From ''Calliope: or, the musical miscellany'', p368, 1788. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''AULD ROBIN GRAY. Scots Air.'''
When the sheep are in the fauld, and the ky at hame, And a' the warld to sleep are gane, The waes o' my heart fa' in show'rs frae my e'e, When my gudeman lies found by me.
From ''The bacchanalian magazine; and Cyprian enchantress'', pp21-2, 1793. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''THE BLADISH BRITON.'''--Tune--Over the Water to Charley.'
Ye Rakehells so jolly, Who hate melancholy, And love a full flask and a doxy; Who ne'er from Love's feats, Like a coward retreats, Afraid that the harlot shall pox ye; While we live till we die. To the Shakespear let's fly, Where we shall find both in great plenty; With the juice of the vine, Our senses refine, And drink till the hogshead is empty.
Now each joyous fellow, While thus we are mellow, And the fumes of the grape does inspire; While that's to be had, Let's be damnably mad, And fling all our calps in the fire: Break bottles and glasses, Bilk landlord and lasses, What rascal our humour dare hinder? If any presume To come into the room, We'll throw the dog out of the window.
Here, waiter, more liquor; Zounds, man! bring it quicker; Champaigne, by all true topers courted; Without these damn'd tricks, French brandy to mix, But genuine neat as imported: While thus cherry merry, Let Harris* and Derry** With faces uncommon supply us: Poll French, and Bett Weeyms, And such batter'd old brims, Ye pimps, let them never come nigh us.
Like Quixote of old, As we have been told, Let's sally in search of adventures; Mother Johnson we'll rout, Kick her bullies about, And knock known the Watch, if he enters. Drink and whore all our lives, Lie with other men's wives, Attempt ev'ry damsel we hit on; D--n and swear, and tell lies, 'Flagellation' despise-- And this is the life of a Briton.
*The Proprietor of 'Harris's List of Covent Garden Ladies.' **The Editor of the same Work.
From ''Calliope: or, the musical miscellany'', pp184-5, 1788. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''BRITISH GRENADIERS.'''
Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules, of Conan, and Lysander, and some Miltiades; but of all the world's brave heroes there's none that can compare, With a tow, row, row, row, row, to the British Grenadiers. But of all the world's brave heroes, there's none that can compare, With a tow, row, row, row, row, to the Brisish Grenadiers.
None of those ancient heroes e'er saw a cannon ball, Or knew the force of powder to slay their foes withal; But our brace boys do know it, and banish all their fears, With a tow, row, row, row, row, the British Grenadiers. But our brave boys, &c.
Whene'er we are commanded to storm the Palisades, Our leaders march with fusees, and we with hand grandades, We throw them from the glacis about our enemies ears, With a tow, row, row, row, row, the Brisith Grenadiers. We throw them, &c.
The god of war was pleased, and great Bellona smiles, To see these noble heroes, of our British Iles; And all the gods celestial, descended from their spheres, Beheld with admiration the British Grenadiers. And all the gods celestial, &c.
Then let us crown a bumper, and drink a health to those Who carry caps and pouches that wear the looped clothes. May they and their commanders, live happy all their years, With a tow, row, row, row, row, the British Grenadiers. May they and their commanders, &c.
From ''The musical repository'', pp244-5, 1799. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''THE DISCONSOLATE SAILOR.'''
When my money was gone, that I gain'd in the wars, And the world 'gan to frown on my fate, What matter'd my zeal, or my honoured fears, When indifference stood at each gate.
The face that would smile when my purse was well lin'd, Shew'd a different aspect to me; And when I could nought but ingratitude find, I hied once again to the sea.
I thought it unwise to repine at my lot, Or to bear with cold looks on the shore, So I pack'd up the trifling remnants I'd got, And a trifle, alas! was my store.
A handkerchief held all the treasure I had, Which over my shoulder I threw, Away then I trudg'd, with a heart rather sad, To join with some jolly ship's crew.
The sea was less troubled by far than my mind, For when the wide main I survey'd, I could not help thinking the world was unkind, And Fortune a slippery jade:
And vow'd, if once more I could take her in tow, I'd let the ungrateful ones see, That the turbulent winds and the billows could show More kindness than they did to me.
From ''The musical repository'', pp150-2, 1799. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''FAIR SALLY.'''
Fair Sally lov'd a bonny seaman, With tears she sent him out to roam, Young Thomas lov'd no other woman, But left his heart with her at home. She view's the sea from off the hill, And while she turn'd the spinning wheel, Sung of her bonny seaman.
The winds blew loud, and she grew paler, To see the weather-cock turn round, When lo! she spied her bonny sailor Come singing o'er the fallow ground: With nimble haste he leap'd the style, And Sally met him with a smile, And hugg'd her bonny sailor.
Fast round the waste he took he Sally, But first around his mouth wip'd he, Like home-bred spark he could not dally, But kiss'd and press'd her with a glee: Thro' winds and waves and dashing rain, Cry'd he, thy Tom's returned again, And brings a heart for Sally.
Welcome! she cried, my constant Thomas, Tho' out of sight, ne'er out of mind; Our hearts tho' seas have parted from us, Yet they my thoughts did leave behind: So much my thoughts took Tommy's part, That time nor absence from my heart Could drive my constant Thomas.
This knife, the gift of lovely Sally, I still have kept for her dear sake; A thousand times, in am'rous folly, Thy name I've carv'd upon the deck. Again this happy pledge returns, To tell how truly Thomas burns, How truly burns for Sally.
This thimble didst thou give to Sally, Whilst this I see I think of you; Then why does Tom stand shilly shally, While yonder steeple's in our view? Tom, never to occasion blind, Now took her in the coming mind, And went to church with Sally.
From ''The bacchanalian magazine; and Cyprian enchantress'', pp41-2, 1793. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''THE FASHIONABLE ''THAT''!'''---A New Song.
Tune--A Cobler there was, &c.--See Page 8.
Of a fam'd 'Monysyllable', doubtless, you've heard, That whenever 'tis ripe, is set off by a 'beard'; But, tho' numerous names it is call'd by, 'tis 'flat', That the prop'rest of all is no other than 'That'. Derry down, &c.
The Lover who talks about arrows and flames, And swears 'tis the heart of his Delia he claims; If you go to inspect into what he'd be at, You will find that he lies, and he only means 'That'. Derry down, &c.
'Tis plain in the proof, when with amorous smile, Some old Lecher attempts a young maid to beguile; For tho' he's said to want but a 'bit' for his 'cat'-- Yet every one knows that he only means 'That'. Derry down, &c.
The Tradesman's brisk Widow, who loses her spouse, Against marriage will rail, and a single life vows; But, at length, complains business has gone very flat, And so marries again--for the 'business' is--'That'. Derry down, &c.
And oft before marriage old Grannums will say, 'Why, girls, there's no harm in some innocent play; 'Young fellows may kiss you, your cheeks they may pat, 'But, huzzies, for God sake, don't let them touch 'That'.' Derry down, &c.
The learned Divine, with the Scripture in view, Recommends to our wives, all Benevolence due; But as soon as you smoke him, you'll smell out the rat, And find this 'benevolence' only means 'That'. Derry down, &c.
Then fill up a bumper, and let it go round, While Mirth and Good-humour in concert is found; If we let the glass stand, it will surely grow flat-- So here's good success to all those who love 'That' Derry down, &c.
From ''Calliope: or, the musical miscellany'', pp28-9, 1788. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''THE FLOWERS OF EDINBURGH.'''
My love was once a bonny lad, He was the flow'r of all his kin, The absense of his bonny face, Has rent my tender heart in twain. I day nor night find no delight, In silent tears I still complain, And exclaim' gainst these my rival foes. That hae ta'en from me my darling swain.
Despair and anguish fills my breast, Since I have lost my blooming rose; I sigh and moan while others rest, His absence yields me no repose. To seek my love I'll range and rove, Thro' ev'ry grove and distant plain; Thus I'll ne'er cease, but spend my days, T' hear tidings from my darling swain.
There's nothing strange in nature's charge, Since parents shew such cruelty; They caus'd my love from me to range, And knows not to what destiny. The pretty kids and tender lambs May cease to sport upon the plain; But I'll mourn and lament, in deep discontent, For the absence of my darling swain.
Kind Neptune, let me thee intreat, To send a fair and pleasant gale; Ye dolphins sweet, upon me wait, And do convey me on your tail. Heav'ns bless my voyage with success, While crossing of the raging main, And send me safe o'er to that distant shore, To meet my lovely darling swain.
All joy and mirth at our return Shall then abound from Tweed to Tay; The bells shall ring, and sweet birds sing, To grace and crown our nuptial day. Thus bless'd with charms in my love's arms, My heart once more I will regain, Then I'll range no more to a distant shore, But in love will enjoy my darling swain.
From ''Songs, hymns, and psalms'' by Jonas Hanway, p24, 1783. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''''Hearts of Oak'''''
Come cheer up my Lads 'tis to Glory we stear, To add something more to this wonderfull Year; To Honour we call you not press you like Slaves, For who are so free as we Sons of the Waves: Heart of Oak are our Ships, Heart of Oak are our Men, We always are ready Steady Boys steady We'll Fight and we'll Triumph again and again.
We ne'er see our foes, but we wish them to stay, They never see us, but they wish us away' If they run, why we follow, and run them on shore, For if they won't fight us, we cannot do more. Heart of oak, &c.
They swear they'll invade us--these terrible foes! They frighten our women, our children, and beaus; But should they flat-bottoms in darkness get o'er, Still Britons they'll find to receive them on shore. Heart of oak, &c.
We'll still make them run, and we'll still make them sweat, In spite of the Devil and Brussels Gazette; Then cheer up, my lads, with one heart let us sing, Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, and king. Heart of oak, &c.
From ''Songs, hymns, and psalms'', by Jonas Hanway, p25, 1783. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''''In Honour of Peace and the King'''''
On the white Cliffs of Albion see Fame where she stands And her shrill swelling Notes reach the Neighbouring Lands, Of the Natives free born and their Conquests she Sings, The happiest of Men with the greatest of Kings.
George the Third she proclaims, his bright glory repeats, His undeismay'd legions and powerful fleets; Whom nor castles nor rocks can from honour retard, Since e'en death for their king they with scorn disregard.
"His just right to affect hath the king amply try'd, "Nor his wisdom or strength can opponents abide; "Then no longer in rage let dread thunder be hurl'd, "But leave him to me, and give peace to the world!"
But see! a cloud bursts, and an angel appears! Tis 'Peace', lovely virgin, dissolved in tears! "Stay, Fame" (cry'd the maid) is't not time to give o'er, "With sieges and famine, explosions and gore!"
'Tis done, and great George is to mercy inclin'd; The blest word is gone forth, for the good of mankind; 'Tis the act of a Briton to beat, then to spare, And our king is a Briton--deny it who dare.
From ''The Essex harmony'', vol 2 p130, 1777. :: listen to the tune as a catch/round (midi file)
'''Jack and Jill'''
Jack and Jill Went up the hill, To fetch a pail of water; Jack fell down, And broke his crown, And Jill came tumbling after.
From ''Apollo’s cabinet: or the muses delight.'', p143, 1757. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''The Ladies Case. ''Set by Mr.'' GOUGE.'''
How hard is the fortune of all woman kind? For ever subjected, for ever confin'd: The parent controuls us until we are wives, The husbands enslave us the rest of their lives.
[How] fondly we love, yet we dare not reveal, [We] secretly languish, compell'd to conceal; Deny'd e'ery freedom of life to enjoy, We're sham'd if we're kind, we're blam'd if we're coy.
From ''Songs, hymns, and psalms'', by Jonas Hanway, p10, 1783. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''''Lands in an Improved State.'''''
Our Banks they are furnish'd with Bees, Whose murmur invites one to sleep, Our Grotto's are shaded with Trees, And our Hills are white over with Sheep, We seldom have met with a loss, Such Health do our Mountains bestow, Our Fountains all border'd with Moss, Where the Harebels and Violets grow, Where the Harebels and Violets grow.
I've found out a gift for my friend, I've found where the blackbirds to breed; But will not on plunder depend, He'll say 'twas a barb'rous deed. For 'he' ne'er could be true, he aver'd, Who could rob a poor bird of his young, And I lov'd his the more, when I heard Such tenderness fall from his tongue.
From ''The musical repository'', pp60-2, 1799. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''LASH'D TO THE HELM.'''
In storms, when clouds obsure the sky, And thunders roll and lightnings fly, In midst of all these dire alarms, I think, my Sally, on thy charms. The troubled main, The wind and rain, My ardent passion prove Lash'd to the helm, Shou'd seas o'erwhelm, I'd think on thee, my love, I'd think on thee, my love, I'd think on thee, my love, Lash'd to the helm, Shou'd seas o'erwhelm, I'd think on thee my love.
When rocks appear on ev'ry side, And art is vain the ship to guide, In varied shapes when death appears, The thoughts of thee my bosom cheers: The troubled main, The wind and rain, My ardent passion prove; Lash'd to the helm, Shou'd seas o'erwhelm, I'd think on thee my love.
But shou'd the gracious pow'rs be kind, Dispel the gloom and still the wind, And waft me to thy arms once more, Safe to my long-lost native shore; No more the main I'd tempt again, But tender joys improve I then with thee Shou'd happy be, And think on nought but love.
From ''Apollo’s cabinet'', vol 1 p153, 1757. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''''The'' Life of a Beau. ''Sung by Mrs.'' CLIVE.'''
How brimfull of nothing's the life of a beau, They've nothing to think of they've nothing to do; They've nothing to talk of for nothing they know, Such such is the life of a beau, a beau, a beau, Such such is the life of a beau.
For nothing they rise but to draw the fresh air, Spend the morning in nothing but curling their hair, And do nothing all day but sing, saunter and state. Such, such is the life of a beau.
For nothing at night to the play-house they crowd, For to mind nothing done there they always are proud, But to bow, and to grin, and talk--nothing aloud. Such, such is the life of a beau.
For nothing they run to th' assembly and ball, And for nothing at cards a fair partner call, For they still must be beasted who have--nothing at all. Such, such is the life of a beau.
For nothing, on sundays, at church they appear, For they've nothing to hope, nor they've nothing to fear; They can be nothing nowhere who nothing are here. Such, such is the life of a beau.
From ''The musical repository'', pp220-2, 1799. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''LITTLE THINKS THE TOWNSMAN'S WIFE.'''
Little thinks the towns-mans wife, While at home she tarries, What must be the lassie's life, Who a soldier marries; Now with weary marching spent, Dancing now before the tent; Lira lira la, lira lira la, With her jolly soldier.
In the camp at night she lies, Wind and weather scorning, Only griev'd her love must rise, And quit her in the morning: But the doubtful skirmish done, Blyth she sings at set of sun, Lira lira la, lira lira la, With her jolly soldier.
Should the captain of her dear Use his vain endeavour, Whisp'ring nonsense in her ear, Two fond hearts to sever; At his passion she will scoff; Laughing she will put him off, Lira lira la, lira lira la, For her jolly soldier.
Calliope: or, the musical miscellany, pp400-1, 1788. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''MA CHERE AMIE.'''
Ma chere amie, my charming fair, Whose smiles can banish ev'ry care; In kind compassion smile on me, Whose only care is love of thee. Ma chere amie; Ma chere amie; Ma chere amie; Ma chere amie.
Under sweet friendship's sacred name My bosom caught the tender flame. May friendship in they bosom be Converted into love for me! Ma chere amie, &c.
Together rear'd, together grown, O let us now unite in one! Let pit soften thy decree! I droop, dear maid; I die for thee! Ma chere amie, &c.
From ''The bacchanalian magazine; and Cyprian enchantress'', pp24-5, 1793. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''THE NATURAL PLOUGH'''---A New Song.
Tune--And old Woman cloth'd in grey.
Of all the professions in life, Sure ploughing and sowing's the chief; 'Tis perform'd both in peace and in strife, By so many 'twould stagger belief: It is not alone by the clown, That the Plough, which I hint at, is us'd, For with Kings does the practice go down, And Queens are with 'sewing' amus'd. Chorus--Tol de rol, &c.
What a field for these sports is display'd, In the source of each beautiful trait! To our hands are the 'furrows' all made, And the 'ploughs' did Dame Nature create; The 'lands' seem to ask for their feed, And Love their demands will allow, Which, by Fortune and Fate, were decreed To be plough'd by the Natural Plough. Tol de rol, &c.
Each nymph to the 'work' see invite, In the beauty and bloom of her days, Their 'fields' they abound in delight, Which all your 'industry' repays; No season your 'work' can retard, But does all times 'fruition' allow, And if you'd preserve their regard-- 'Drive' away with the Natural Plough. Tol de rol, &c.
Ne'er thin, like an idler, to stop, You ne'er need to 'fallow' the 'ground', You may every year have a 'crop', In you 'seed' falls but clean in the 'pound'; Then by 'ploughing' and 'sowing' your care, Good premiums the Fair do allow, If you rid them of sorrow and care, By 'driving' the Natural Plough. Tol de rol, &c.
But still shun another man's 'ground'; 'Tis often encumber'd with thorns, And tho' barren to you it be found, For him it will surely bear 'horns': And, besides, if you're catch'd in his 'trap', The Law no excuse will allow, But ease you of some of your 'sap', For 'driving' the Natural Plough. Tol de rol, &c.
From ''The musical repository'', pp55-56, 1799. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''OLD ENGLAND O.'''
Huzza! my boys, for England O, My boys, huzza! for England O; Faction soon shall prostrate lie, And the wreaths of victory shall adorn the brow of Old England O. Faction soon shall prostrate lie, And the wreaths of victory Shall adorn the brow of Old England O.
Old Neptune's pride is England O, Old Nepture's pride is England O, To her mild and equal reign, He resign'd the liquid main, And the queen of the seas is Old England O. To her mild, &c.
We dearly love Old England O, We dearly love Old England O; Let us then our rights maintain, And in steady faith remain, The loyal sons of Old England O. Let us then, &c.
For shame! ye sons of England O, Ye bastard sons of England O, To forge the trait'rous pike and lance, And court the smiles of mad'ning France, All intent on the ruin of England O. To forge, &c.
Reflect, ye sons of England O, Deluded sons of England O, Is not your peace and safety fled? Where doth freedom rest her head, But secure in the bosom of England O? Is not, &c.
Then why fall out with England O? Or why dispute with England O? Is she not a parent kind? Then give resentment to the wind, And again be the friends of Old England O. Is she not, &c.
Your glasses fill to England O, A bumper charge to England O; Long may she give the nations peace, And may her empire never cease, Nor French mobs be thought friends of Old England O. Long may, &c.
From ''The musical repository'', pp24-7, 1799. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''ON ADMIRAL DUNCAN'S VICTORY.'''
Enroll'd in our bright annals lives full many a gallant name, But never British heart conceiv'd a prouder deed of fame, But never British heart conceiv'd, But never British heart conceiv'd a prouder deed of fame, A prouder deed of fame. To shiedl our liberties and laws, to guard our sov'reign's crown, Than noble Duncan's mighty arm atchiev'd off Camperdown. To shield our liberties and laws, to guard our sov'reign's crown, Immortal be the glorious deed atchiev'd off Camperdown.
October the eleventh it was, he spied the Dutch at nine, The British signal flew to break their close embattled line; Their line was broke, for all our tars, on that auspicious day, All bitter memory of the past had vow to wipe away. Their line was broke, &c.
At three o'clock nine mighty ships had struck their colour proud, And two brave admirals at his feet their vanquished flags had bow'd; Our Duncan's towering colours stream'd all honour to the last, For, in the battle's fiercest rage, he nail'd them to the mast. Our Duncan's towering colours, &c.
The victory was now complete; the cannon ceas'd to roar; The scatter'd remnants of the foe slunk to their native shore; No power the pride of conquest had his heart to lead astray, He summon'd his triumphant crew, and this was heard to say
CHORUS.
"Let every man now bend the knee, and here in solemn prayer "Give thanks to God, who in this fight has made our cause his care."
Then on the deck, the noble field of that proud day's renown Brave Duncan with his crew devout before their God knelt down, And humbly bless'd his Providence, and hail'd his guardian power, Who valour, strength, and skill inspir'd in that dread battle hour. And humbly bless'd; &c.
The captive Dutch this solemn scene survey'd with silent awe, And rue'd the day when Holland join'd to France's impious law, And marked how virtue, courage, faith, unite to form this land, For victory, for fame and power, just rule, and high command, And marked, &c.
The Venerable was the ship that bore his flag to fame, Our veteran hero well becomes his gallant vessel'd name; Behold his locks! they speak the toil of many a stormy day; For fifty years and more, my boys, his fighting been his way.
GRAND CHORUS.
Behold his locks! they speak the toil of many a stormy day, For fifty years and more, my boys, has fighting been his way; The Veneralble was the ship that bore his flag to fame, And venerable ever be our vet'ran Duncan's name!
From ''Songs, hymns, and psalms'', by Jonas Hanway, p11, 1783. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''''On Friendship'''''
The World, my dear Messmate, is full of deceit, And Friendship's a Jewel we seldom can meet; How strange does it seem that in searching around, This source of Content is so rare to be found: O Friendship thou Balm and rich sweetner of Life, Kind Parent of Ease and composer of Strife, Without thee alas! what are Riches and Pow'r, But empty delusion, The Joys of an Hour But empty delusion, the Joys of an Hour.
How much to be priz'd an esteem'd is a friend, On whom we with safelty may always depend! Our joys, when extended, will always increase; And griefs, when divided, are hush'd into peace.
When fortune is smiling, what crouds will appear, Their kindness to offer, and friendship sincere! Yet change but the prospect, and point out distress, No longer to court you they eagerly press.
From ''The bacchanalian magazine; and Cyprian enchantress'', pp22-3, 1793. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''THE OYSTER GIRL.'''---A New Song.
Written by R. RUSTED.
Thro' Fleet-street I my oysters cry, You've heard of Saucy Sall; A lass of spunk, with learing eye; For rigs, I am the girl: Game to the spine, with Jolly Dick I take my ev'ning rounds; And many a watchman's lanthorn kick; I hate those sleepy hounds, I hate those sleepy hounds, I hate those sleepy hounds, And many a watchman's lanthorn kick; I hate those sleepy hounds.
Sweet Sir, D'ye want any oysters then, For natives, I'm your sort. My 'warehouse' is op'n from two to ten, For gentlemen to resort; Your different palates I can please, Ye Bucks, come here and taste: Here's Meltons, and Rocks of all degrees, And a girl with a slender waist.
When in the Garden I could shine, And like my betters dress, The Bankrupt, and the grave Divine, Wou'd Saucy Sall caress: The Squire, and the lordling Cit, With me would cut a dash; But I, with brilliancy of wit-- Could ease 'em of their cash.
But now, ye gods, the change how great! How has the mighty fell! Just so, with Ministers of State, The 'ins' and 'outs' can tell: But I thro' life, with Dick, can sport, Despising Fortune's frowns; And like 'some' Ladies, drest at Court-- Can live by 'ups' and 'downs'.
From ''Songs, hymns, and psalms'', by Jonas Hanway, p17, 1783. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''''Roast Beef'''''
While mighty roast Beef is the Englishmans Food, It enobles our Veins and enriches our Blood, Our Sailors are brave and our Statesmen are good, O the roast Beef of old England And O the old English roast Beef.
Our fathers of old, were robust, stout, and strong, And oft kept open house with mirth all day long, Which made their plump tenants rejoice in this song: O the roast beef, &c.
In those days, if fleets did presume on the main, They seldom or never return'd back again; As witness, the vaunted Armada of Spain: O the roast beef, &c.
When good Queen Elizabeth sat on the throne, No coffee, or tea, nor such slip-slops were known; The world was in terror if e'er she did frown: O the roast beef, &c.
And still we have stomachs to eat and to fight, And, when wrongs are a-cooking, to do ourselves right; And now, my good friends, I wish you good night; O the roast beef, &c.
From ''Songs, hymns, and psalms'' by Jonas Hanway, song 27, 1783. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''''Rule Britannia'''''
When Britain first at Heav'ns Command, arose from the Azure Main, arose arose from out the Azure Main; This was the Charter, the Charter of the Land, and Guardian Angels sing this Strain, Rule Britannia, Britannia Rule the Waves, Britons never will be Slaves.
The nations, not so blest as thee, Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall, Must, in, &c. Whilst thou shalt flourish, shalt flourish great and free, The dread and envy of them all. Rule, Britannia, &c.
Still more majestic shalt thou rise, More dreadful from each foreign stroke, More dreadful, &c. As the loud blast, that tears the skies, Serves but to root thy native oak. Rule, Britannia, &c.
Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame, All their attempts to bend thee down, All their, &c. Will but arouse, arouse they gen'rous flame, And work their woe, and thy renown. Rule, Britannia, &c.
To thee belongs the rural reign; Thy cities shall with commerce shine, Thy cities, &c. All thine shall be, shall be the subject main, And ev'ry shore it circles, thine. Rule, Britannia, &c.
The Muses, still with Freedom found, Shall to thy happy coast repair, Shall to, &c. Blest Isle! with beauties, with matchless beauties crown'd, Rule, Britannia, &c.
From ''The musical repository'', pp18-21, 1799. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''THE SNUG LITTLE ISLAND.'''
Daddy Neptune one day to Freedom did say, If ever I liv'd upon dry land, The spot I shou'd hit on would be little Britain, Says Freedom, Why that's my own island. Oh! what a snug little island, A right little tight little island; All the globe round, none can be found So happy as this little island.
Julius Cesar the Roman, who yielded to no man, Came by water, he couldn't come by land; And Dane, Pict, and Saxon their homes turn'd their hacks on, And all for the sake of our island. Oh what a snug little island, They'd all have a touch at the island; Some were shot dead,--some of them fled, And some staid to live in the island.
Then a very great war-man, call'd Billy the Norman, Cried, D--n it, I never liked my land, It wou;d be much more handy to leave this Normandy, And live on yon beautiful island. Says he, 'Tis a snug little island, Shan't us go visit the island; Hop, skip, and jump,--there he was plump, And he kick'd up a dust in the island.
Yet party deceit help'd the Normans to beat, Of traitors they managed to buy land; By Dane, Saxon, or Pict we ne'er had been lick'd, Had they stuck to the king of the island. Poor Harold the king of the island, He lost both his life and his island; That's very true,--what could he do? Like a Briton he died for the island.
Then the Spanish Armada set out to invade a, Quite sure, if they ever came nigh land, They cou'dn't do less than tuck up Queen Bess, And take their full swing in the island. Oh the poor queen and the island, The drones came to plunder the island; But snug in her hive--the queen was alive, And buz was the word at the island.
The proud puff'd up cakes thought to make ducks and drake Of our wealth, but they scarcely could spy land, E'er Drake had the luck to make their pride duck, And stoop to the lads of the island. Huzza! for the lads of the island; Devil or Don,--let 'en come on, But how would they come off at the island?
I don't wonder much that the French and the Dutch Have since been oft tempted to try land, And I wonder much less they have met no success, For why should we give up our island? Oh 'tis a wonderful island! All of 'em long for the island; Hold a bit there, (let 'em)--take fire and air, But we'll have the sea and the island.
Then since Freedom and Neptune have hitherto kept tune, In each saying, This shall be my land, Shou'd the army of England, or all they cou'd bring, land, We'd show 'em some play for the island; We'd fight for our right to the island, We'd give 'em enough of the island; Frenchmen shou'd just--bite at our dust, But not a bit more of the island.
From ''Songs, hymns, and psalms'', by Jonas Hanway, p12, 1783. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''''Take advantage of Time.'''''
'Tis a maxim I hold while I live to pursue, Not a thing to defer which to-day I can do, Not a thing to defer which to-day I can do, This piece of good counsel attend to I pray For while the sun shines is the time to make hay, For while the sun shines is the time to make hay.
Attend to your work, in the grove or the field That labour its fruits may constantly yield, That nothing but sickness your progress may slay' For while the sun shines 'tis time to make hay.
If the foolish obstruct you, then make your complaint, Speak out your mind freeling, devoid of restraint; Exert yourself manly, and make no delay, For while the sun shines is the time to make hay.
For should you the present sure minute pass by, You may fear to be tempted to tell a sad lie; Then briskly work on, nor longer delay, For while the sun shines is the time to make hay.
From ''The musical repository'', pp100-2, 1799. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''THE TANKARD OF ALE.'''
Not drunk, nor yet sober, but brother to both, I met a young man upon Aylesbery vale, I saw by his force that he was in good case To come and take share of a tankard of ale, la ral la la la ra la la la ra la la ra la la ra la la I saw by his face that he was in good case To come and take share of a tankard of ale.
The hedger who works in the ditches all day, And labours so very hard at the plough tail, He'll talk of great things, about princes and kings, When once he shakes hands with a tankard of ale.
The beggar that begs without any legs, She's scarce got a rag to cover her tail, Yet's as merry with rags as a miser with bags, When once she shakes hands with a tankard of ale.
The widow that buried her husband of late, She's scarcely forgotten to weep or to wail, But thinks every day ten till she's married again, When once she shakes hands with a tankard of ale.
The old parish vicar, when he's in his liquor, Will merrily at his parishioners rail, Come pay all your tithes, or I'll kiss all your wives, When once he shakes hands with a tankard of ale.
The old parish clerk, with his eyes in the dark, And letter so small that he scarcely can tell, He'll read every letter, and sing the psalms better, When once he shakes hands with a tankard of ale.
If wrangling and jangling, or any such strife, Or any things else may happen to fall, From words turn to blows and a sharp bloody nose, We're friends again over a tankard of ale.
From ''The bacchanalian magazine; and Cyprian enchantress'', pp36-7, 1793. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''THE WARM DISPUTE.'''
Tune--I ne'er will go abroad, &c. (Linco's Travels)
Four lovely lasses gay and bright, Sat snug within a grove, All thought themselves secure from sight, And freely talk'd of love. Whilst I in covert of the shade, In silent pleasure hid, Could hear each word the fair ones said, And see whate'er they did.
The partial girls with witty pride, A warm dispute began; Contesting which was best supply'd With 'that' that pleases man. But in this great and nice affair, Mere words were not enough; And each by ornamental hair, Would bring it to a proof.
Maria, precious black-ey'd maid! Pull'd up her coats and shift; And with exulting pride display'd, Dame Nature's bounteous gift. Her lovely, all-alluring 'tuff' Was black, and near as big As any northern Monarch's muff, Or Baron Hotham's wig!
'This, this,' said she, 'shall be your queen, 'For I can justly boast; ''Tis 'this' alone the men do mean, 'When to the 'best' they toast.' Fair Cloe smil'd, and thus she spoke: 'I'll not to Polly yield;' Then up she drew her lily smock, And all her charms reveal'd.
To tell the beauties of the 'place', How weak is human tongue; The noble fringes which it grace, In golden ringlets hung. Eliza next disclos'd her 'parts', And shew'd her circling hair; The vanquisher of mortal hearts, Gods! what sight was there.
The luscious curling nut brown geer, Which grew on belly high, Did like a sumptuous arch appear, And reach'd from thigh to thigh. 'See here, my girls,' Eliza cry'd, 'And shall it e'er be spoke, 'That Bess has been as yet outvy'd, 'By 'black' and 'yellow joke?'
'Tis 'this' can make the hero droop, And tame the stoutest fellow; And therefore know I scorn to stoop To 'sable' or to 'sallow'. Now ev'ry charming tempting she, Who had already shewn; With furious eye survey'd the three, And boasted of her own.
While pretty Kitty pensive sat, 'Twixt envy and despair, So young, Dame Nature had not yet Been 'li'bral' to the fair. The little nymph unveil'd the 'place', Her 'secret' for to shew; But all was smooth as Kitty's face, And white as mountain snow.
Each mocking dame the girl did twit, And each her own extoll'd; And with exulting, ill-tim'd wit, Cry'd, 'Kitty, thou art bald!' Kate bow'd her head as low as thigh, Regardless of their jeers; She gaz'd a while with earnest eyes, And cry'd, 'Indeed I've hairs.
'See Polly, Cloe, Betsy, see, 'They may be plainly spy'd, 'If you'll but just be rul'd by me, 'And cast a glance aside.' Although no 'fur' as yet did spring, On that which Kitty wore; I thought the pretty 'pouting thing', The sweetest of the four.
I through the hedge would have been, My case was here as bad, As Tantalus up to the chin, With apples o'er his head. For had I through the briars gone, I knew not what to say; So took my fill of looking on, And slily sneak'd away.
From ''Songs, hymns, and psalms'', by Jonas Hanway, p9, 1783. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''''Winter'''''
When the Trees are all bare not a Leaf to be seen, And the Meadows their Beauties have lost, When all Nature's disrob'd of her Mantle of Green, And the Streams are fast bound with the frost, When the Peasant inactive stands shiv'ring with Cold, As bleak the Winds Northerly blow, When the Innocent Flocks run for Care to their Fold, With their Fleeces all cover'd with Snow With their Fleeces all cover'd with Snow.
In the yard where the cattle are fodder'd with straw, When they send forth their breath like a stream; And the neat-looking dairy-maid sees she must thaw Flakes of ice that she finds in her cream-- When the birds to the barn come hovering for food, Or they silently sit on the spray; And the poor timid hare in vain seeks the wood, Left her footsteps her course should betray--
Heaven grant in this season it may prove my lot, With the wife whom I love and admire, While the icicles hang from the eaves of my cot, I may thither in safety retire! Where in neatness and quiet, and free from surprize, We may live, and no hardships endure; Nor feel any turbulent passions arise, But such as each other may cure.
From ''The musical repository'', pp10-2, 1799. :: listen to the tune (midi file)
'''THE WOUNDED HUSSAR.'''
Alone to the banks of the dark rolling Danube, Fair Adelaid hied when the battle was o'er; O whither, she cried, hast thou wander'd, my lover, Or here dost thou welter and bleed on the shore? What voice did I hear! 'twas my Henry that sigh'd, All mournful she hasten'd, nor wander'd afar, When bleeding alone on the heath she descried, By the light of the moon, her poor wounded hussar.
From his bosom that heav'd, the last torrent was streaming, And pale was his visage, deep mark'd with a scar, And dim was that eye, once expressively beaming, That melted in love, and that kindled in war; How smit was poor Adelaid's heart at the sight! How bitter she wept o'er the victim of war! "Hast thou come, my fond love, this last sorrowful night, To cheer the lone heart of your wounded hussar."
"Thou shalt live!" she replied, "heaven's mercy relieving, Each anguishing wound shall forbid me to mourn;" "Ah! no, the last pang in my bosom is heaving, No light of the morn shall to Henry return; Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true, Ye babes of my love, that await me afar--" His falt'ring tongue scarcely murmur'd adieu, When he sunk in her arms, the poor wounded hussar.