 | English, Scots and Irishmen |  |
ENGLISH, SCOTS, AND IRISHMEN. A PATRIOTIC ADDRESS TO THE INHABITANTS OF THE UNITED KINGDOM.
BY JOHN MAYNE.
English, Scots and Irishmen,
All that are in Valour's ken!
Shield your King; and flock agen
Where his sacred Banners fly!
Now's the day, and now's the hour,
Frenchmen wou'd the Land devour—
Will ye wait till they come o'er
To give ye Chains and Slavery?
All that are in Valour's ken!
Shield your King; and flock agen
Where his sacred Banners fly!
Now's the day, and now's the hour,
Frenchmen wou'd the Land devour—
Will ye wait till they come o'er
To give ye Chains and Slavery?
Who wou'd be a Frenchman's slave?
Who wou'd truckle to the knave?
Who wou'd shun a glorious grave
For worse than death, for—infamy?
To see your Liberties expire—
Your Temples smoke, your Fleets on fire!
That's a Frenchman's sole desire—
That's your fate, or—Liberty!
Who wou'd truckle to the knave?
Who wou'd shun a glorious grave
For worse than death, for—infamy?
To see your Liberties expire—
Your Temples smoke, your Fleets on fire!
That's a Frenchman's sole desire—
That's your fate, or—Liberty!
Robb'd of all that sweetens life,
Tranquil home and happy wife!
Reeking from the villain's knife,
Yonder harmless Peasant see—
Prostrate near him on the heath,
A ruin'd Daughter gasps for breath!
Frenchmen riot in their death—
That's to them a luxury!
Tranquil home and happy wife!
Reeking from the villain's knife,
Yonder harmless Peasant see—
Prostrate near him on the heath,
A ruin'd Daughter gasps for breath!
Frenchmen riot in their death—
That's to them a luxury!
In fancy'd conquest over you,
The Tyrant tells his tyger—crew—
If chains will not your minds subdue,
Nor exile, stripes, and poverty,
Then, when the Land is all defil'd,
He'll butcher woman, man and child—
He'll turn your gardens to a wild—
Your Courts, to caves of misery!
The Tyrant tells his tyger—crew—
If chains will not your minds subdue,
Nor exile, stripes, and poverty,
Then, when the Land is all defil'd,
He'll butcher woman, man and child—
He'll turn your gardens to a wild—
Your Courts, to caves of misery!
Mothers, Sisters, Sweethearts dear,
All that Virtue gives us here!
Can your Sons or Loves fear
When Frenchmen threaten slavery?
O! No!—In hosts of Volunteers,
The Genius of the Isle appears!
With dauntless breast, Britannia rears
Her arm, and points to Victory!
All that Virtue gives us here!
Can your Sons or Loves fear
When Frenchmen threaten slavery?
O! No!—In hosts of Volunteers,
The Genius of the Isle appears!
With dauntless breast, Britannia rears
Her arm, and points to Victory!
Irish, Scots, and Englishmen,
All that Worth and Valour ken!
Shield your King; and flock agen
Where his sacred Banners fly!
Now's the day, and now's the hour,
Frenchmen wou'd the Land devour—
To arms! to arms! and make them cow'r,
Or meet their certain destiny!
All that Worth and Valour ken!
Shield your King; and flock agen
Where his sacred Banners fly!
Now's the day, and now's the hour,
Frenchmen wou'd the Land devour—
To arms! to arms! and make them cow'r,
Or meet their certain destiny!
| English, Scots and Irishmen | |