ADDITIONAL STANZAS. From the "Humming Bird." Canterbury, 1786. Augmented still in story, Our ancient fame shall rise, And Wolfe, in matchless glory, Shall soaring reach the skies; Then sing in praise of men of Kent, And though despotic power With voice and pen they forthwith stand, Then sing in praise of men of Kent, When royal George commanded Militia to be raised, The French would sure have landed, But for such youths as these: Their oxen stall, and cricket-ball, The Kentish lads shall win the odds Your fathers did before ye. Then sing in praise of men of Kent, All loyal, brave, and free: Of Britain's race, if one surpass, These stanzas were added in honour of General Wolfe, a native of the county of Kent. A SOLDIER, A SOLDIER FOR ME. From the "Humming Bird." Canterbury, 1786. A SOLDIER, a soldier, a soldier for me-- Who is so nice and well-powder'd as he? Sing rub a dub rub; a dub rub a dub; a dub a dub dub dub;— Thunder and plunder! A soldier, a soldier, a soldier for me. Each morn when we see him upon the parade, He cuts such a flash, With his gorget and sash, And makes such ado, With his gaiter and queue, Sleeping or waking, who need be afraid? Sing rub a dub, &c. Or else when he's mounted, so trim and so tall, The whole town to command, Such ogling, such glances, Our hearts gallop off, and are left at Whitehall. A soldier, a soldier, a soldier for me! A KNAPSACK AND A CHEERFUL HEART. The music, founded by CHARLES DIBDIN upon the old melody," John, come, kiss me now," appears in the "Convivial Songster," 1780. The original melody is to be found in "Queen Elizabeth's Virginal Book;" Durfey's "Pills to Purge Melancholy;" and in other collections. "It is," says Mr. Chappell, one of the songs parodied in Andre Hart's "Compendium of Godly Songs," on the strength of which it has been claimed as a Scottish tune, although it has no Scottish character, nor has hitherto been found in any old Scotch copy." WE soldiers drink, we soldiers sing, We fight our foes, and love our king, While the merry, merry fife and drum Though we march, or though we halt, Are lasses kind, or are they shy, For the merry, merry fife and drum, &c. We sigh not for the toils of state; Still the merry, merry fife and drum, &c. Thus we drink, and thus we sing; While all our wealth two words impart, A knapsack and a cheerful heart. For the merry, merry fife and drum THE SOLDIER. W. SMYTH. From AIKIN'S "Vocal Poetry," 1810. WHAT dreaming drone was ever blest, On comes the foe-to arms-to arms!- Dear native land! thy fortunes frown, Thou land of honour and renown, 'Tis you, 'tis I, that meets the ball; But thou-dark is thy flowing hair, THE SNUG LITTLE ISLAND. From THOMAS DIBDIN'S "Cabinet." The music arranged by W. REEVE, from the old English melody of the "Rogue's March." DADDY Neptune, one day, to Freedom did say, The spot I should hit on would be little Britain! A right little, tight little island! Search the globe round, none can be found Julius Cæsar the Roman, who yielded to no man, And Dane, Pict, and Saxon, their homes turn'd their backs on, Oh, what a snug little island! They'd all have a touch at the island! Then a very great war-man, called Billy the Norman, It would be much more handy to leave this Normandy, Says he, "Tis a snug little island: But party deceit help'd the Normans to beat; He lost both his life and his island. That's all very true: what more could he do? |