty to joke, Ye sov'reigns of the sea. No right I blame, I praise no wrong, But sing an independent song;— Since Ministers must be withstood, And Patriots are but flesh and blood, I dare with both be free.

III.

Whilst strange told tales from scribblers pen. Disturb the heads of honest men, Ye sov'reigns of the sea; The trash of temporizing slaves, Who earn their daily bread as knaves. Heedless which side may rise or fall, The ready money—that's their all. Such fellows can't be free.

IV.

We meet for mirth, we meet to sing, And jolly join "God save the King," Ye sov'reigns of the sea. As honest instinct points the way, Our King, our country, we obey;

Yet pay to neither side our court, But liberty in both support, As men who shou'd be free.

V.

Assist, uphold your church and state, See great men good, and good men great Ye sov'reigns of the sea: Shun party, that unwelcome guest, No tenant for a Briton's breast. Forget, forgive, in Freedom's spite, Awe all abroad, at home unite, Then, then my friends you're free.

VI.

Ye sov'reigns of wide ocean's waves, To heroes long enshrin'd in graves, A requiem let us sing: I Alfred, Henry, Edward name,— Then William, our deliverer came:— May future ages Brunswick own, Perpetual heir to England's throne, So here's God save the King,

A SOLDIER's SONG.

I.

HOW stands the glass around, For shame ye take no care, my boys, Let mirth and wine abound; The trumpets sound; The colours they are flying, boys, To fight, kill, or wound, May we still be found, Content with our hard fate, my boys, On the cold ground.

II.

Why, soldiers, why, Shou'd we be melancholy, boys? Why, soldiers, why,— Whose bus'ness 'tis to die! What—sighing, fie! Damn fear, drink on, be jolly, boys, 'Tis he, you or I!— Cold, hot, wet or dry, We're always bound to follow, boys, And scorn to fly.

III.

'Tis but in vain,— I mean not to upbraid ye, boys, 'Tis but in vain For soldiers to complain; Shou'd next campaign Send us to him who made us, boys, We're free from pain, But if we remain, A bottle and kind landlady Cure all again.

HOSIER's GHOST,

By Mr. GLOVER.

AS near Porto-Bello lying On the gently swelling flood, At midnight, with streamers flying, Our triumphant navy rode.

There, while Vernon sat all glorious, From the Spaniards late defeat; And his Crews with shouts victorious, Drank success to Britain's fleet.

On a sudden, shrilly sounding, Hedious yells and shricks were heard; When, each heart with fear confounding, A sad troop of ghosts appear'd.

All in dreary hammocks shrouded, Which for winding-sheets they wore, And their looks by sorrow clouded, Frowning on that hostile shore.

On them gleam'd the moon's wan lustre, While the shade of Hosier brave, His pale band was seen to muster, Rising from their wat'ry grave.

O'er the glim'ring wave he hied him, Where the Burford rear'd her sail; With three thousand ghosts beside him, And in groans did Vernon hail.

"Heed, ah heed our fatal story, I am Hosier's injur'd ghost; You who now have purchas'd glory, In the place where I was lost.

Tho' in Porto-Bello's ruins, You now triumph free from fears; Think, ah think, on my undoing, And you'll mix your joy with tears.

See the mournful spectres sweeping, Ghastly o'er this hated wave;

Whose wan cheeks are stain'd with weeping; Those were English Captains brave.

Mark these numbers pale and horrid, These were once my sailors bold; Low each hangs his drooping forehead. While his dismal fate is told.

I, with twenty ships attended, Did this Spanish town affright; Nothing then its wealth defended, Save my orders not to fight.

O! that in the rolling ocean, I had cast them with disdain; And obey'd my heart's warm motion, To reduce the pride of Spain.

Then the bastimentos never, Had our foul dishonour seen; Nor the sea, the sad receiver, Of this gallant train had been.

For resistance, I could fear none, And with twenty ship had done What thou brave and happy Vernon, Hast atchiev'd with six alone.

After this proud foe dismaying, And her galleons leading home; Tho' condemn'd for disobeying, I had met a traitor's doom.

To have fallen, my country crying, He has played an English part; Had been better far, than dying Of a griev'd and broken heart.

Unrepining at thy glory Thy peaceful arms we hail; But remember my sad story, And let Hosier's wrongs prevail,

After this proud foe subduing, When your patriot friends you see, Think on vengeance for my ruin, And for England wrong'd in me.

ADMIRAL VERNON'S ANSWER TO HOSIER.

HOSIER, with indignant sorrow I have heard thy mournful tale, And if Heaven permit, to-morrow Our victorious fleet shall sail.

O'er these hostile billows roaming, We will urge our bold design; With the blood of thousands foaming, For our country's wrongs, and thine.

On that day when each brave fellow, Who now triumphs here with me, Storm'd and plunder'd Porto-Bello. All my thoughts were full of thee.

Thy disastrous fate alarm'd me, Sure thy image glar'd on high, And with gen'rous ardour warm'd me, To revenge thy fall or die.

From these lofty ships descending, Thro' the flood in firm array, To the destin'd city bending, Our lov'd sailors took their way.

Straight the foe with horror trembling, Quits in haste his batter'd walls; And in accents undissembling, As he flies for mercy calls,

Carthagena tow'ring wonder, At the daring deed dismay'd, Shall ere long by Britain's thunder, Smoaking in the dust be laid.

Still remember thy sad story, To thy injur'd ghost I swear, By my hopes of future glory, War shall be my future care.

And I'll never leave pursuing Spain's proud sons from sea to sea, With just vengeance for thy ruin, And for England wrong'd in me.

I.

WE'VE fought, we have conquer'd, and England once more, Shall flourish in fame as she flourish'd before;

Our fears are all fled with our enemy slain, Could they rise up anew we would slay them again.

II.

His Monarch to serve and to do himself right, No Englishman ever yet flinch'd from the fight; For why neighbours all, we're as free as the King, 'Tis that makes us brave, and 'tis that makes us sing.

III.

Our Prince too, for this, may be thankful to fate, For 'tis in our freedom he finds himself great; No force can be wanting, nor meaner court arts, He is master of all who reigns in our hearts.

IV.

Should rebels within, or should foes from without, Bring the crown on his head or his honour in doubt; We are ready, still ready, and boldly foretell, That conquest shall ever with liberty dwell.

V.

And now bring us forth, as the crown of our labour, Good wine and good cheer, with the pipe and the tabor; Let our Nymphs all be kind and our Shepherds all gay, For England, Old England is happy to-day.

TOM AND KATE; Or, the SOLDIER's FAREWELL.

HE.

I.

THO' the fate of battle on to-morrow wait, Let's not lose our prattle now my charm|ing Kate; Till the hour of glory, pleasure shou'd take place; Ne'er damp the joys before you, with a future case.

SHE.

II.

Faithful to my Tommy, it is all in vain To think that I will leave you, love, the whole campaign; Or e'er forget the filling each morn the bright canteen, So long as I've a shilling, Tom, my purse within.

HE.

III.

Here Kate, take my tobacco-box, the soldier's all, Lest ere night some Frenchman's knocks should doom my fall: That when I am dead and gone, fairly you may prove, You had my first, my last, my only pledge of love.

SHE.

IV.

Tom put up the box my dear, for thou'rt my all; And ever will I thee be near, if thou shoud'nt fall: But Heaven preserve my heart, who thus could faithful prove, I had his first, his last, his only pledge of love.

HE.

V.

But if for some bold action, I a halbert bear, O! think what satisfaction when my rank you share; O think and cease your mourning, all fine from top to toe; With rings your ears adorning, a laced cap and shoe.

SHE.

VI.

O! if a serjeant's lady I shou'd chance to prove, Clean linen I'd have always ready for my love. Nor ever more shou'd Kitty the Captain's laun|dress be; For I think myself too pretty, Tom, for all but thee.

HE.

VII.

Check that rising sigh, Kate, stop that falling tear, Come with me, my pretty Kate, and take thy geer, But hark! the Heavens befriend thee, hark! the drums command; Honour, I attend thee, love, I kiss thy hand.

SHE.

VIII.

I can't refrain from crying, tho' tears I disdain: Yet I own 'tis trying hard the point to gain. May guardian Angels shield thee, and conquest on thee wait. One kiss, and then I yield thee up, alass, poor Kate.

Gallant Sailor,

by Mr. GARRICK.

NAN.

I.

GALLANT Sailor oft you told me, That you'd never leave your love; To your vows I now must hold you, Now's the time your love to prove. To your vows, &c.

SAILOR.

II.

Is not Britain's flag degraded, Have not Frenchmen brav'd our fleet; How can Sailors live upbraided, While the Frenchmen dare to meet. How can Sailors, &c.

NAN.

III.

Hear me, gallant Sailor hear me, While your country has a foe; He is mine too, never fear me, I may weep, but you must go. He is mine too, &c.

IV.

Tho' this flow'ry season woos you, To the peaceful sports of May; And love sighs so long to leave you, Love to glory shall give way. Love to glory, &c.

SAILOR.

V.

Can the sons of Britain fail her, While her daughters are so true; Your soft courage must avail her, We love honour loving you. We love honour, &c.

BOATSWAIN.

VI.

War and danger now invite us, Blow ye winds auspicious blow; Ev'ry gale will most delight us, That can waft us to the foe. Ev'ry gale, &c.

HAIL ENGLAND.

I

HAIL England, Old England for glory renown'd, In arms as in arts so transcendently crown'd; 'Tis thine, strict to honour, no treaties to break, 'Tis thine to revenge, when that honour's at stake. Then now rise ye brave, draw the sword, point the lance, And bid the bold cannon roll thunder to France. CHORUS. Huzza—Huzza, Huzza, O ye Britons, to conquest pursue, The trumpet of victory's uplifted for you. The chorus to be repeated.

II.

Hark, truth speaks, already our heroes prevail, The rouz'd English Lion makes Gallia turn pale; Thy cunning, O France, its own fate will decree, Success attends on us by land and sea; And wide o'er the main, shall the British flag fly. To force that submission which pride wou'd deny. Huzza, Huzza, Huzza, &c.

III.

Britannia rejoices your ardour to see, My sons, fight she cries, 'tis for freedom and me; Tho Gallic ambition, alliance explore, You'll conquer them now, whom you've con|quer'd before; And triumph the truths to all nations shall sing, The ocean is George's and George is our King. Huzza, Huzza. Huzza, &c.

The SAILOR's FAREWELL.

Written by Capt. Thompson.

I.

THE topsail shivers in the wind, The ship she casts to sea; But yet my soul, my heart, my mind, Are, Mary, moor'd with the: For tho' thy sailor's bound afar, Still love shall be his leading star.

II.

Should landmen flatter when we'ere sail'd, O doubt their artful tales; No gallant sailor ever fail'd, If Cupid fill'd his sails: Thou art the compass of my soul, Which steers my heart from pole to pole.

III.

Sirens in every port we meet, More fell than rocks and wares;

But sailors of the British fleet Are lovers, and not slaves: No foes our courage shall subdue, Altho' we've left our hearts with you.

IV.

These are the cares; but if you're kind, We'll scorn the dashing main, The rocks, the billows, and the wind, The pow'rs of France and Spain, Now Britain's glory rests upon you, Our sails are full—sweet girls, adieu.

The SAILOR's RETURN.

I.

BEhold from many an hostile shore, And all the dangers of the main, Where billows mount, and tempests roar, Your faithful Tom returns again; Returns, and with him brings a heart That ne'er from Sally shall depart.

II.

After long toils and troubles past, How sweet to tread our native soil, With conquest to return at last, And deck our sweet-hearts with the spoil! No one to beauty should pretend, But such as dare its rights defend.

By Dr. ARNE.

I.

COME, Britannia shake thy lance, Plume thyself in martial pride;

Haste! thy glorious shield advance, Take again thy gallant stride. Think, oh think, on all thy noble story, Rouse thee to thy ancient glory.

II.

Hasten, hasten, hence away, All thy martial ardour show; Clad in terrible array, Thou shalt vanquish every foe. Think, oh think. &c, &c.

I.

COME all you brave Britons, who love your own land, Whose Sires were so brave, so victorious and free; Who always beat France, when they take it in hand; Come join honest Britons in chorus with me.

CHORUS.

Let's sing of our treasure, Old England's good cheer, On the profits and pleasure of stout British beer; For your wine tipling, dram sipling fellows retreat, But your beer drinking Britons will never be beat.

II.

The French with their vineyards, are meagre and poor, For they drink of the squeezings of half ripened fruit;

But we who have hop grounds to mellow our ale Are rosy and plump and have freedom to boot. Let's sing, &c.

III.

Should the French dare invade us, when arm'd with our poles, We'll bang their bare ribs, make their lan|thorn jaws ring; For we beef eating, beer drinking Britons are souls, Who will spend their last drop for their coun|try and King. Let's sing, &c.

OLD CHIRON.

I.

OLD Chiron thus preach'd to his pupil Achilles I'll tell thee young gentleman, what the fate's will is: You my boy, must go, (The Gods will have it so,) To the seige of troy.

II.

Thence never to return to Greece again, But before their walls to be slain. Yet let not your noble courage be cast down, But all the while you lay before the town Drink and drive care away, drink and be merry You'll never go the sooner to the Stygian Ferry

Bonny Lass in a Barrack.

I.

He. OH bonny lass will you lay in a barrack? Oh bonny lass will you lay in a barrack? Oh bonny lass will you lay in a barrack? And marry a soldier, and carry his wallet?

II.

She. O yes I will go, and I'll think no more on it, I'll marry a soldier and carry his wallet; I'll neither ask leave of my mother or daddy, But off, and away with my soldier laddie.

III.

He. But oh bonny lass! can you go a campain|ing, And bear the fatigue of a battle and famine? When weary and fainting, oh! would you be near me? If sick, or if wounded thy presence would cheer me.

IV.

She. Oh! yes I can bear all the hardships you mention, And twenty times more of you had but invention. If weary and fainting I'd ever be near thee; In pain or in sickness my presence should cheer thee.

Our 'PRENTICE TOM. In the Recruiting Officer.

I.

KITE. OUR 'Prentice Tom, may now refuse To wipe his scoundrel master's shoes, For now he's free to sing and play, Over the hills and far away.

II.

We shall lead more happy lives, By getting rid of brats and wives, That scold and brawl both night and day. Over the hills and far away.

III.

PLUME. Over the hills and over the main, To Flanders, Portugal or Spain; The King commands and we'll obey, Over the hills and far away.

IV.

Courage boys, 'tis one to ten, But we'll return all gentlemen; While conquering colours we display, Over the hills and far away.

GROG is the LIQUOR of LIFE.

I.

YE jolly true-blues of the main, Well skilled in heaving the log; Attend to a Sailor's rough strain, Who sings of your favourite Grog. For grog is the liquor of life, The delight of each bold British tar; It banishes sorrow and strife, And it softens the hardships of war.

II

Brave Vernon, to Britons still dear, O long may thou live, tho' incog, 'Twas some deity whisper'd thine ear, And hinted the health giving grog. For grog is the &c.

III.

His vineyards the Monsieur may boast, And delight in the soup of a frog; But too soon he shall find to his cost, That claret must yield to good grog. For grog, &c.

IV.

Each Saturday night that revolves, My mess-mate gives me a jog; To the wife or the sweet-heart he loves, He takes off a cann of good grog. For grog, &c.

V.

If Jove should as whilom descend, Of some female mortal a gog, His nectar as surely would mend By mixing his liquor with grog. For grog, &c.

VI.

I heard an Hibernian declare, By St. Patrick, tho' born in a bog That while he could see with an ear, No wine he would drink except grog For grog, &c.

VII.

No danger our hearts can dismay, No terror we feel from a flog; For what is a dozen a day, To a double allowance of grog? For grog, &c.

VIII.

Now 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is declar'd, let's advance, 〈…〉〈…〉 flincher be hang'd like a dog, 〈…〉〈…〉 to proud Spain or vain France, 〈…〉〈…〉 to freedom and grog. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 grog, &c.

The jolly Tar's Invitation.

I.

YE flaunting young landmen, a moment give ear, To a jolly young tarpaulin so plain and sincere: Tho' your cloaths are all kiver'd with silver and gould; With your salagee wigs so trim and so bould; Mayhap a pea jacket is not to be sould Then what can an honest Tarpaulin say more?

II.

Leave your scraping and bowing, and lubberly noise, Your outlandish lingo and gingerbread toys. We seamen are honest, and that's more than polite, No scholards so great as to read and to write; But shou'd France dare to invade us, 'od damme we'd fight. Then what can an honest Tarpaulin say more?

III.

No danger can startle the salt water soul, It sarves but to relish the jolly brisk bowl: In spite at all weather we wheel about ship, Good rumbo and bumbo, wish toddy and flip, 'Till our hearts like our vessel in liquor do skip. And what can an honest Tarpaulin say more?

IV.

Here's the Tartar our ship, just come to the nore; Then pri'thee my lads, adieu to the shore. Pipe all hands aboard, the willing and able, Weigh anchor, Eo! and rouse in your cable: We'll conquer or die, but mounseer we'll disable. And what can an honest Tarpaulin say more?

On the Reduction of MARTINICO.

I.

WHAT nation shall dare with Old England compare, Our atchievements our courage have shewn: Let us dance, let us sing, and huzza for our King, Martinico my boys is our own. Let us dance, let us sing, and huzza for our King, Martinico my boys is our own.

II.

Bold Monckton, whose soul not a fear can con|troul, And Rodney of spirit so great; We've convinc'd the proud slaves, that we lords of the waves, When we please can determine their fate. We've convinc'd, &c.

III.

Ev'ry warm British pill was sent sorth with such skill, As must fame everlasting procure ye. They kept out a good look, yet in hurry we took Their Tobago, Cape Vincent, St. Lucia. They kept out, &c.

IV.

Delatouche was sincere, when he slew to St. Pierre With design to take care of the pelf; Though courageous and stout, yet he could not hold out, All for reasons best known to himself. Though courageous, &c.

V.

Had you seen our brave Tars, who despise wounds and scars, Aloft on each eminence soar; With our cannon, yare ho! you'd confess it I know, That you never saw Lions before. With our cannon, &c.

VI.

Now to Spain we'll proceed, she shall smart for each deed, That like France would our ruin endeavour; Heav'n bless our bold train, both on land and the main, And King George and Queen Charlotte for ever. Heaven bless, &c

FLAT BOTTOM'D BOATS.

I.

OUR glory renown'd on the ocean and shore, To ages for aye shall be told, Hawke, Howe and Boscawen, Wolfe, Amherst and Moore, In the list of fair fame be enroll'd: In praise of such leaders then open your throats. And laugh at the French flat bottom'd boats.

II.

While Barrington swept off the tables Basterre, At Minden we not the odd trick: Shew'd Constans a trump or two, made him look queer, And won all they had at Quebec;

Then sing and be jolly boys, open your throats. And laugh at the French, &c.

III.

We'er ignorant what may betide us this year, But certain of this we are all; Her course how she will, let kind Providence steer, For freedom we'll fight and we'll fall: For King George, and Prince George, then open your throats, And laugh at the French, &c.

IV.

Like grey hounds half starv'd, they squint at our food, And fain from our beef wou'd be fed: You're welcome Monsieurs, if you'll wade to't in blood. I see you are far better bred. Paltroons! how they run! then open your throats, And laugh at the French, &c.

I.

BOUND out on a cruize, no Tar wou'd refuse, I've stow'd in compleatly my store; Two hundred bold men, I command once again, And shall shortly fall down to the Nore, the Nore, Shall shortly fall down to the Nore. I've room for a score or two, enter boys quick, A pound to a shilling we'll make the dogs sick. I've room, &c.

II.

In days of Queen Bess, we now are no less, Spain's vaunting Armada we beat:

And at it poor France, strait fell into a trance, That she has'nt recover'd of yet. In puffs only rich, of her treasure she's rid, We'll deal the same cards to the Dons of Madrid.

III.

Midst fire and smoke, when we give'em a stroke, The tawny bravado's shall fly▪ Nor priest, bell or book, shall 〈◊〉〈◊〉 'em good luck, As sure as they face us they die▪ Saints, wafers, and rags shall be blown into air, When once we have brought but 〈…〉〈…〉 dogs to bear.

IV.

Safe anchor'd my boys, in port of our joys, Snug under the guard of our guns: Their convents we'll strip, and freight the rich ship, With the plunder of priests and of nuns. Then speed the new Terrible well, and Huzza. And send her safe in the proud Panama.

I.

'TWAS when the seas were roaring With hollow blasts of wind; A damsel lay deploring, All on a rock reclin'd. Wide o'er the roaring billows She cast a wishful look, Her head was crown'd with willows That trembled o'er the brook.

II.

Twelve months were gone and over, And nine long tedious days; Why didst thou, vent'rous lover, Why didst thou trust the seas? Cease, cease then cruel ocean, And let my lover rest: Ah! what's thy troubled motion, To that within my breast?

III.

The Merchant robb'd of treasure, Views tempests in despair; But what's the loss of treasure To the losing of my dear. Should you some coast be laid on, Where gold and diamonds grow, You'd find a richer maiden, But none that love you so.

IV.

How can you say that nature Has nothing made in vain, Why then, beneath the water Do hideous rocks remain? No eyes these rocks discover That lurk beneath the deep, To wreck the wand'ring lover, And leave the maid to weep.

V.

All melancholy lying, Thus wail'd she for her dear, Repaid each blast with sighing. Each billow with a tear. When o'er the white waves stooping His floating corpse she spy'd, Then like a lilly drooping, She bow'd her head and dy'd.

I.

THE ordnance board, Such Joys does afford, As no mortal, no mortal, no mortal, No mortal e'er more can desire; Each member repairs From the Tower to the stairs, And by water wush, and by water wush, By water they all go to fire.

II.

Of each piece that's ashore, They search from the bore; And to proving, to proving, to proving, To proving they go in fair weather; Their glasses are large, And whene'er they discharge, There's a boo huzza, a boo huzza, a boo huzza, Guns and bumpers go off together.

III.

Old Vulcan for Mars, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 tool, for his wars, To enable him, enable him, enable him, Enable him to couquer the faster; But Mars, had he been On our Woolwich green, To have heard boo huzza, boo huzza, boo huzza He'd have own'd great Marlborough his master

In THOMAS and SALLY.

I.

AUspicious spirits guard my love, In time of danger near him bide;

With out-spread wings around him move, And turn each random ball aside. And you his foes, though hearts of steel, Oh! may you then with one accord, A sympathetic passion feel, Behold his face and drop the sword.

II.

Ye winds, your blustring fury leave, Like airs that o'er the garden sweep: Breathe soft in sighs, and gently heave The calm, smooth bosom of the deep. Till Halcyon peace return'd once more From blasts secure, and hostile harms; My Sailor views his native shore, And harbours safe in these fond arms.

A LOYAL SONG.

I.

SEE Royal Edward land, See him on Cherbourg strand, Bravely advance! Third Edward's glorious name, Bids emulate his fame, And Britons wrongs proclaim, Through bleeding France.

II.

Pour wine a copious rill, Next to bold Amherst fill, Boswawen—all! Swift from America, Drive, drive the French away, Sound forth with loud huzza Cape Breton's fall.

III.

With George we'll close the song, May Heaven his days prolong, A mighty store! O'er Britons brave and free, Who all as one agree, Flourish his progeny, Till time's no more.

The New LILLY BULLERO,

to the old Tune.

On the threatened Invasion from France.

By Mr. LOCKMAN.

THE French are a coming, as news-writers say, Lilly bullero, bullen a la. Will over our herring-pond force their mad way, Lilly bullero, bullen a la.

Rodney grasp our naval thunders, Dart them at the saucy foe; Their flat-bottom boats batter; Their ships of war shatter; Sink them as the centre low, Excited by Perkin some came here to spy, Lilly Bullero, bullen a la. Behold our rich products with ravenous eye, Lilly bullero, bullen a la.

These were not made for invaders; Slaves who bow to Rome the knee: But for Britons hearty Now all of a party, Hating soup meagre, and tyranny. Could the Monsieurs prevail, what dire havock were here. Lilly bullero, bullen a la. A strange metamorphosis soon would appear. Lilly bullero, bullen a la.

Half starv'd groups in wooden shoes skeating, Gibbets erected our faith to destroy; Pale nuns thro' grates peeping, Sighing and weeping, Mad after a man they must never enjoy. But take it for granted, some Frenchmen might land, Lilly bullero, bullen a la. What would their fate be, when on our strand, Lilly bullero bullen a la.

Hunted down by our new militia Soon they'd sad pecavi cry; To some wooden Saint mutter, Curses morblieu! and sputter, As on their backs they sprawling lie. When Pharoah pursued Israel in the red sea, Lilly bullero bullen a la, O'erwhelm'd was his host, and drowned was he, Lilly bullero bullen a la.

Monsieurs! the like doom may await you, Should you our British Lion provoke, Your bouncing armada, May prove Gasconada, And your grand project vanish in smoke

The SOGER LADDIE.

I.

MY Soger Laddie is over the seas, And he will bring gold and money to me; When he comes home he'll make me a lady; My blessing gang with my Soger Laddie.

II.

My lovely laddie is handsome and brave, And can as a Soger and Lover behave: He's true to his country, to love he is steady, There's few to compare to my Soger Laddie.

III.

Shield him, ye Angels, from death in alarms, Return him with laurels to my longing arms. Since from all my cares ye'll pleasantly free me. When back to my wishes, my Soger ye gi' me.

IV.

Oh! soon may his honours bloom fair on his brow, As quickly they must, if he gets his due; For in noble actions his courage is ready, Which makes me delight in my Soger Laddie.

Tune, —The MARQUIS of GRANBY'S MARCH.

I.

TO arms, to arms, to arms, my jolly gre|nadiers, Hark how the drums do roll it along, To horse, to horse, with valiant good cheer, We'll face the proud foe be they ever so strong.

Let not your courage fail you, be valiant, stout and bold, And it shall soon avail you, my valiant hearts of gold. Huzza, my valiant countrymen, again I say huzza, 'Tis bravely done, the day'll be won, huzza! huzza! huzza!

II.

March on, march on, where thundering can|nons roar, The battle is begun my boys, as you may plain|ly see; Stand firm, be bold, and it shall soon be o'er We soon shall gain the field, my boys, of our enemy. The squadron appears my boys, if they dare but stand, Boys, never fear, mind the word of command. Huzza, &c.

III.

March on, march on, brave Granby amongst the bravest, They seem for to threaten us, with their looks so keen, Anon, anon, our valour shall shew it, The proof of the steel shall soon be seen, Close to their corps we will charge them, sword in hand, Boys, never fear, mind the word of command. Huzza, &c.

IV.

See how, see how they fly before us, See how they are scatter'd all over the plain; Pursue, pursue, our country will adore us, In triumph and peace boys, when we return again.

Laurels let your glory crown, for your actions, bold, The hills shall eccho all around, my hearts of gold. Huzza, &c.

The RECRUIT.

I.

NOW the trade is so dull, and the town is so full, Of lads that already are undone, my brave boys; Let's be wise by their ills and over the hills, Away for bold soldiers be gone my brave boys. Who lists in his prime is wise in good time, A regiment he'll have very soon my brave boys; Then come my jolly blades and quit your starving trades, For a soldier's the best that's a going brave boys.

II.

Who has a scolding wife, the plague of his life, Or is fearful of Bailiffs or Dunns brave boys, Let him be of the cloth and a fig for them both; When he for a soldier is gone brave boys. Ye menders of soles and patchers up of holes, Quit your stalls and your shops and come on brave boys; Let your Landlords be content with their keys to pay their rent, When you for brave soldiers are gone brave boys

III.

Never fret, grieve or pine, tho' a mistress prove unkind, Since your cure is as sure as a gun brave boys; Only try and you'll prove, that a soldier cannot love, Then away for bold soldiers begone brave boys. Who wou'd be Grenadiers, come join the Fu|zileers, A regiment inferior to none brave boys, From care day and night, we fuddle, drink and fight, Then away for bold soldiers be gone brave boys.

SMILE BRITANNIA.

I.

SMILE, smile, Britannia smile, Thy genius comes again; To guard thy fruitful isle, And thunder o'er the main. Thy gallant sons disdain the ease, Now crown thee mistress of their seas. Now crown thee, &c.

II.

While dauntless they advance, And bid the cannons roar; They'll scourge the pride of France, And shake th' Imperial shore. Deriding trumpets o'er the waves, With courage never known to slaves. With courage never &c.

III.

The deck all stain'd with blood, The bullets wing'd with fate; The wide and restless flood, Cannot the rage abate. In Anson's and in Warren's wake, The souls of Russel and of Blake. The souls &c.

IV.

Britons pursue the blow, Like sons of Britons fight; Convince the haughty foe. That you'll maintain your right. Defiance bid to France and Spain, Assert your empire o'er the main. Assert your Empire &c.

A favourite Song,

set by the immortal PURCELL, for two voices.

Sung at the Knighting of Don Quixote, in the Opera of that name.

I.

SING all ye Muses your lutes strike around, When a soldier's the story, what tongue can want sound; Who danger disdains, wounds, bruises and pains, When the honour of fighting is all that he gains.

II.

Rich profit comes easy in cities of store. But the gold is earn'd hard when the cannons do roar;

Yet see how they run at the storming a town, Thro' blood and thro fire to take the half moon.

III.

They scale the high wall, Whence they see others fall: Their hearts precious Darling, Bright glory pursuing. Though death underfoot And the mine is just blowing,

IV.

It springs, up they fly, Yet more will supply, As bridegrooms to marry They hasten to die; Till fate claps her wings, And the glad tidings brings, Of the breach being enter'd And then they're all Kings.

V.

Then happy's she whose face Can win a Soldier's grace; They range about in state, Like Gods disposing fate: No luxury in peace, or pleasure in excess Can parallel the joys, the martial hero crown, When flush'd with rage, and forc'd by want, He storms a wealthy town.

JACK TAR's SONG.

Tune,—A Begging we will go.

COME bustle, bustle, drink about, And let us merry be,

Our Cann is full, we'll pump it out, And then all Hands to Sea. And a sailing we will go

II.

Fine Miss at Dancing-school is taught, The Minuet to tread, But we go better when we've brought The Fore Tack to Cat Head.

III.

The Jockey's call'd to Horse, to Horse, And swiftly rides the Race, But swifter far we shape our course When we are giving Chace.

IV.

When horns and shouts the forest rend, His pack the Huntsman cheers, As loud we hollow when we send A Broadside to Mounseers.

V.

The What's-their-names, at Uprores squall. With music fine and soft, But better sounds our Boatswain's Call, All hands, all hands aloft!

VI.

With gold and silver streamers fine The Ladies Rigging shew, But English ships more grander shine, When Prizes home we tow.

VII.

What's got at sea we spend on shore, With Sweethearts, or our Wives, And then, my Boys, hoist Sail for more, Thus passes Sailors lives. And a sailing we will go.

A CANTATA.

By Mr. WORGAN.

RECITATIVE.

WAK'D by the horn, Like the spring deck'd in green; Betimes in the morning the hunters are seen; With joy on each brow they enliven the place, And impatiently wait to join in the chase.

AIR.

From his close covert rous'd, the stag swiftly flies, As the arrow that's shot from the bow; O'er rivers and mountains, all dangers defies, And fears nothing but man his worst foe. And now they chace him thro' the copse. Panting, struggling, see he drops! Hark, rude clamours rend the skies, While the dappled victim dies.

RECITATIVE.

Thus Briton's sons in Harry's reign, Pursu'd the trembling Gaul; Thro' streams of blood, o'er hills of slain, And triumph'd in his fall, Now hostile foes alarm, Arm, arm, Britannia arm.

AIR.

Then away to the Field, tis greet George gives the word, Quit the horn for the trumpet, the whip for the sword;

Like our valiant forefathers, stern death let us face. Be as glorious in war, as we are in the chace.

HOT STUFF.

Wrote at Amboy, in the Spring 1759, by Major General HALE, then Lieutenant Colonel of the 47th regiment, commanded by Gen. Lascelles.

Tune,—"The Lillies of France."

I.

EACH death doing dog, who dare venture his neck, Come follow the hero who goes to Quebec; Jump aboard of your transports and loose ev'ry sail, Pay your debts at the tavern by giving leg-bail; And he that loves fighting shall soon have enough Wolfe commands us, my boys, we will give them hot stuff.

II.

Up 〈…〉〈…〉 St. Lawrence, our troops shall advance, To the Grenaddiers march we will teach them to dance; Cape Breton we've taken, and next we will try, At their capital to give them another black eye; Vaudreuil 'tis in vain ye pretend to look gruff, These are coming who know how to give ye hot stuff.

With powder in his periwig and snuff in his nose, Monsieur will come down our descent to oppose; And the Indians will come, but the Light Infantry, Will soon oblige them to betake to the tree; From such rascals as these, can we fear a rebuff, Advance Grenadiers and let fly your hot stuff.

IV.

While the 47th regiment is dashing ashore, And bullets are whistling and cannons do roar; Says Montcalm these are Shirley's,* 1.2 I know their lappels, You lie says Ned Botwood, we belong to Las|celles; Tho' our cloathing is chang'd, yet we scorn a powder puff, Then have at ye, ye barbers, here's give ye hot stuff.

V.

With Monckton and Townshend, those brave Brigadiers, I think we shall soon knock the town 'bout their ears; And when we have done with our mortars and guns, If you please mother Abbess a word with your Nuns; Each soldier shall enter the Convent in buff, And there never fear us we'll give you hot stuff.

I.

IN the garb of Old Gaul, and fire of Old Rome, From the heath-cover'd mountains of Scotia we come; Where the Romans endeavor'd our country to gain, But our ancestors fought, and they fought not in vain.

CHORUS.

Such our love of liberty, our country and our cause, Like our ancestors of old, we'll stand by free|dom's laws; We'll boldly fight like heroes bright for honour and applause, And defy the French and Spaniards to alter our laws.

II.

No esseminate customs our sinews embrace, No luxurious tables enervate our race; Our loud-sounding pipe bears the true martial strain, So do we the old Scottish valour retain. Such our love of liberty, &c.

III.

We're tall as the oak on the mount of the vale, Are swift as the roe that the hound doth assail; As the full moon in autumn our shields do appear, Minerva would dread to encounter our spear. Such our love of liberty, &c.

IV.

As a storm on the ocean when Boreas blows, So are we enrag'd when we rush on our foes; We sons of the mountains, tremendous as rocks, Dash the force of our foes with cur thund'ring strokes. Such our love of liberty, &c.

V.

Quebec and Cape Breton, the pride of Old France, In their troops fondly boasted till we did advance But when our claymores they saw us produce, Their courage did fail, and they su'd for a truce. Such our love at liberty, &c.

NEW HEARTS of OAK.

I.

WHAT mortals on earth can with Britons compare, The rivals of both in commerce and war; Our soldiers and sailors all heroes surpass, And our castles of wood stand like castles of brass Hearts of oak are our ships, Hearts of oak are our men, We always are ready, Steady boys steady, We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.

II.

The fame of our arms both the Indies have known, And oft have been aw'd by our naval renown; For glory we've ransack'd the globe all around, To furnish new conquests, new worlds must be found. Hearts of oak, &c.

III.

But know we're not merely the lords of the seas In Asia we crowns can dispense as we please;

Proud Nabobs to us owe their title to rule, And when we've a mind can dethrone the Mogul. Hearts of oak, &c.

IV.

See proud Pondicherry, the pride of the east, Where late mighty Lally defiance express'd; To Britain a conquest now easily falls, In spight of her boasted impregnable walls. Hearts of oak, &c.

V.

America's Islands our thunder alarms, And all its vast continent bows to our arms; While bravely in Europe our heroes advance, And Hodgson and Keppel strike terror to France. Hearts of oak, &c.

VI.

If e'er the Monsieurs should attempt to invade, We'll deem it no more than a martial parade; At their Quixote invasions we always shall smile And bid them remember the fate of Bellisle. Hearts of oak, &c.

BRITONS STRIKE HOME.

I.

To arms! your ensigns straight display, Now set the battle 〈◊〉〈◊〉 array; The oracle for war declares, Success depends upon your hearts and spears.

II.

Britons strike home, Revenge your country's wrongs, Fight and record Your selves in Druid songs.

Sung by Mrs. Pinto, in Artaxerxes.

THE soldier tir'd of war's alarms, Forswears the clang of hostile arms, And scorns the spear and shield: But if the brazen trumpet sound, He burns with conquest to be crown'd, And dares again the field.

Sung in Almena.

THE martial host, and tented plain, May fright the poor and timid swain, Who never felt ambitious fire; But nothing awes, or should controul, The truly great, undaunted soul, That dares to empire's height aspire.

I.

ARISE, arise, great dead, for arms renown'd, Rise from your urns, and save your dying story; Your deeds will be in dark oblivian drown'd, For mighty William seizes all your glory.

II.

Again the British trumpet sounds, Again Britannia bleeds; To glorious death, or comely wounds, Her godlike Monarch leads.

III.

Pay us, kind Fate, the debt you owe, Celestial minds from clay unite; Let coward spirits dwell below, And only give the brave to die.

The HEROIC FAIR.

I.

AWAY with soft sighs! our danger alarms! Our country solicits our smiles to its aid; Let our beauty inspirit its vot'ries to arms, And heroes alone win the hearts of the maid.

II.

Last month my dear Colin, with tear-swimming eyes, Press'd my hand, while he lock'd a whole vo|lume of woe; Ev'n then (for my heart never wore a disguise) If you love me, said I, go and conquer the foe.

III.

Go and rush to the fight, go and conquer the foe; Securing your country's, secure your own bliss, Love shall nerve your bold arm, love shall prosper each blow, And the ruin of France shall procure you a kiss.

IV.

Go, then! He obey'd, resolv'd not to stay, But press'd my lips first; how else cou'd we part? I sigh'd him success, as the youth went away; For his worth had secur'd ev'ry wish of my heart

V.

If by my example my sex was inspir'd, No nation would dare to provoke British rage, Our Swains with true courage would always be fir'd, And our smiles create Heroes in every age.

OH! what joys does conquest yield, When, returning from the field, In triumphant state we see The god-like hero crown'd with victory! Laurel wreaths his head surrounding, Banners waving in the wind; Fame her golden trumpet sounding, Ev'ry voice in chorus join'd; All uniting to proclaim Th' immortal honours of his name.

The SOLDIER's FAREWELL.

RECITATIVE.

ROUS'D by the drum, the signal to away, Ready to march, see Soldier WILL obey: Close to his side his much-lov'd MOLL appears, Her hair dishevel'd, red her eyes with tears: Her belly prominent, too plainly shews, Not vain her grief, not vain alas! her woes; With loving arms she clasp'd him to her breast, And thus her wishes, thus her fears express'd.

AIR.

Tune,—Long had the French Navy.

And must my dear William sail over the main? I fear, ah! I fear I shall see thee no more; In my mind I behold the broad ensigns display'd, The men all in order for battle array'd; The trumpet gives notice for fight to prepare, I die at the thoughts on't, I sink with despair. CHORUS, The trumpet, &c.

Should heaven assist thee against the proud foe, And conquest the laurel of vict'ry bestow! Safe return'd to my arms should I see thee again Escap'd from the contest where thousands are slain How blest will my fate be,—while many must mourn, For those whom grim death won't permit to re|turn; My spirits revive, safe from war's dread alarms, My William with glory shall bless these fond arms.

RECITATIVE.

WILL, in whose bread each manly virtue shone, With sympathizing sorrow heard her moan; First wiped the tears that started in his eyes, And then to calm her sorrow thus he tries.

AIR.

Tune,—What Cheer, my honest Mess-Mate.

Ne'er fear my dearest Molly, But I shall come again; Tho' o'er the foaming ocean, I sail against proud Spain:

From death kind Heav'n will guard me, Amid the dire alarms, And safe again restore me, Unto thy faithful arms.

Then grieve not, I must leave you, 'Tis only for a while; To England soon I shall return, With honour and with spoil; Then banish sorrow from thy heart, That foe to all thy charms, For safely I shall come again Unto thy faithful arms.

A NEW ROAST BEEF.

To the old Tune.

I.

NOW Old England's Flag is Commander in Chief, With Monsieur our Monarch turn'd o'er a new leaf, Down, down with French dishes, up, up with Roast Beef. O the Roast Beef, &c.

II.

In Flat-Bottoms, slily, those schemers were coasting, They threaten'd Invasion, but spite of their boasting, No Ribs of Roast Beef had they; but a Rib Roasting.

III.

While good English Beef, and good English brown Beer, Please our tastes, and each day on our tables appear, What more can we hope for, or what can we fear.

IV.

The Spaniards once strove, by the strength of their Guns, To make us keep Lent, and to turn our Girls Nuns, But we still roast our Beef, for we basted the Dons.

V.

At Minorca indeed, tho' I speak it with grief, Our garrison fainted for want of relief, They grew out of hopes as they grew out of Beef.

VI.

But at Minden, well fed, why we there fac'd about, Right and Left, Van and Rear, Foot and Horse put to rout; They wou'd be in our Beef—but, avast, they were out.

VII.

To plunder our Cupboards, France sent the Brest Fleet, We a belly-full gave them without any meat; They then sold their Plates 'cause they'd nothing to eat.

VIII.

We came, saw, and conquer'd, the French Lilies droop, Louisbourg, Montreal, Martinique, Guada|loupe, Their Towns we toss'd up, just as they swallow Soup.

IX.

By the strength of our Beef we our Bulkwarks maintain,

As Liberty's first-born, and Lords of the Main, And those deeds are witness'd by France and by Spain.

X.

All Knights, by their Titles, in Heraldry shine, Nay, Writers Romantic have stiled some divine, But what are their Sirs to Old England's Sir-loin.

XI.

Let us honour this Dish, 'tis in dignity chief, For garnish will give it the noblest relief: Here's LIBERTY,—LOYALTY,—aye, and ROAST BEEF. O the Roast Beef, &c.

Tune,—God save the King.

I.

FLEET, spread thy canvass wing; Fly and fresh laurels bring From hostile shores: Wide o'er the western main Thy wonted rights maintain, Whilst, in the loudest strain, Thy thunder roars.

II.

See HOWE's flag waving high, See vict'ry round him sly, And say advance! "O for some sacrifice!" (That great Commander cries) "Rise, my brave tars, arise "And humble France!

III.

"Treason in black array, "Cannot your hearts dismay, "Tho' danger rolls. "To conquest then aspire! "Be glory our desire— "Rebellion must retire "Before such souls.

IV.

"Maintain Britannia's cause— "Revenge insulted laws, "Midst war's alarms. "For unborn Britons right. "For GEORGE, and freedom fight; "And crush, with loyal might, "Traitors in arms!"

Additions to the original Roast Beef of Old England

By a LADY.

After the fourth Stanza.

V.

BRAVE Edward the third, for his courage renown'd, His son at sixteen, who with laurels was crown'd Eat beef with their armies, so never gave ground. Oh the Roast Beef, &c.

VI.

The Henries so famous in story of old, The fifth conquer'd France, and the seventh we're told, Establish'd a band to eat beef and be bold. Oh the Roast Beef, &c.

VII.

The French and the Dutch, who 'gainst Masons combine, On sallad and butter forever may dine, Whilst Brothers in England ne'er wants a sir|loin. Oh the Roast Beef. &c.

VIII.

When good Queen Elizabeth, &c.

IX.

In those days if fleets, &c.

X.

King James when he travell'd the throne to ascend. In Yorkshire, was pleas'd this good dish to com|mend, And made it a Knight as historians pretend. Oh the Roast Beef, &c.

A MEDLEY for the LIGHT-INFANTRY.

By a SOLDIER.

Tune—"When I drain the rosy bowl."

SOLDIER whilst the flowing bowl Warms your heart and cheers your soul, Let me to your mind recall Scenes familiar to us all, In the gloomy forest's shade, Where your weary limbs you've laid, Or your parched mouth applied To the cool refreshing tide.

Think you see the nights again, When, amid the rattling rain, Some of Britain's light-arm'd troops Sit around their fires in groups; Some, in wigwams seeking rest, With the toiling march opprest, Sleep the stormy night away, Heedless of the coming day.

Listen to that swelling noise! 'Tis the bugle's warlike voice, Which, in accents loud and clear, Warns us that the foe is near: War to noble minds has charms; See the Light-Bobs spring to arms, Form and march without delay, Pleas'd the summons to obey.

(Away to the cepse.)

Behold with what ardor to action they press, They dash into cover with glee; Insulted Britannia they wish to redress, And set sad America free: Thro' thickets and marshes they patiently go, Till darkness gives way to the morn;— Assail'd by a volley, to close with the foe They rush—at the sound of the horn.

The Rebels retire till no sheltering tree A culprit from vengeance corceals; 'Tis then that, unlike to Achilles, they see Their only defence is their heels: When over the plain, and across a ravine, On pinions of fear they are borne, Tho' boldest when safest, they hear with chagrine The death-boding sound of the horn.

The Britons o'er ev'ry obstruction pursue, And dauntlessly force the ravine; In turning the flanks of the fanatic crew Their disciplin'd courage is seen: Thro' sulphur'ous clouds and lead show'rs they proceed To charge!—Now dismay'd and forlorn, The traitors, transfix'd by the bayonet, bleed! Triumphant's the sound of the horn!

(Hosier's Ghost.)

Mark von wretch submissive bending, In whose features shame and grief Mixt with terror seem contending; That was late a Rebel Chief:— "Give me quarter," hear him crying, "I beseech you on my knee! "I am not prepared for dying "Since my country's wrong'd by me."

"For your vows and treaties breaking "Tho' your forfeit life shou'd pay, "Rise—it is not worth my taking," (Hear the gen'rous victor say:) "Give this lesson due attention;— "If you wou'd be tru'ly free, "Help to quell this dire contention, "Take your country's part like me,

(Lumps of Pudding.)

We've shewn them full oft' of what stuff we are made, As often unmerited mercy display'd; But shou'd they persist, we'll our pity restrain, And probe to the quick the approaching cam|paign.

Then hence with all theadbare disputes for this night; To laugh there's a season, as well as to fight; And one at a time is enough by my soul, And so brother soldier—about with the bowl.

The CHORUS of WARRIORS. In the Masque of PRINCE ARTHUR.

The Music by PURCEL.

COME if you dare, our trumpets sound. Come if you dare our foes rebound; We come, we come, we come, we come, Says the double, double, double beat of the thund'ring drum. Now they charge on a main, now they rally again, The gods from above the mad labour behold, And pity mankind that will perish for gold.

I.

THE heroes preparing to finish the war, And bid to the camp, to the camp an adieu; Now sheath up their swords, and rejoice O ye fair, To think, to think of returning to you.

II.

With smiles then ye lasses embellish your charms, Your lovers with rapture, with rapture will come; O! take the brave fellows then close to your arms, And tenderly, tenderly welcome them home.

OF good English Beer our songs let's raise, We've a right by our freedom's charter; And follow our brave forefathers ways, Who liv'd in the days of King Arthur. Of those gallant days loud fame has told, Beer gave the stout Britons spirit; In love they spoke truth, In war they were bold, And flourish'd by dint of merit.

CHORUS.

Then like them crown our bowls, Our plenteous brown bowls, And take them off clever, To all true English souls, And Old England, Old England, for ever, Huzza! Old England for ever, Huzza! Old England for ever, Old England, Old England, Huzza! Old England for ever.

The glory in love, or war they won. By battles and sieges, and sallies, Was the happy effects of their own Good beer and roast beef in their bellies; All foreign attempts they did disdain, So fir'd with resolution; For liberty they'd bleed ev'ry vein, To keep their own constitution,

Cho. Then like them crown our bowls, &c.

Like them let us fill, and drink, and sing, To all who our state are aiding; To commerce, that our wealth does bring, And every branch of our trading:

By commerce all grandeur we sustain, That makes a powerful nation: Then let us agree, and with vigour maintain Our trade and our navigation.

Cho. Then like them crown our bowls, &c.

The SAILOR's RANT.

I.

HOW pleasant a sailor's life passes, Who roams o'er the wat'ry main; No treasure he ever amasses, But chearfully spends all his gain. We're strangers to party and faction, To honour and honesty true; And would not commit a bad action, For power or profit in view.

CHORUS.

Then why should we quarrel for riches, Or any such glittering toy? A light heart and a thin pair of breeches Goes thorough the world, my boy.

II.

The world is a beautiful garden, Enrich'd with the blessings of life, The toiler with plenty rewarding, Which plenty too often breeds strife. When terrible tempests assail us, And mountainous billows affright; No grandeur or wealth can avail us, But skilful industry steers right. Then why should, &c.

III.

The courtier's more subject to dangers, Who rules at the helm of the state, Then we, to all politics strangers, Who 'scape the snares laid for the great▪ The various blessings of nature, In various climates we try, No mortal than us can be greater, Who merrily live till we die, Then why should &c.

THOSE best sons of Britain bold open and brave, Who dare the loud tempest and stem the rough wave, Theirs is the sound bottom on which to rely, And theirs the firm heart that will conquer or die.

'Tis our country that calls us, her voice we obey, When she wants our aid shall a sailor say nay; With the foes of Old England our rulers may cope, While a sword we can brandish or handle a rope.

Dare the coxcomb in heart dare the capering slave, Despise us plain fellows whom freedom makes brave, For Britain shall find us, both body and soul, As true to her cause as the steel to the pole.

Huzza, huzza gallant hearts let the triflers behold, Such Englishmen now as they fled from of old; From the mistress we own from the Monarch we serve,

No distance no danger shall e'er make us swerve.

Let land men delight in deceit and grimace, Attempt at your throat while they laugh in your face; Too honest for art, and too gallant for guile, We hate where we frown, as we love where we smile.

SHE. AND canst thou leave thy Nancy, And quit thy native shore? It comes into my fancy I ne'er shall see thee more.

HE. Yes I must leave my Nancy, To humble haughty Spain; Let fears ne'er fill thy fancy, For we shall meet again.

SHE. Amidst the foaming billows, Where thund'ring cannons roar, You'll think on these green willows, And wish yourself on shore.

HE. I fear no land nor water, I fear no sword or fire, But sweet revenge and slaughter, Are all that I desire.

SHE. May guardian Gods protect thee, From water, fire and steel; And may no fears affect thee, Like those which now I feel,

HE. I leave to Heaven's protection, My life, my only dear! You have my soul's affection, So still conclude me here.

ADIEU for a while to the town and its trade Adieu to the meadows and rake, Our country my boys calls aloud for our aid, And shall we that country forsake.

It never was known, that true hearts like our own From hardships or hazards wou'd flinch, Let our foes then unite, we will shew them in fight, What Briton's can do at a pinch.

A slave may he be who will not agree, To join with his neighbour and sing, That the brave and the free such Britons are we Live but for their Country and King.

A FORE-CASTLE SONG.

Tune,—How happy cou'd I be with either.

I.

DO you see, as a Sailor, I'll heave off A bit of a song in my way, But, if you don't like it I'll leave off, I soon can my bawling belay,

Odd Lingos Musicianers write in, Concerning Flats, Sharps, and all that; We Seamen are sharp in our fighting, And as to the Frenchmen they're flat.

II.

Outlandish folks tickle your ears With Solos, and such sort of stuff, We Tars have no more than Three Cheers, Which French folks think music enough. Thro' Canada loudly 'twas rung, Then echo'd on Senegal's shore, At Guadaloupe merrily sung, And Martinique chorus'd Encore.

III.

At Havre we play'd well our parts, Though our Game they pretended to scoff, For Trumps we turn'd up English Hearts, They threw down their Cards and sheer'd off They have met with their match now they feel; Their Shuffling and Cutting we check; They were lurch'd at Crown-Point, and lost Deal, And faith they got slamm'd at Quebec.

IV.

Our music gave French folks the vapours, It took an odd turn on Conflans; We knew they were all fond of Capers, So set up an old English dance. 'Twas Britons strike home that we sounded, By the strength of that tune they were trounc'd, The Tididols looking confounded, While Hawke saith their feather-heads pounc'd.

V.

Our instruments always do wonders, From Round-tops we give serenades; Our Organs are twenty-four pounders, Our Concerts are brisk Cannonades.

For Cooks, tho'f the French folks are neater, Our messes they never can beat, Our dishes have so much Salt-petre, And as to our Balls they're forc'd-meat.

VI.

God bless our King GEORGE with Three Cheers, Sirs, And God bless his CONSORT, Amen. In past times we've drubb'd the Mounseers, Sirs, For pastime we'll drubb them again. There's one thing I have more to say,—Tho' Beyond seas, my boys, we'll o'ercome, If you'll give Old England fair play, tho' And keep yourselves quiet at home.

I.

AT length, too soon, dear creature Receive this fond adieu! Thy pains, ah love, how bitter! Thy joys how short—how few! No more thine eyes so killing Shall melting looks repeat, Nor bosom gently swelling To love's soft tumults beat.

II.

Two passions strongly pleading My tortured breast divide; Lo! here my country bleeding! And there a weeping bride! But know thy faithful lover Can true to either prove— Fame fires my soul all over, Yet ev'ry pulse beats love.

III.

I go where glory bids me, And points the dangerous way; Tho' coward love upbraids me Yet honour says, obey; But honour's boasted story Too soon these tears reprove, And whisper "Fame and glory, "Ah! what are ye to love?"

IV.

Then know where e'er I wander, The sport of seas and wind, No distance hearts can sunder Whom mutual love hath join'd▪ Kind Heav'n the brave requiting Thy soldier shall restore; And raptures crown the meeting Which love ne'er felt before.

FArewell, my bonny, bonny, witty, pretty Maggy, And a' the rosy lasses milking on the down: Adieu the Howery meadows, aft she dear to Jocky, The sports and merry glee of Edinborrow town; Since French and Spanish lowns stand at bay, And valiant lads of Britain hold 'em play, My reap-hook I maun cast away, And fight too like a man, Among 'em for our royal Queen Anne.

Each carle of Irish mettle battles like a dragon: The Germans waddle, and straddle to the drum; The Italian and the butter bow••y Hogan Mogan: Good-faith then, Scottish Jocky mauna ly at hame:

For since they are ganging to hunt renown, And swear they'll quickly ding auld Monsieur down, I'll follow for a pluck at his crown, To shew that Scotland can Excell 'em for our royd Queen Anne.

Then welcome from Vigo, And cudgelling Don Deigo, With strutting rascallions, And plundering the Galleons: Each brisk valiant fellow Fought at Rondondellow, And those who did meet With the Newfoundland fleet; When for late successes, Which Europe confesses, At land by our gallant commanders; The Dutch with strong beer, Shou'd be drunk for a year, With their General's health in Flanders.

The LILLIES of FRANCE.

I.

THE Lillies of France and the fair English rose Could never agree as old history shows; But our Edwards and Henries those lillies have torn, And in their rich standards those ensigns have borne, To shew that Old England, beneath her strong lance, Can humble tho' pride and the glory of France.

II.

What wou'd the Monsieurs? wou'd they know how they ran? Why look at the annals of glorious Queen Anne! We beat 'em by sea and we beat them by land, When Marlborough and Russel enjoy'd the command. We'll beat 'em again, boys! so let them advance; Old England despises the insults of France.

III.

Why, let the grand Monarch assemble his host, And threaten invasion on England's fair coast: We bid them defiance; so let them come on: Have at them! their business will quickly be done. Monsieurs, we will teach you a new English dance, To our grenadier's march, that shall frighten all France.

IV.

Let's take up our muskets and gird on our swords And, Monsieurs, you'll find us as good as our words: Beat drums, trumpets sound, and huzza for our King! Then welcome Bellisle, with what troops thou canst bring! Huzza! for Old England, whose strong-pointed lance Shall humble the pride and the glory of France.

An ANTIGALLICAN SONG.

I.

YE sons of freedom! hail, the day When first our order rose;

To chase corruption's cloud away, And venal arts oppose: Grant Heav'n, that o'er the nation Our principles may spring! The surest preservation Of country and of King,

II.

Let France our lion's rage provoke; What Antigaul's afraid? Lo * 1.3 Foster gives the noble stroke, To crush her India trade: He comes, the Fates restore him; Propitious breathe, ye gales! Fame leads the way before him, And glory fills the sails.

III.

Great George, for whom our bosoms glow, Send all thy statesmen here; Thy ministers more wise shall grow; All courtiers more sincere. True honour shall inspire them, The Gallic race to brand, And patriot love shall fire them, To save this martial land.

IV.

Tho' Spain shou'd Gallia's pride assist, No honest heart will fail; Our thunder shall their force resist; The British cross prevail. Tho' some our wrongs wou'd smother, Yet we'll those wrongs resent. Here's a health to every brother, And to our president.

On THUROT's Expedition.

Tune—When Britain first at Heaven's command.

I.

OLD Neptune from the surging main, Thus hail'd his lov'd, his fav'rite isle; The sportive sea-nymphs of his train, This lively chorus sung the while. Britons your courage now display, And conquest shall your toil repay.

II.

My sons renown'd for deeds of arms, Now, now, assert your country's right; The haughty foe with fierce alarms, Once more provokes you to the fight.

III.

Invidious France one effort more, Her last resource, by Thurot tries; Tho' weak, insults Hibernia's shore, Diffusing terror and surprize.

IV.

While I from tempests smoothe the seas, And hid impetuous storms subside; Go—the wild rage of war appears, Go check such bold, such daring pride.

V.

With conquest crown'd again return, Each grateful bard your praise shall sing, Or rear the trophy o'er the urn, Of him who dy'd to save his King.

VI.

Again shall peace and plenty smile, To crown with joy the industrious swain, All Europe shall revere your Isle, And hail you masters of the main.

On the last War with SPAIN.

Tune,—When Britain first at Heaven's command.

I.

WHen Celtiberia's tawny brood, Of an augmented navy vain, Dare injure Britain, on Briton's birth-right flood, Shall tamely we the wrong sustain?

CHORUS.

Rise ye heroes, ye sea-bred heroes rise, Nor let such foes your power despise.

II.

Our hardy sires in battles fierce, Ne'er unreveng'd lets insults go; Then whilst our fathers we rehearse, Let ev'ry breast with vengeance glow, Rise, ye heroes, &c.

III.

'Tis Heav'n incens'd at Spain that stings, To rage unjust, each giddy brain; Their crimes to punishment he brings, And we must scourge them on the main. Rise, ye heroes, &c.

IV.

To their dominions utmost end, Let us this haughty foe pursue; And our wide wasting thunders send, Quite from Gallicia to Peru. Rise ye warriors, ye stubborn hearts of steel, And let your foes your fury feel.

V.

The wachful dragon shall in vain, Their fruit of gold Hesperian guard, By your Herculean valour slain, His charge your toils shall will reward. Rise ye warriors, &c.

Their treasures shall our triumphs grace, Their waining navy ours increase; Till they, like Gallia's crafty race, Shall trembling sue in vain for peace. Rise ye warriors, &c.

On the KING's BIRTH DAY.

I.

TRUMPETS awake! begin the lay, To welcome GEORGE'S natal day! The day, as now, be ever dear, To grace and mark the circling year.

II.

Flattery's voice be heard not here, GEORGE from such would turn his ear; We pour the grateful honest lay, To hail our Monarch's natal day.

III.

Hark! they cry thro' all the plains, "GEORGE the friend of freedom reigns; "In mirth, and dance, and roundelay, "We'll keep the much lov'd annual day."

IV.

GEORGE to every Briton dear, Himself a Briton, now must hear, Must hear the duteous vows we pay, Upon this bless'd revolving day.

V.

GEORGE the praise of every tongue, May'st thou reign and rule us long; Whilst all thy bright example see, And ardent strive to copy thee!

VI.

When battles shall no more appear, That croud the great important year, May thy fatiguing labours cease, And thou enjoy, who giv'st us peace.

VII.

Beauty adds her wish and care, ('Tis thine to guard and bless the fair) That years may roll in smiling train, And glories brighten all thy reign!

VIII.

To GEORGE the good our notes we raise, Oft be these returning days! Let us shout, let echo ring, Long, O! long live GEORGE our King.

To the KING.

I.

WHO can attempt a more exalted theme, What loftier subject can Apollo chuse, Than thee, O GEORGE? Afar thy virtues gleam, Awaken glory, and inspire the muse.

II.

Nor shall the muse a nobler Monarch find, A Monarch worthier of eternal fame; Endow'd with justice and a virtuous mind, Richer in honour and a glorious name.

III.

In vain exulting foes against thee arm, Whilst mightier Heav'n defeats their dark designs, The godhead's love preserves thee free from harm, Smiles on thy reign, and round those islands shine.

The SOLDIER's LAMENTATION for the Death of the brave Marquis of GRANBY. A BALLAD.

Tune,—To all ye Ladies now at Land.

I.

SAY soldier wherefore drops that tear? What sorrow frets your brow? Once foremost in the ranks of war Why droops your courage now? Ah me! I have full cause to mourn, The great, the gallant Granby's gone. Fal, lal, &c.

II.

No more that valiant heart shall beat, Or fir'd at danger's sight, With noble frenzy spring to meet The fury of the fight. Cold is that heart alas! as stone! Cold all our hearts now Granby's gone. Fal. lal, &c.

III.

Where e'er wars thunders loudest roll'd, His conqu'ring troops he led; By him inspir'd, cowards grew bold, And for him bravely bled. Our war's great polar star he shone— Who'll lead us now our Granby's gone? Fal, lal, &c.

IV.

Deep rooted in his gen'rous heart, Each tender passion dwelt; That eye which cold dismay cou'd dart, At pity's tale would melt.

Unnumbered widows, orphans, moan! "Our father, friend, our Granby's gone." Fal, lal, &c.

V.

Ah Rutland, on this mortal stage, All comfort may'st thou have! May peace and patience sooth thine age, And 'tend thee to thy grave! Blest Angels when life's scene is done Shall waft thee where your Granby's gone. Fal, lal, &c.

VI.

And thou, * 1.4 Sweet Charles, whose gentle breast, With all thy father glows; With thee our future hopes we rest, With thee our cares repose. Take, take us, we are all your own, We'll live for you, now Granby's gone. Fal, lal, &c.

VII.

But hark the drum, it calls to arms! Proud Spain shall feel our rage, At Granby's name each bosom warms, And eager pants t'engage. His awful shade shall lead us on, And horror blast the haughty Don.

Ode to the GENIUS of IRELAND.

I.

IERNE's Genius deign to smile. And with thy smiles our bosom cheer;

O still protect this much lov'd isle, Propitious grant this pious prayer. May Hibernia ever be The seat of arts and Liberty.

II.

Albion reigns, the world's great Queen, And glory rears her standard there; She smiles, and all is quite serene, She frowns and realms are struck with fear. May Hibernia ever be The seat of arts and Liberty.

III.

May Ireland to its power increase, And still in trade and wealth advance, Be bold in war be blest in peace, And rise upon the fall of France. May Hibernia ever be The seat of arts and Liberty.

In Honour of the QUEEN'S CORONATION.

I.

WHEN CHARLOTTE plow'd the azure Main, Around each sea-green Triton hung; Each lovely Neriad join'd her train, And thus prophetic Neptune sung. Rule Britannia, Britannia rule the waves, Britons never shall be slaves,

II.

A Monarch blest by ev'ry power, That guards the brave, the free, the good, Impatient waits to hail the hour, That crowns thee mistress of the flood.

III.

You favour'd Isles whose wide domain, Spreads far as ocean swells his tide, Shall boast the glories of thy reign, And make their sovereign's choice their pride.

IV.

To distant times, th' historic page, Shall George's wond'rous acts survey; How Gallia sunk beneath his rage, And Britain own'd his milder sway.

V.

Nor shall the lasting blessings cease, When time shall late transfer the crown, From thee shall spring a numerous race, To hand ten thousand virtues down.

The MILITIA-MAN.

I.

BY our conduct abroad and our councils at home We've so cow'd the poor French, and so humbl'd proud Rome, That they darn't look up: why let's keep 'em still down, For the honour of Britain, the right of the crown. They are rascally foes; Then, O follow them close; And second the blow, That lately you know, Was dealt them by Prussia, that son of renown: Their dastardly bands, Shrink under our hands; To no gallant deeds can their armies be stir'd:

Triumphant then sing, And make the air ring, With bless, bless the King! Our guardian!—our father!—our friend George the third!

II.

We all are free born, and as such let's behave, With hearts, hands, and purses, 'gainst fool, tool, and knave. O Pope! O Pretender! O Monarch of France! Where, where are you now? you are sick of the dance. In our sovereign's right, We prepare for the fight, E'er our liberties fall, Be militia-men all: Turn our plough-shares to swords, and to meet them advance. Sound trumpet! beat drum! Come Frenchmen! come! come! Yet hear from a foe the advice of a word; Starv'd scoundrels beware; For your souls have a care; He dies who first dare Set a foot on the bounds of King George the third.

YE soldiers and sailors, to both I indite, As children of one king, be brethren in fight; Let jealousies die, and no more disagree, Ye lords of the land, and ye lords of the sea. For such are the titles each annal bestows, On the bulwarks of Britain, and scourge of her foes.

I.

YE free born of Britain, rejoice ye, rejoice! Shout, shout, O ye millions, as 'twere with a voice! 'Till the clamorous croud Be so joyfully loud, That King Lewis the proud, That monarch of shadows, be scar'd at our joys— When at length from his fear He recovers, and dare To demand from what quarter the noise; Then, O say, say, ye slaves, "From the sons of the waves, "From the brave, from the brave, from the brave, brave boys."

II.

Then tell to your tyrant, O tell him the cause, Say our freedom and wealth, our land and our laws, Have been so preserv'd By King George the third. With zeal we are stir'd, His rights to protect and his honour to raise: And that therefore we'll roar, On this happy shore, 'Till we strain all our throats to his praise. To the Monarch 'tis due, To our countryman too, He's our first English king, for these many fair days.

I.

WHEN England's free scepter Elizabeth sway'd, Then prosper'd our armies, then flourish'd our trade;

The Frenchmen then swagger'd, but swagger'd in vain, Then bang came the thund'ring Armada of Spain Oh, how did the mighty invincibles jeer; But she sent the Don back with a flea in his ear: And George, our young monarch, the third of that name. Her equal in spirit, shall equal her fame.

II.

'Gainst Howard and Raleigh, Frobisher and Drake, Yorke, Anson, Hawke, Tyrrel and Saunders we stake; For Essex and Cecil we've Granby and Pitt; Then Britain, as usual, triumphant shall sit; Her soldiers and sailors, commanded aright; Are able and eager as ever to fight: That George their young monarch, the third of that name, As Gallant in spirit, be equal in fame.

III.

The hardy bold Albions are still what they were, The asserters of right, the contemners of fear. When country and king, and freedom invoke, Like their bull-dogs they fight, and they stand like their oak. Then Gallia your haughty bravadoes have done; Our annals can show what our princes have won. Great George our young monarch, the third of that name, Their equal in spirit, shall equal their fame.

IV.

At Agincourt, Cressy, Anjou and Poictiers, Our Henry's and Edward's have cow'd you with fears; The force of those leaders, forget if you can, With Ramilies, Blenheim, brave Marlbro' and Anne:

Late Minden, Quebec, Senegal and Goree; And say, who shall laugh then? is't you, sirs, or we? Great George our young monarch, the third of that name, Shall conquer what's left ye, and fix his fair fame.

The JOLLY TAR.

I.

WHY not to the rendezvous venture? Rot the gang!—odsblood, I'll enter; Not like lazy lubbard roam, To cheat the king and stalk at home. Lal, lal, &c.

II.

To gallant Tyrrel, now on shore, I'll take myself and twenty more. He, Watson, and Boscawen too, They know full well what we can do,

III.

What Harry! Jack!—I'm glad you're come, Moll bear a hand, and fetch the rum; Thou'rt almost gone my honest kag— Here's to Britannia's flying flag.

IV.

And to each Captain bold and true, Who stands by us as I by you. We'll lump them all who bear command, But pox o' cowards, sea and land.

V.

Here's to the never flinching tar, And to a smart and glorious war, And to each kind good natur'd wench: O bless the king! and damn the French.

I.

'TWAS August the seventh, at three in the morning, Our cannon 'gainst Cherburgh began for to roar; Never struck colours, our courage adorning, Grenadiers hasted away to the shore. CHO. Such is the sport that we boys delight in, Lead us well on, and we'll never fear fighting.

II.

Midst fire and smoke stood our bold commodore,* 1.5 Balls flew around him, yet ne'er did he wince; Serene were his orders on every score, And close by my Lord fought bold Edward the prince.

III.

No more the French monarch his Cherburgh can boast, So hurtful to England for many a year; The shipping all burnt, the works shatter'd and tost, And drove by explosion into the air.

IV.

Some say that our prince was too gallantly bold, A fault we must own, but a fault we approve;

It runs in the family as I've been told, And that has secur'd them his country's true love.

V.

Firm in the praise of your worthy commanders, Soldiers and sailors, O make the air ring; East or West-Indies, French coast or Flanders, Revenge the brave Dury and honour the King.

I.

COME cheer up my noble hearts of gold, And let it ne'er be said, That British sailors once so bold, Should ever be afraid. Your king and country on you call Most valiantly to fight, And do expect you one and all, To do your country right.

II.

Fear not, my lads, since 'tis your lot, To have Sir Edward Hawke, Who'll make the monsieur go to pot, And not his country baulk. He will be true unto his king, And to his nation too, And in the ears of France shall ring, A peal shall make them rue.

III,

Exert yourselves when danger's nigh, And ye shall sure prevail, And make Britannia's foes to fly, And in their turn, turn tail;

So shall you to yourselves procure Both glory and renown, In rendering solid and secure Your gracious monarch's throne.

IV.

Our English HAWKE shall let them know, He is the bird of prey, That will not let the French cock crow, But make him run away: Or if he dares maintain the fight, He'll pluck the coxcomb off, Or strip him of his feathers quite. And render him a scoff.

I.

VAT mean you Shon Englishman you make dis great poder, Wit your beef and your puthen, your dis, dat and dother? Pray vat do you mean, Sir, hit the Frenchmen In de teef, Wit your beef and your puthen, your puthen and beef. Derry down, down, &c.

II.

Vat do' we've no beef nor puthen to eat, We have de fine frogs dat be very cood meat; We make de friggasce wit de bon soup and sallet, Which very well suits wit de grand Frenchman's pallet.

III.

You say dat your beef make wou ne'er fear de gon, But remember Shon English, we make you to run After us at Blenheim and Malplaquet battles, Where de gons they did roar, and de drums they did rattle.

IV.

But now we must tell a you with much com|plaisance, We intended to have paid you one visit from France; And if Monsir HAWKE would have let us come over In our flat-bottom'd boats, we,d landed just at Dover.

V.

But de de'el pick de HAWKE, he will not fly away, But in de Brest harbour oblige us to stay, Come squinting and peeping, and play his mad frolick, Which gave our poor sailors von fit of the cholick.

VI.

But now me vill tell you vat come bye and bye, Our Admiral he take out his glass for to spy; He holloa's, truss up boys, dere's nothing to fear, Shon English begone, and de coast it be clear.

VII.

Den we sail'd out amain, and we thought to do something, But the dogs come again, and vid balls big as bumpkin, They pounce us and pelt us, and make such a clatter, Dat two or three of our ships fell down in the vater.

VIII.

Den Monsir Constans was in a very great passion, And thought he'd do something for the honour of his nation; He boldly commands without more delay, You dogs take to your heels, and let's all run away.

HISTORY of the WAR.

Tune: Come here false fair, &c.

ARISE Britannia strike th' attentive ear, With our brave deeds perform'd in mo|dern war; Sing how thy sons, warm'd with thy grandsires fire, To conquest, wealth, and glory re-aspire. The goddess hears and smiles; elate to tell, How Albion rose to fame, how Gallia fell,

Tune:—Give ear to a frolicksome ditty.

Come listen a-while to my story, 'Tis fit for true Britons to hear, How England resumed her glory, And Frenchmen resumed their fear.

Tune:—The Attic fire.

When gentle peace's olive branch, Had still'd our jars with faithless France, Britons their arms lay by; But France, whose faith is all a joke, The sacred bond of honour broke, And ev'ry treaty's tie.

Tune:—The Twitcher.

Then says our good king, 'Tis a very hard thing, Friend Lewis should be so uncivil: Since all bounds he o'er leaps, I will seize all his ships, And blow all his forts to the devil, brave boys, &c.

Tune—If you had but listen to what, &c.

Then strait he sent out as brave a train, As ever courted fame on land or main; Their mighty acts will dignify my song; Some I'll repeat, for all would be too long.

Tune—Watkin's breeches.

Have you not heard how Marlbro' burnt Their shipping at St. Maloes; Maloes, Maloes, shipping at St. Maloes; Stores, provisions, ships and all, He burned at St. Maloes.

Tune—Ally-Croaker.

This work when compleated, with hearts void of fear, sir, To Cherburgh their course they directly did steer, sir, To Cherburgh, whose works, near an age had employed, sir, But in one Glorious day, was by us, sure, de|stroy'd sir: But first we sent a trumpeter on seeing their alarm sir, To tell them our business in order and form sir.

Tune—Lord Thomas he was a bold forrester.

But when he came to Cherburgh gate He knocked hard at the ring, And who was so ready as the Governor, To let the bold trumpeter in. What news, what news thou bold trumpeter, What news dost thou bring unto me. We're come to destroy both your bason and works And that is bad news for thee.

Tune—'Tis woman that seduces all mankind.

Confounded at the news, with meagre face, Thus the poor governor bewail'd his case.

Tune—The charge is prepar'd.

The English are come, our fate is decree'd, Ah! toutes les saintes aie pitie de nous! Such force and such ships sure no strength can impede, The devil confound all the hellish crew.

Then farewell fair town, noble bason adieu, Morblieu! I must fly, would you could so too; Here sets our bright sun, here begins our disgrace For the British with Irish no Frenchman can face.

Tune—Our goodly ship she was laden deep.

So the works we burnt and the stores we sunk, And the governor he did run away; And the flags we brought unto Old England, For to show that we had won the day.

Tune—The Abbot of Canterbury.

'Twas our brave forefathers renowned of yore, Spread death and destruction on false Gallia's shore; Thus our Edwards and Henries, our Bembows and Shovels, Us'd to thrash the French rascals within their own hovels. Derry down, &c.

NO peace with Frenchmen were I to direct, But bang 'till you've bang'd them to pro|per respect. To the gates of Versailles shou'd our cannon ad|vance, And the grenadier's march should frighten all France. This my boys we'd do with glee For Royal George and liberty, George the third and liberty. Come fill your glasses, drink with me, The words are George and liberty.

Let's and pray 'em and slay 'em on land and on main, We have, my lads, often, and why not again? Their Cressy and Poictiers and Agincourt shew, What we, boys, when pitted with Frenchmen can do. To action then, my boys, with glee, &c.

How oft we've been cheated by art and chicane. But now we can tell them such efforts are vain: That feuds are destroy'd, and that party's a joke, And now we're united, we're not to be broke. But one and all will fight with glee, &c.

Whene'er the King pleases to say do it now, Hawke, Tyrrel and Saunders, brave Granby and Howe, Shall burn, sink, and plunder, and lower their notes, In spite of the devil, and flat-bottom boats. To deeds like these they'd go with glee, &c.

See our rocks that defend us and taunt 'em with scorn, See our prudent young monarch, to whom a son's born; See, of traitors regardless, he smiles on his throne, For he knows that each heart in his kingdom's his own. And that each arm would strike with glee, &c.

FINIS.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Falkland's.
• * 1.2

  Note. Shirley and Pepperell's regiments being made prisoners at Oswego, and the cloathing of Lascelles's regiment taken by Mons. Chateleaut, the cloathing of Shirley's was issued to the 47th regiment.
• * 1.3

  The Captain of the Antigallican Privateer.
• * 1.4

  Lord Rous, then at Eton School.
• * 1.5

  The gallant Lord Howe.