Winter and death may change the scene,
The cold may freeze, the ball may kill,
And dire misfortunes intervene;
But freedom shall be potent still
To drive these Britons from our shore,
Who, cruel and unkind,
With slavish chain
Attempt in vain
Our freeborn limbs to bind.
Pasq. O, excellent—"Our freeborn limbs to bind"—by my soul, they never shall bind mine. Harry, give us another song on our affairs and then we'll be ready.
All. Ay, ay; another, another.
2nd P. I have not many by heart. I do recollect one at present, but it was made at the beginning of the war.
All. No matter, no matter; let's hear it.
2nd P.
[Sings
The cohorts of Britain are now all complete,
She has brushed up her soldiers and manned out her fleet;
The lion has roared whose trade is to kill,
And we are the victims whose blood he must spill.
But ere I am slaughtered and wrapped in a shroud
I must tell you the motive that makes him so proud.
The monkeys and puppies that bow to his rule
Have told him a lie and deceived the old fool.
They say we are cowards, not dressed in red coats,
That he without danger may cut all our throats;
If we see but a Briton, confounded with fear,
We'll throw down our muskets and run like a deer.