Wars > Napoleonic Wars (1803-1815)

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     A KING or a CONSUL ?

A NEW SONG to the Tune of Derry down.

COME all ye brave Engliſhmen, lift' to my ſtory,
You who love peace and freedom, and honor and
glory !
No foreign uſurper they hither ſhall bring,
We'll be rul'd by a native, our Father and King.
Derry down, down, down, derry down !

No Corſican Deſpot in England ſhall rule,
No Diſciple avow'd of the Muſſulman ſchool;
A Papiſt at Rome, and at Cairo a Turk,
Now this thing, now that thing, as beſt helps his
work.                            Derry down,

Shall Atheiſts rule Britons? O never, no never,
Forbid it Religion for ever and ever;
Their heatheniſh Conſuls then let them not bring,
Our Country is Chriſtian, and Chriſtian our King !
Derry down,

In England when wounds are the ſailor's ſad lot,
Their wounds and their ſufferings are never forgot;
To a Palace far nobler our Vet'rans we bring,
Than is kept for himſelf by our merciful King.
Derry down,

Let any compare, if my faying he blames,
The ſplendors of Greenwich* with thoſe of St. James.
—Once Buoni trepann'd his poor troops to the Eaſt,
O'er deſerts too ſultry for man or for beaſt;
Derry down,

When the battle was over, and hundreds were found,
By the fortune of war gaſh'd with many a wound ;
Diſeas'd and afflicted—now what do you think
This tender Commander oblig'd them to drink?
Derry down,

You fancy 'twas grog, or good flip, or good ale ;
No, 'twas poiſon, alas! was the ſoldiers' regale ;
See Jaffa†—ſee Haſlar‡—the diff'rence to prove,
There poiſon, here kindneſs, there murder, here
love.                            Derry down,

And leſt we ſhould publiſh his horrible tricks,
With our freedom of printing a quarrel he picks;
But we keep no ſecrets, each newſpaper ſhews it,
And while we act fairly we care not who knows it.
Derry down,

To Frenchmen, O Britons, we never will truſt;
Who murder their Monarch can never be juſt;
That freedom we boaſt of, the French never ſaw,
'Tis guarded by order and bounded by law.
Derry down,

That Buoni's invincible, Frenchmen may cry,
Let Sidney the brave give each boaſter the lie;
Tho' the arrows of Europe againſt us are hurl'd,
Be true to yourſelves and you'll conquer the world.
Derry down,

Tho' ſome ſtruggles we make, let us never repine,
While we ſit underneath our own fig-tree and vine;
Our Fig-tree is Freedom, our Vine is Content,
Two bleſſings, by nature for Frenchmen not meant.
Derry down,

French liberty Engliſhmen never will ſuit,
They have planted the tree, but we feed on the fruit;
Then rail not at taxes, altho' they cut deep,
'Tis a heavy Inſurance to ſave the brave Ship.
Derry down,

Let narrow-ſoul'd party be baniſh'd the land,
And let Engliſhmen join with one heart and one
hand;
Let each fight for his Wife, for we marry but one,
The French wed ſo many, they oft care for none.
Derry down,

One King did not ſuit them, three Tyrants they
choſe,
And their God they renounce while their King they
depoſe;
Then we ne'er will ſubmit to the Corſican's rod,
Britons want but one Wife, and one King, and one
GOD.
Derry down, down, down, derry down !

* A magnificent Hospital for Sailors.
† Where French Soldiers were poiſoned in the Hoſpital.
‡ The Royal Portſmouth Hoſpital where Engliſh Sailors are
treated like Princes.

BATH: Printed and sold by S. HAZARD:

Sold alſo by Meſſrs. RIVINGTONS, St. Paul's Church-Yard ; HATCHARD, Piccadilly, London;
JAMES, Wine-ſtreet, Briſtol; and by all the Bookſellers in the UNITED KINGDOM.

Price One Half-Penny, or 3s. 6d. per Hundred.