Page:George and Britain save (1).pdf/5

 5 That I've nothing to lose is the cry; Let who will declare it, I vow I can’t bear it, I give all such praters the lie.

Tho' my house is but small, Yet to have none at all, Would sure be a greater distress, Sir, Shall my garden, so sweet, And my orchard, so neat, Be the prize of a foreign oppressor ?

On Saturday’s night, 'Tis still my delight. With my wages to run home the faster, But if Frenchmen rule here, I may look far and near, But I never shall find a Pay-master.

I've a dear little wife, Whom I love as my life, To lose her I should not much like, And it would make me run wild, To see my sweet child, With it's head on the point of a pike,

I've my Church too to save, And will go to my grave