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A LOYAL SONG, On Lord Nelson's Victory.

Ye true Sons of Britain, whose Valour and Zeal
All Europe must honour, all Nations must feel,
While with Wreaths of fresh Laurels your Temples are bound,
And the Thunder of Conquest o'er Ocean resound.

Chorus.

Brave Nelson led the Way, British Tars won the Day,
Whose Hearts firm and steady,
Were loyal and ready,
To prove that our Glory will never decay.
The Corsican stout, of his Elements out,
His Laurels are faded, Fleet put to the Rout;

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Again the French Standard to Britain's they bow,
For brave Nelson's Lads, are the Lads of brave Howe.
Old Nile hears our Guns triumphantly roar,
And Victory crowns Britain at Egypt's fam'd Shore;
Our Cannon resistless the wide Weilkin rend;
Their Ships to the Bottom our Carronades send.
Down, down goes each Mast! down, down goes each Keel!
Down, down go the Gauls to their Grandsire the De'il!
As they cheated all here, they cheat Charon below;
And, rapid to die, in their own Gallies go.
Tremendous around rages fierce British Ire,
Assails the French Admiral, sets him on fire!
The Gauls all affrighted, bawl, halloo, and yell,
Plunge into the Deep, and seek Shelter in Nile!

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The Navy of Britain, by Heaven's Decree,
Still triumphs on Ocean, and rules every Sea;
Still struggle the Swaggerers of Gallia in vain,
They'll never, no, never be Lords of the Main.

Chorus.

Let loud roaring Main, echo back the proud Strain,
Our Tars shall be ready,
Undaunted and steady,
To prove that brave Nelson is Lord of the Main.

THE SAILOR'S RANT.

How pleasant a sailor's life passes,
Who roams o'er the watery main,
No treasure he ever amasses,
But cheerfully spends all his gain.
We're strangers to party and faction,
To honour and honesty true;
And would not commit a bad action,
For power or profit in view,

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Chorus.

Then why should we quarrel for riches,
Or any such glittering toys?
A light heart and a thin pair of breeches
Goes thorough the world, brave boys.
The world is a beautiful garden,
Enrich'd with the blessings of life,
The toiler with plenty rewarding,
Which plenty too often breeds strife.
When terrible tempests assail us,
And mountainous billows affright,
No grandeur or wealth can avail us,
But skilful industry steers right.
Then why should, &c.
The courtier's more subject to dangers,
Who rules at the helm of the state,
Than we, who to politics are strangers,
Escape the snares laid for the great.
The various blessings of nature,
In various nations we try,
No mortal than us can be greater,
Who merrily live till we die.
Then why should, &c.
THE END.