VOL. I. courage, so long shall no death nor revolution have power to deprive France of some BONAPARTE to annoy them. Britons! awake! arise! Danger must be faced Blood must be shed! Children must be left fatherless! Widows must mourn! But, if we shall prevail in the strife, we become the first nation in the world-the saviours of the common liberties of mankind. And never can we contend with such odds in our favour, as when we contend to repulse an invading foe. Away, then! away with every tendency to dreams of reconciliation with France, till we shall have evinced, upon trial, that there are none whom we may not conquer, none upon earth BY WHOM WE CAN BE SUBDUED!' ORIGINAL POETRY. THE BRITONS MARCH, YE Sons of Briton 'wake to glory, Hark, Hark! what myriads bid you rise! Your Children, Wives, and Grandsires hoary, Behold their tears and hear their cries; Shall FRANCE'S TYRANT mischief breeding, With hireling hosts a ruffian band, WHILE PEACE AND LIBERTY LIE BLEEDING? TO ARMS, to arms, ye Brave! Th' avenging sword unsheath, Now, now the dang'rous Storm is rolling, Which treach'rous foes, confederate raise; The dogs of war let loose are howling, To ARMS! &c,. O Liberty! can Man resign thee, Too long the world has wept bewailing That lawless France should brave the field, And all her Arts are unavailing! To ARMS! to arms! ye Brave! &c. The Birth, Parentage and Education, Life, Character, and Behaviour, of the Consul BONAPARTE. I'LL tell A TALE FOR JOHN BULL. To the tune of Good Queen Bess. you such a story now as never has been told, John, By modern novel-writers, or by fabulists of old, John, And what is wonderful in these romancing times, John, You'll find as much of truth, as of wonder in my rhimes, John. Cursed be the memory of Tyrant Bonaparte. In the middle of that sea, where Nelson spread your fame, John, Oh curs'd for ever be the night, with curses deep and hearty, Young Boney soon was sent to France, and got his education, 1 To help the rascal Robespierre, to take away his life, John, Oh! the melancholy days, &c. At Toulon next he chanc'd to meet a villain called Barras, John, Who seas had shed of human blood, and wish'd to shed still more, John, Young Boney was as covetous of murder to the full,, John, And got by way of recompence, his master's cast-off Trull, John, Oh! the melancholy days, &c. So So hand in hand to Paris went, these Spoilers of Creation, To Italy he now repair'd as General in Chief, John, And murders there committed such as almost pass belief, John, And next to Egypt's coasts he led his rapine fatted train, John, Old Nile drew back his hoary head and in dread horror stood, John, But Oh! what tongue can justly paint the horrors of that day, John, But not content Five Thousand Foes to murder in cold blood, John, Oh! the melancholy days, &c. With conquest proud 'fore Acre next, he muster'd all his force, John, A handful of your Soldiers there defeated all his host, John, Then sneaking back to France again he seiz'd the sword of state, John, And now he swears your valiant son's he'll shortly add to these, John, But never sure could you survive such aggravated ill, John, Nor bear to see your females yield to his accursed will, John, Then quick prepare with ardent zeal to meet him on the Strand, John, SELECTED POETRY. SONG FOR THE ENGLISH VOLUNTEERS. BY JOHN O'KEEFE, ESQ. Air, "With Swords on their thighs the bold Yeomen are seen." When angel apostates from bliss were expell'd, But ere his election, desert he must prove, His terms of existence by Man should be known; For midway in skies a fair temple is plac'd, To chain us in thraldom his pride and his boast, Morning Post. A PATRIOTIC SONG, ON THE PRESENT CRISIS. BY MARTIN ARTHUR SHEE, ESQ. COME, fill the goblets to the brim, In wine the sentiment shall swim, Which all true Britons cherish. The patriot, as the bumpers pass, Will pledge his heart upon his glass, And, ere he flinches, perish. CHORUS. Now let the peal of Bacchus ring, Our Cause, our country, and our King, In sounds of triumph swelling; May Britons still, while life remains, Defend the land, where Freedom reigns, With peace and order dwelling. Look round the globe in ev'ry clime, Than Albion's Isle bestows? waste, Seems like a second Eden place'd, For peace and freedom plann'd. Tho' rous'd reluctant, from repose, Still eager to degrade us; Then let the peal, &c. In peace, tho' party may prevail, And each at rights invaded rail, Thro' every rank and station; If once the foe approach the gate, He'll find no faction in the state, No party but the NATION. Whene'er his sword his country claims, Her cause the Briton's soul inflames, Each minor care suspending. For PITT or Fox, no matter, each With equal zeal will mount the breach, And die her rights defending. Then let the peal, &c. Shall despots dare their crimes confess, And bid the indignant British Press Be silent, or dissemble? Shall we, to soothe a Tyrant's sway, And from our shores expel him? There's not a heart with honour fraught, But swells indignant at the thought, And so our swords shall tell him. Whate'er the stranger's praise or blame, His sufferings are sufficient claim, For Britons to befriend him; And while he's there defend him. What tho' degenerate Europe groan, Again |