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Your merry mates cheer, with a lusty bold spright,
COME IF YOU DARE.
From “ King Arthur.” DRYDEN.
Come, if you dare, the foes rebound;
the thundering drum.
Now they charge on amain,
Now they rally again;
The fainting Saxons quit their ground,
Now the victory's won,
To the plunder we run; We return to our lasses like fortunate traders, Triumphant with spoils of the vanquish'd invaders.
JACK ANCHOR was leaving to plough the
Not a soul ’mong his messmates more
gallant, more brave; And he stepp'd in the boat as they pull’d from the
shore, To go where guns rattle, and loud cannons roar. And he went with a smile, not a tear dimm’d his eye, Though his Poll and his little ones were standing
“ For my Queen,” said bold Jack, “ I will peril my
life, For I know they'll take care of my children and Once more, to his friends upon shore, wared his
hand, And departed to fight for his dear native land.
The vessel he sail'd in has vanish'd from sight,
HURRAH FOR ENGLAND!
LD England is our home,
And Englishmen are we;
Our flag in ev'ry sea.
The right of freedom know,
But England made it so.
Was heard on many a shore,
Above the cannon's roar.
true man shout with us,
Mothers and wives of England,
Be to your birthright true;
Is given by God to you;
The child who on your breast doth lie,
Is meant for doings high.
Rejoice that it has birth,
Is powerful of the earth.
And the great, good hearts of England!
Hurrah, hurrah, for England !
FAR, FAR UPON THE SEA.
Swelling out before the gale,
Or watch the waves that glide,
By the vessel's stately side, Or the wild sea-birds that follow through the air;
Or gather in a ring,
And with cheerful voices sing, Oh! gaily goes the ship when the wind blows fair.
Far, far upon the sea,
With the sunshine on our lee, We talk of pleasant days when we were young,
And remember, though we roam,
The sweet melodies of home,
And though we quit her shore,
To return to it no more, Sound the glories that Britannia yet shall bear,
That “ Britons rule the waves,
And never shall be slaves". Oh! gaily goes the ship when the wind blows fair.
Far, far upon the sea,
Whate'er our country be,
And Scotland's sons shall join,
“In the days of auld lang syne," With voice by memory soften'd clear and low;
And the men of Erin's Isle,
Battling sorrow with a smile, Shall sing “ St. Patrick's Morning,” void of care,
And thus we pass the day,
As we journey on our way. Oh! gaily goes the ship when the wind blows fair.
HE Albion is a noble ship,
Her colours are true blue;
And heart of oak her crew;