Page:Pocock's Everlasting Songster.djvu/97

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But (hould thou folfe or fickle prove

To Jack, who loves thee dear, No more upon my native fhore,

With joy can I appear ; But reftlefs as the briny main,

Muft heartlefs heave die log, Slow trim the fails and try to drown,.

My grief in cans of grog.

��OLD ENGLAND.

HAIL England ! old England, for glory renown'dj. Inarms, as in arts tranfcendently crown'd ! 'Tis this, ftricT: to honour, no treaties to break, 'Ti thine to revenge when that honour's at ftakej Then rife, O ye brave ! draw the fvvord, point the

lance, And bid the bold cannon roll thunder on France.

Hark ! truth fpeaks already, our heroes prevail, The rouz'd Englifh lion makes Gallia turn pale ! . Thy cunning, O France ! its own fate will decree, Succefs now dawns on us by land and by fea, And wide o'er the main fhall the Britifti flag fly, To force that fubmiHion which pride would deny..

Britannia rejoices your ardour to fee

My fons, fight, (he cries, 'tis for freedom and me :

Tho' Gallia's ambition alliance explore,

You'll conquer them now whom you've conquer'd

before.

A.nd triumph thefe truths to all nations (hall fing, The ocean is George's, and George is our King.

THE

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