Britannia triumphant, her ships sweep the sea;
Her standard is Justice-her watchword, "Be free."
Then cheer up, my lads! with one heart let us sing,
"Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, and king."
Heart of oak, etc.
ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE
TOLL for the brave!
The brave that are no more!
All sunk beneath the wave,
Fast by their native shore!
Eight hundred of the brave,
Whose courage well was tried,
Had made the vessel heel,
And laid her on her side.
A land-breeze shook the shrouds,
And she was overset ;
Down went the Royal George,
With all her crew complete.
Toll for the brave!
Brave Kempenfelt is gone;
His last sea-fight is fought,
His work of glory done.
It was not in the battle;
No tempest gave the shock;
She sprang no fatal leak;
She ran upon no rock.
His sword was in its sheath,
His fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfelt went down,
With twice four hundred men.
Weigh the vessel up,
Once dreaded by our foes!
And mingle with our cup,
The tears that England owes.
Her timbers yet are sound,
And she may float again,
Full charged with England's thunder,
And plough the distant main.
TRUE Britons all of each degree,
Rejoice around the nation,
Full bumpers drink and merry be,
Upon this just occasion,
Let mirth on every brow appear,
Rodney victorious is, we hear,
For he has drubbed haughty Mounseer,
Success to gallant Rodney.
This fierce engagement did begin,
About six in the morning,
And held till seven in the evening,
To yield both parties scorning,
But when brave Rodney he came nigh,
He made De Grasse peccavi cry,
And forced the proud Mounseers to fly,
Success to gallant Rodney.
Though they had thirty-seven sail,
They could not save their bacon,
Their numbers nothing did avail,
Their Admiral was taken.
Though Rodney had but thirty-four,
He forced the Mounseers to give o'er,
Success to gallant Rodney.
He took five French sail of the line,
And one was sunk in battle,
The Mounseers did the fight decline,
Awed by his thunder's rattle.
Our tars did ply their guns so fast
Their leaded pills they made them taste,
De Grasse was forced his ship at last,
To yield to gallant Rodney.
Our gallant tars they played their part,
And like true sons of thunder,
They made the haughty Mounseer smart
And forced him to knock under.
They mauled their masts, and rigging, too,
Their small shot just like hailstones flew,
The Mounseers roared out Sacre Dieu,
And flew from gallant Rodney.
Upon the 12th of April last
(Which was Fool's Day by old style),
He made a fool of famed De Grasse,
Which sure will make you all smile.
Brave Rodney showed them George shall rule,
Drink Rodney's health in bumpers full,
Who made De Grasse an April Fool,
Success to gallant Rodney.
A NEW SONG ON PARKER THE DELEGATE
HEAD OF THE MUTINY AT SHEERNESS
(To the tune of the Vicar of Bray)
I WILL not sing in Parker's praise,
Disgraceful is the story,
Nor yet to seamen tune my lays,
Eclipsed is now their glory;
Fell Faction's head they proudly rear,
'Gainst Country and 'gainst King, sir,
And on their land they now do try
Destruction for to bring, sir.
Then Britons all, with one accord,
Fight for your Constitution,
And let surrounding foes behold
We want no Revolution.
Parker the means has brought about
Our seamen to corrupt, sir,
And like a daring traitor bold,
Our trade doth interrupt, sir;
The ships at Sheerness rear the flag,
The emblem of defiance,
With sorrow strikes us to reflect
On them we've no reliance.
An Admiral he calls himself,
Takes a Commander's station,
On board the Sandwich doth insult
And braves the English nation;
Gives law, dispenses life and death,
Or punishment disgraceful,
And by his arbitrary deeds
Hath made himself most hateful.
A terror to each merchant ship,
Detains, and doth them plunder,
And if they offer to sail by
His guns do at them thunder; Whate'er he likes he from them takes, And should they dare refuse, sir, The captain's ordered to be flogged, Thus doth he them ill use, sir.
Five hundred pounds is the reward,
The traitor to bring in, sir,
Who thus the bloody flag hath reared
'Gainst Country and 'gainst King, sir;
Let's hope the villain quickly will
To punishment be brought, sir,
Who like a daring traitor bold
His country's ruin sought, sir.
Then Britons all, with one accord,
Fight for your Constitution,
And let surrounding foes behold
We want no Revolution.
COME, all ye jolly sailors bold,
Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould,
While English glory I unfold,
Huzza for the Arethusa!
She is a frigate tight and brave,
As ever stemmed the dashing wave;
Her men are staunch
To their fav'rite launch,
And when the foe shall meet our fire,
Sooner than strike, we'll all expire
On board of the Arethusa.
'Twas with the Spring fleet she went out
The English Channel to cruise about,
When four French sail, in show so stout
Bore down on the Arethusa.
The famed Belle Poule ahead did lie,
The Arethusa scorned to fly,
Not a sheet, nor a tack,
Nor a brace did she slack;
Though the Frenchman laughed and thought it stuff, But they knew not the handful of men, how tough, On board of the Arethusa.
On deck five hundred men did dance,
The stoutest they could find in France;
We with two hundred did advance
On board of the Arethusa.
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