BEAUMONT’s LIGHT HORSE.
We march’d from the camps with our hearts full of woe,
On board of the transports we forc’d were to go;
No drums they did beat, nor no trumpets did sound,
In silence and sadness we trudg’d o’er the ground.
No more on our horses we’ll prance o’er the plain,
For they drive us away like sheep to be slain;
Our friends and acquaintance we leave on the shore,
And we’ll never be seen in Old England more.
When arm’d, on our horses away we did ride,
All ran to see Beaumont’s Light Horsemen parade;
But all these fine times are with us now all o’er,
For we shall return to Old England no more.
We listed for horsemen, our country to save,
They told us fine stories of Beaumont the brave;
But now he has sold us to add to his store,
And transported from England to come back no more.
We mounted our horses and rode through the town,
We hid us in holes, and our guns we laid down;
Now see the Newcastle folks drive away fears,
And now see the brav’ry of their Volunteers.
God save our noble king, and long may he reign,
And send him brave soldiers, his rights to maintain;
But do not deceive them, keep them on your shore,
That they may defend you ’till time is no more.
Farewell to all camps, and farewell to all towns,
We go off all footmen, no more like dragoons;
For hard is our fate, and it grieves us full sore,
Then farewell, dear England, we’ll see thee no more.
Farewell to our wives, and our sweethearts likewise;
Tho’ we’re driven to battle yet we’ll bullets despise;
And if its our fortune to return once again,
We’ll bring store of riches, and bid adieu to the main.
A Song in Praise of the
KEELMEN VOLUNTEERS. On board the Lapwing Frigate.
Tune—White Cockade.
Come fill a bumper to the brim,
And drink success to George our king;
Of France and Spain let’s not be fear’d,
Since our Keel Lads have volunteer’d
To meet the proud and daring foe,
And let the haughty Frenchmen know,
That our Keel Lads are brave and free,
And Neptune’s favourites will be.
Zephyr, blow your gentle gales,
And fill our Keel Lads’ shiv’ring sails,
And waft them o’er the raging sea;
For our defenders they will be:
Lo! Duncan of the Texel boasts,
Nelson them in the Nile did toast;
The British flag they’re sure to sway,
And Frenchmen take to Norway.
With spirits heroic and sublime,
Our lads are brought up on the Tyne;
They will our foes with sorrow fill,
When once they sail from Newcastle:
Where bullets fly and cannons roar,
They’ll sweep the seas from shore to shore;
And all the world their wonders tell:
Huzza, Keel Lads of Newcastle!
THE SONS OF THE TYNE:
OR,
British Volunteers.
Tune—Hearts of Oak.
Come cheer up your hearts, my brave sons of the Tyne,
And boldly come forward to enter the line;
Your country it calls you, defend now her right,
Against that invader, who dares you to fight.
Sons of Tyne all advance,
For to humble proud France;
And teach Bonaparte,
Tho’ ever so hearty,
Not t’ insult British valour upon her own shore.
The proud sons of Spain, too, like fools did attempt,
With a large Armada to make a descent;
But lord Howard convinc’d them, long ere they came near,
That they were not to take the wrong sow by the ear!
Sons of Tyne, &c.
There was bold Sidney Smith, on the Palestine shore,
Made the army invincible lie all in gore;
When caught in his Mouse Trap[17] at Acre de John,
Bonaparte (then Musselman) made a sad moan.
Sons of Tyne, &c.
The brave Abercromby shed his last drop of blood,
At Alexandria, for his country’s good:
And shall Corsican Tyranny ever come near
To Britannia’s shores?—No! we’ll all volunteer.
Sons of Tyne, &c.
He threats to invade us, and plunder us too,
And make us a province! but that will not do.
If he come, we will shew him a handful of men,
Who will take him in Trap, like Sir Sidney again.
Sons of Tyne, &c.
Bonaparte’s bravadoes we’ll treat with disdain,
Like the heroes of Britain, who rule on the main;
We will boldly stand forward in Britannia’s cause,
To protect her religion, her liberty and laws.
Sons of Tyne, &c.
[17] The seamen call the breach made in the walls at St John de Acre, while Bonaparte was in Egypt, the Commodore’s Mouse Trap.