POLITICAL.
Tune, The Vicar of Bray.
When liberty, serenely bright,
Her beams resplendent darted,
O’er this fam’d land, the sacred light,
Its genial power imparted;
Then thickest clouds, that veil’d her rays,
By liberty were driven,
And Britons saw, in William blaze,
The patriot flame from heav’n.
CHORUS.
Britons, revere! with hearts elate,
The glorious revolution,
That firmly fix’d in church and state,
Your heaven-born constitution.
Fair freedom’s temple tyrant James,
With scepter’d sway invaded,
And conscience with her honest claims,
He scouted and degraded;
But freedom rous’d, her legions led,
And William monarch seated,
Then superstition hid her head,
And faction was defeated.
CHORUS.
On Fame’s unfading record stand,
Immortal made by story,
Illustrious worthies of our land,
Proud martyrs to its glory;
They bravely fought against all laws,
That dare fair freedom fetter,
The constitution was their cause,
The spirit and the letter.
CHORUS.
Could Athens, Greece, or Rome, so fam’d,
Can one surviving nation,
A compact boast, so wisely fram’d,
For freedom’s preservation?
Ah, No! but Britons, brave as free,
Wou’d all rejoice to find, sir,
Their own dear rights of liberty
Secur’d to all mankind, sir.
CHORUS.
The system of our club shall be,
To guard what we inherit,
The sacred dome of liberty,
With firmness, strength, and spirit;
And let the plund’ring patriots know,
Who ’gainst our rights contend, sir,
That he is freedom’s fatal foe,
Who is not George’s friend, sir.
CHORUS.
POLITICAL,
Written for a Club in the Country.
I’m a plain, homely, man, and now take up my pen, sir,
To counteract the tenets of Paine’s “Rights of Men,” sir,
Free and happy I enjoy the harvest of my labours,
And never interfere, but to comfort needy neighbours.
CHORUS—Row, row, row,
I’m for peace and quietness,
Not row, row.
I cherish and retain still each old-fashion’d notion,
Of order, freedom, property, security, devotion;
I’d rather have our king, than Tom Paine the lord protector,
And I’ll combat, with my life, ev’ry plund’ring projector.
CHORUS.
Then attend, daring schemers, involv’d in disputation,
Each with plans in your pockets, to renovate the nation,
I’ll oppose to brilliant wit, art, cunning, and sagacity,
Experience the store of my humble mean capacity.
CHORUS.
Liberty we have, tho’ some say it’s farce and fiction,
It’s by law well secur’d, and confirm’d in restriction,
Thus guarded, we are safe from disorder and delusion,
The dogmas of demagogues, and sans-culotte confusion.
CHORUS.
Our property’s defence is the law long enacted,
And sacred to it, our obedience is exacted,
Each social gradation, by which we stand or fall, sir,
Is wisely ordain’d for the welfare of all, sir.
CHORUS.
Virtue, innocence, integrity, I know are protected,
Audacity and crime are punish’d when detected,
True freedom gave the pow’r, in hatred and aversion,
To tyranny in all its forms, excesses, and coercion.
CHORUS.
My religion’s purely christian, the law’s establish’d church, sir,
And I never wish to see alma mater in the lurch, sir,
I’d leave to all dissenters what wisdom left before, sir,
For, give them all they ask, restless souls, they’d still ask more, sir.
CHORUS.
Our compact’s a stranger to violent extremes, sir;
’Tis wisdom and temp’rance; with mildness it teems, sir:
But as old father Time no edifice ere spared, sir,
In due season, when it wants it, let the structure be repair’d, sir.
CHORUS.
I worship no idol when I say that I’m devoted,
To this fabric of Britons, admir’d, esteem’d, and noted;
The blood in these young veins I’d spill in its defence, sir,
And my wish is, May it firmly stand for centuries hence, sir.
CHORUS.
POLITICAL,
Written in the Reign of Robespierre.
Tune, The Roast Beef of Old England.
When the honor of Briton imperiously calls
For her cannons’ loud thunder and death-dealing balls,
Hear Victory shout from her fam’d wooden walls.
CHORUS.
The King and Old England for ever,
True liberty, order, and law.
Shall we who for ages have freedom defended,
With jacobin ruffians and cut-throats be blended;
Kiss, embrace, and shake hands with the devil’s intended?
CHORUS.
See Gallia polluted with crimes past all counting,
Of mercy and justice dried up is the fountain,
There Virtue’s a mole-hill, and Vice is a mountain.
CHORUS.
Religion abandon’d, morality dead,
Worth, honor, and honesty, from the land fled,
And eternity term’d only going to bed.
CHORUS.
Shall we follow France in each social band-breaking,
Eat bread bad and black of old Belzebub’s baking,
And sleep on French litter all quiv’ring and shaking?
CHORUS.
No, we’ve bread white and good, and fam’d English roast-beef,
On the beds we repose, Nature finds sound relief,
Such comforts deserve not each jacobin thief.
CHORUS.
’Tis French Anarchy’s plan all the world to subdue,
O’er each fair peaceful land blood and bodies to strew,
If you don’t conquer them, John, by G—d they will you.
CHORUS.
May the sharp sword of justice then fatally strike,
And each jacobin’s head be transferr’d to his pike,
Such Gallic equality John Bull would like.
CHORUS.
To our brothers in arms for fair freedom’s cause fighting,
And each hero of honour and spirit uniting,
True to their King, in their Country delighting.
CHORUS.
The Glory and Laurels of War.
CONSTITUTIONAL SONG
OF THE
“VIVE LE ROI CLUB!”
When the radiant rob’d Goddess of liberty shed
Her influence divine o’er our isle,
From her power omnipotent—tyranny fled,
And Britannia, long griev’d, wore a smile.
CHORUS.
Vive le Roi, Huzza, Huzza, Vive le Roi!
The soldier, the sailor, the people, impell’d
By freedom’s celestial flame,
King William enthron’d, in whose worth was beheld
Each virtue true freedom cou’d claim:
Vive le Roi, &c.
The vet’ran high soaring on Victory’s wing,
Whose motto is “Conquer or Die!”
To meet the reward of his country and king,
On Hope’s full-plum’d pinion shall fly.
Vive le Roi, &c.
Ne’er shall lawless ambition maintain its career,
Nor shall faction with freedom contend;
For the rights of the Crown we, as Freemen, revere,
And as Britons are bound to defend.
Vive le Roi, &c.
Tho’ foes to the Crown, our mild Monarch’s fair fame
May with envy envenom’d decry;
Yet, such poisonous darts of detraction’s foul aim,
Both his courage and virtue defy.
Vive le Roi, &c.
Each heart then, enliven’d by loyalty’s cause,
Push the soul-stirring wine swiftly round;
Exclaim in a volley of joy and applause,
For the nation re-echoes the sound.
Vive le Roi, &c.
LADY H⸺ to Mrs. P⸺.
Said old Lady H⸺, once a blooming young wench,
But whose head’s now adorn’d with gray hairs,
“I admire the great comfort and taste which the French
Combine in their fashion of chairs;
For English, our frames are both simple and neat;
Yet the French in past times were so puff’d,
That our bottoms were never consider’d complete,
Until sent o’er to France to be stuff’d.”