Cricket Songs and other trifling verses penned by one of the Authors of "Thistledown." [i.e. by N. R. Gale] |
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ANGLOPHOBIA. |
 | Cricket Songs |  |
46
ANGLOPHOBIA.
Whenever I open my journals it seems
There's a column or so in the papers
Recording some shrill, inarticulate screams
Which are sauces for Frenchified capers:
These capers are cut at our false Angleterre,
And the Frenchman is coming to crack us;
Pardonnez, we say, as we bid him beware,
For we think he can never out-thwack us!
There's a column or so in the papers
Recording some shrill, inarticulate screams
Which are sauces for Frenchified capers:
These capers are cut at our false Angleterre,
And the Frenchman is coming to crack us;
Pardonnez, we say, as we bid him beware,
For we think he can never out-thwack us!
Now his vein is veneer and a delicate strut,
He's Republican, save in uprightness,
So let him take heed lest we venture to “cut”
A person whose pest is politeness!
And though our great statesmen he verbally flogs,
And threatens in Egypt to rack us,
Let him conquer instead with his fricasseed frogs
For as foeman he'll never out-thwack us!
He's Republican, save in uprightness,
So let him take heed lest we venture to “cut”
A person whose pest is politeness!
And though our great statesmen he verbally flogs,
And threatens in Egypt to rack us,
Let him conquer instead with his fricasseed frogs
For as foeman he'll never out-thwack us!
47
We will drink to his health in the Nile if he choose,
And cheer till we strain ev'ry rafter:
And then, if his temper the Frenchman should lose,
We'll toast him in Waterloo after!
Let him rave in his rags like a mad sans-culotte,
We have cartridges ready to back us,
And as for his rancour, we care not a jot,
Since we feel he can never out-thwack us!
And cheer till we strain ev'ry rafter:
And then, if his temper the Frenchman should lose,
We'll toast him in Waterloo after!
Let him rave in his rags like a mad sans-culotte,
We have cartridges ready to back us,
And as for his rancour, we care not a jot,
Since we feel he can never out-thwack us!
Let him bide in his valley, and stir at his soup,
And look to his cow and his acre;
Let him keep his fierce cock in its Catholic coop
Or England may make him a Quaker!
We wish him at peace and we give him our pledge
If he try not to hew at and hack us;
But woe, if the Lion leap over the hedge,
To the foe who shall never out-thwack us!
And look to his cow and his acre;
Let him keep his fierce cock in its Catholic coop
Or England may make him a Quaker!
We wish him at peace and we give him our pledge
If he try not to hew at and hack us;
But woe, if the Lion leap over the hedge,
To the foe who shall never out-thwack us!
For the flag of Old England shall sweep him at sea,
And the tramp of her infantry shake him
When the line of her redcoats comes over the lea,
To trounce and to thoroughly break him!
Hurrah for our homesteads! Hurrah for our guns!
Not a Frenchman shall harry and sack us,
For his sabre and shrapnel no Englishman shuns,
And we know he can never out-thwack us!
And the tramp of her infantry shake him
When the line of her redcoats comes over the lea,
To trounce and to thoroughly break him!
Hurrah for our homesteads! Hurrah for our guns!
Not a Frenchman shall harry and sack us,
For his sabre and shrapnel no Englishman shuns,
And we know he can never out-thwack us!
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