A KING or a CONSUL? A NEW SONG to the Tune of
Derry down.
COME all ye brave Englishmen, list' 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 saying he blames,
The splendors of Greenwich
A magnificent Hospital for Sailors.
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
Where French Soldiers were
poisoned
in the Hospital.
—see
Haslar
The Royal Portsmouth Hospital where English Sailors are treated like Princes.
—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!
BATH: Printed and sold by
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