In Flat-bottoms, slily, those schemers were coasting, They threaten'd Invasion, but spite of their boasting, No ribs of Roast Beef had they; but a Rib roasting. While good English Beef, and good English Brown Beer, Please our tastes, and each day on our tables appear, What more can we hope for, or what can we fear? The Spaniards once strove, by the strength of their Guns, To make us keep Lent, and to turn our Girls Nuns, But we still roast our Beef, for we basted the Dons. At Minorca indeed, tho' I speak it with grief, But at Minden, well fed, why we there fac'd about, to rout; They wou'd be in our Beef-but, avast, they were out. Toplunder our Cupboards, France sent the Brest Fleet, We came, saw, and conquer'd, the French Lilies droop, Louisbourg, Montreal, Martinique, Guadaloupe, By the strength of our Beef we our Bulwarks maintain, All Knights, by their Titles, in Heraldry shine, Let us honour this Dish, 'tis in dignity chief, Here's LIBERTY,-LOYALTY,-AYE,-and ROAST BEEF. O the Roast Beef, &c. THE PIPE OF LOVE. ONE TUNE. "Bless'd Age of Gold." NE Primrose Time a Maiden Brown, And softly ask'd him, wou'd he play? All on the green field's turfy bed, Smiling, the fond one fell along; The thick-leaf'd shade her face o'erspread, While, lisping, she began this song.— "Tis Love which gives Life holidays, "And Love I'll always take thy part; "My Shepherd's pipe so sweetly plays, "It finds the way to win my Heart. "The Ladies dress'd with silks so fine, Blue broke the clouds, the day yet young, She heard her Dame, and dar'd not stay; His Team to geer, home hy'd the Loon, Tripping it deftly down the Dale. "Tho' Organ Pipes play music fine, 66 And Fountain Pipes folks run to see: "Tho' thirsty Souls love PIPES of WINE, "The Pipe of Love's the Pipe for me," WOU'D you way that Eve know the Arch SATAN 'twitch'd her by the sleeve, The Dad of Danae was a Dolt, They'll own, tho' most men take their bait, But why shou'd Women bear the blame, Election Agents Truth disgrace, And only vote for Justice. O THOU! from whom each Blessing springs, Earth, Seas, and Skies Director, To whom we owe the best of Kings, Be his, be our Protector. The Tyrant, arm'd with Terror's scourge, Dear Liberty, Celestial Fire, Remain here unconsuming; May that spark catch, to Son from Sire, |