For those rights, which, unstained, from your Sires had descended, May you long taste the blessings your valour has bought, And your sons reap the soil which their fathers defended! Though robb'd of mild peace, May our nation increase With the glory of Rome and the wisdom of Greece, CHORUS. For no Son of Old England shall e'er be a slave, Whilst France her huge limbs bathes recumbent in blood, Yet the boon we disclaim, If bought by our Sov'reignty, Justice, or Fame: The fame of our arms, of our laws the mild sway, But a proud haughty foe would obscure our bright day, Let invaders be told, Tho' the Tyrant has sold Our country to murder, and rob of its gold, That no Son, &c. Should the tempest of warfare continue to blow,` Our fleets rule the main, + And our altars and laws with our lives we'll maintain. For no Son, &c. Our plains they are crown'd with imperial oak, Whose roots, like our liberties, ages have nourish'd; And long ere our nation submits to the yoke, Not a tree shall be left on the land where it flourish'd, Britain's Sons would descend From the plains and the mountains, their shores to defend. For no Son, &c. Let Fame to the world sound Britannia's voice, No intrigue can her Sons from their liberties sever; A King is their pride, and the laws are their choice, Which will flourish till Liberty slumbers for ever. Then unite heart and hand, Like Leonidas' band, And swear to the God of all ocean and land, That no Son of Old England will e'er be a slave, While the earth bears a plant, or the sca rolls a wave. ODE ON THE PROSPECT OF WAR. HARK! the battle's mingled hum Echoes from the Gallic shore; Sounds the "Spirit-stirring drum,” Neighing steed, and cannon's roar. Lo! what tempests gather round, Black, and big with England's fate! England, rouse thee at the sound; Lo! the Gaul is at the gate; Ere the shaft of War be sped, By the festering heaps that lie Austria, be thyself again, By the ghosts of those that bled Is Italia's sun of glory Set; and shall it ise no more? Romans, think of your proud story; Emulate the deeds of yore. Said Talleyrand to Bonaparte, "Beware how you go over, For what he holds so dear Sir, Said Bonaparte, all in a rage, "I will wipe out that blot Sir, I will once more their troops engage," Said Tal-" you'd better not Sir; I rather fear they'll seek us here, My council pray rely on, The Gallic Cock has crow'd so loud, He's wok'd the BRITISH LION!”. 1 "Methinks I hear his dreadful roar, But Bonaparte's resolv'd to brave, And meet the British thunder, And if he can't come o'er the waves, He swears he will dive under; Then Englishmen his vengeance dare, And when he comes on land, Sirs, We'll give the tyrant British cheer, And meet him Sword in Hand, Sirs. THE BANTAM COCK. COME listen every Lord and Lady, Squire, Gentleman, and Statesman, I've got a little song to sing, About a very great man! And if the name of BONAPARTE Should mingle in my story, 'Tis with all due submission, To his honour's worships glory. Bow, wow, wow, &c. The kindness of this philanthropic Gentleman attending, From shore to shore, Colossus like, Their grievances amending, To Britain would reach, if he could, From fancied ills to save ye; With Egypt once he fell in love, To travel by a nigh road; And fighting night and day there, 'Twas vastly ungenteel of us, Who would not let him stay there, 2 A Nobleman was sent to him, Him down at his own table. room One morning it was quite full, And BONA, like a bantam-cock, Cane crowing rather spiteful; He then began to huff and bluff, To shew that war his trade is; He scolded all the Englishmen, And frighten'd all the Ladies!!! Bow, wow, wow, &c. From Malta next he took his text, My Lord had one worth two on't: Bow, wow, wow, &c. My Lord, says he, you needs must see, Out of pure love and kindness; They'd be more free than welcome. When I come o'er, I'll make all Britons Live in perfect bliss, Sir, I'm sure they will receive me just As kindly as the Swiss, Sir. The odds a hundred are to one I fail, tho' Fortune's minion; Says our Ambassador to him, I'm quite of your opinion. Bow, wow, wow, &c. My Lord, says he, I'll take the field; My plans are deep-Why yes they'll reach The bottom I've a notion. What would the English think to see Me 'twixt Boulogne and Dover? Why, General, they'd surely think, Your Worship half seas over! Bow, wow, wow, &c. Your Government, I'll tame, says he, Since war you are so fond on; I've got my will in Paris here, And wish the same in London; I'll rule your great John Bull! says he, I have him in the ring, Sir. Says John, I'll not be rul'd by you, Nor any such a thing, Sir. Bow, wow, wow, &e. Then bring me flag invincible, A plan he's surely right in, Bow, wow, wow, &e. Quite frantic now, he vows revenge His troops shall know full well soon, For him, he learn'd it long ago, From single handed NELSON. Bow, wow, wow, &c. Now, since their minds are quite made up, Let me, on this occasion, They dream of an Invasion: On gentle billows guide them, |