Scripscrapologia or, Collins's Doggerel Dish Of All Sorts. Consisting of Songs Adapted to familiar Tunes, And which may be sung without the Chaunterpipe of an Italian Warbler, or the ravishing Accompaniments of Tweedle-Dum or Tweedle-Dee. Particularly those which have been most applauded in the author's once popular performance, call'd, The Brush. The Gallimaufry garnished with a variety of comic tales, quaint epigrams, whimsical epitaphs, &c. &c. [by John Collins] |
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STANZAS
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 | Scripscrapologia |  |
STANZAS
ON THE DETESTABLE THOUGHT OF BUTCHERY IN COLD BLOOD.
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Written about 3 years ago, when we were threatened by the French, as we are now, with an Invasion by Sea and by Land, and seeing it recommended in a Newspaper, that if the Enemy should make a Landing here, and we should defeat them as there was no Sort of Doubt but we should—In that Case, if Twenty Thousand Frenchmen were to lay down their Arms, and sue for Mercy as Prisoners of War, “To give them no Quarter,” but, for fear of their taking the first Opportunity of attacking us again,—“To put every Man of them to the Sword.”
And springs this Counsel from a Briton's Heart,
And does a Briton's Hand employ the Pen;
Such Self debasing Lessons to impart,
As would lift Brutes above the Rank of Men?
And does a Briton's Hand employ the Pen;
Such Self debasing Lessons to impart,
As would lift Brutes above the Rank of Men?
And can a Briton, unindignant, read
Cold-blooded Murder made a fav'rite Theme?
A Briton for Assassination plead,
And make foul Massacre a glorious Scheme?
Cold-blooded Murder made a fav'rite Theme?
A Briton for Assassination plead,
And make foul Massacre a glorious Scheme?
Forbid it Heaven, that Man, whose Form divine,
Creation's Lord first fashion'd from his own,
Should thus from mere Humanity decline,
To glut th' infernal Rage of Fiends alone!
Creation's Lord first fashion'd from his own,
Should thus from mere Humanity decline,
To glut th' infernal Rage of Fiends alone!
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Rous'd by the ruthless Foe to hostile Ire,
Let every gen'rous Impulse string the Nerve,
Inflame the Heart with patriotic Fire,
And fix the Soul from Duty ne'er to swerve!
Let every gen'rous Impulse string the Nerve,
Inflame the Heart with patriotic Fire,
And fix the Soul from Duty ne'er to swerve!
Then to that Duty firm as Sion's Rock,
Evince it, prove it in the Battle's Heat;
Towr'ing like Sion, there brave ev'ry Shock,
While Frenchmen bite the Dust at Britons' Feet.
Evince it, prove it in the Battle's Heat;
Towr'ing like Sion, there brave ev'ry Shock,
While Frenchmen bite the Dust at Britons' Feet.
Like Raging Lions, or the Roaring Main,
Spread wide and boundless Havock o'er the Field;
Spurn all Repugnance on th' embattled Plain,
And nobly perish, ere ignobly yield.
Spread wide and boundless Havock o'er the Field;
Spurn all Repugnance on th' embattled Plain,
And nobly perish, ere ignobly yield.
“Britons, Strike Home!” Is now the Word for all;
“Britons, Strike Home!” The Order of the Day;
“Britons, Strike Home!” Obey the glorious Call,
And sweep the plund'ring Hordes like Dust away!
“Britons, Strike Home!” The Order of the Day;
“Britons, Strike Home!” Obey the glorious Call,
And sweep the plund'ring Hordes like Dust away!
But when bright Conquest crowns the well won Fight,
And humbled Victims to the Victors yield;
Their Arms thrown down, in supplicating Plight,
And Cries, for Mercy, ring throughout the Field;
And humbled Victims to the Victors yield;
Their Arms thrown down, in supplicating Plight,
And Cries, for Mercy, ring throughout the Field;
Then like soft Manna from the Dews of Heaven,
Or genial Clouds dissolving into Rain;
To those who sue for Grace, let Grace be given,
Nor let cool Bloodshed England's Glory stain!
Or genial Clouds dissolving into Rain;
To those who sue for Grace, let Grace be given,
Nor let cool Bloodshed England's Glory stain!
The Brave are still to Clemency allied,
The Brave ne'er trample on a prostrate Foe;
The Brave pull down the Crest of Giant Pride,
But spare the Wretch Crest-fallen and laid low.
The Brave ne'er trample on a prostrate Foe;
The Brave pull down the Crest of Giant Pride,
But spare the Wretch Crest-fallen and laid low.
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The Sophist, who, by selfish Motives led,
Proclaims it Man-like to destroy a Foe;
Would, if the Sword was brandish'd o'er his Head,
Pronounce it God-like to forbear the Blow.
Proclaims it Man-like to destroy a Foe;
Would, if the Sword was brandish'd o'er his Head,
Pronounce it God-like to forbear the Blow.
Fight, Fight, till from your Bones the Flesh be hack'd,
Like Britons Conquer, or like Britons Die!
But Conquest gain, with Cruelty unback'd,
And halt, when Foes can neither fight nor fly.
Like Britons Conquer, or like Britons Die!
But Conquest gain, with Cruelty unback'd,
And halt, when Foes can neither fight nor fly.
Fear no Mischance from Mercy thus bestow'd,
Nor dread the future Mischiefs they may plan;
You will but point the Way to Virtue's Road,
And teach the Savage how to act the Man.
Nor dread the future Mischiefs they may plan;
You will but point the Way to Virtue's Road,
And teach the Savage how to act the Man.
Shame shall recoil upon his wounded Mind,
And freight his Mem'ry with a Lesson rare:
That Britons hold Examples to Mankind,
And only Fight, to Conquer and to Spare.
And freight his Mem'ry with a Lesson rare:
That Britons hold Examples to Mankind,
And only Fight, to Conquer and to Spare.
Nor wealthy Cities sack'd, nor Towns destroy'd,
Shall fierce Retaliation then excite;
But Conquest free from Guilt, shall, unannoy'd,
Smile at the feeble Force of Gallic Spite.
Shall fierce Retaliation then excite;
But Conquest free from Guilt, shall, unannoy'd,
Smile at the feeble Force of Gallic Spite.
So the Wild Ferment of their Gall and Spleen,
With all its foaming Venom, shall subside;
And while the Billows roll our Shores between,
Britannia's Sons Invaders' Threats deride!
With all its foaming Venom, shall subside;
And while the Billows roll our Shores between,
Britannia's Sons Invaders' Threats deride!
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