Page:Catharine Ogie.pdf/4

 The spot I should hit on,

Should be little Britain:

Says Freedom, Why that’s my own island!

O it’s a nice little Island,

'Tis a tight little, right little Island.

Julius Caesar the Roman,

Who yielded to no man,

Came by water, he could not come by land;

And Dane, Pict, and Saxon,

Their homes turn’d their backs on,

And all for the sake of the Island,

O it's a nice little Island,

’Tis a right litle, tight little Island.

Then another great war-man,

Call’d Billy the Norman,

Cried, ‘Hang it I don’t much like my land ;

It would sure be more handy

To leave this Normandy,

And go to that beautiful Island.

Shan’t us go and visit the Island,

The right little, tight little Island?

Then says Harold the king,

As Histories sing.

"While I live it shall never be thy land.”

So he died, I well wot,

Because he was shot,

In bravely defending the Island.

Poor Harold the king of the Island!

Like a Briton he died for his Island.

Yet 'twas partly deceit

Help’d the Norman to beat;