HISTORY of the WAR

Arise Britannia strike th' attentive ear, With our brave deeds perform'd in modern war; Sing how thy sons, warm'd with thy grandsires fire, To conquest, wealth, and glory re-aspire. The goddess hears and smiles; elate to tell, How Albion rose to fame, how Gallia fell,

Come listen a-while to my story, 'Tis fit for true Britons to hear, How England resumed her glory, And Frenchmen resumed their fear.

When gentle peace's olive branch, Had still'd our jars with faithless France, Britons their arms lay by; But France, whose faith is all a joke, The sacred bond of honour broke, And ev'ry treaty's tie.

Then says our good king, 'Tis a very hard thing, Friend Lewis should be so uncivil: Since all bounds he o'er leaps, I will seize all his ships, And blow all his forts to the devil, brave boys, &c.

Then strait he sent out as brave a train, As ever courted fame on land or main; Their mighty acts will dignify my song; Some I'll repeat, for all would be too long.

Have you not heard how Marlbro' burnt Their shipping at St. Maloes; Maloes, Maloes, shipping at St. Maloes; Stores, provisions, ships and all, He burned at St. Maloes.

This work when compleated, with hearts void of fear, sir, To Cherburgh their course they directly did steer, sir, To Cherburgh, whose works, near an age had employed, sir, But in one Glorious day, was by us, sure, destroy'd sir: But first we sent a trumpeter on seeing their alarm sir, To tell them our business in order and form sir.

But when he came to Cherburgh gate He knocked hard at the ring, And who was so ready as the Governor, To let the bold trumpeter in. What news, what news thou bold trumpeter, What news dost thou bring unto me. We're come to destroy both your bason and works And that is bad news for thee.

Confounded at the news, with meagre face, Thus the poor governor bewail'd his case.

The English are come, our fate is decree'd, Ah! toutes les saintes aie pitie de nous! Such force and such ships sure no strength can impede, The devil confound all the hellish crew. Then farewell fair town, noble bason adieu, Morblieu! I must fly, would you could so too; Here sets our bright sun, here begins our disgrace For the British with Irish no Frenchman can face.

So the works we burnt and the stores we sunk, And the governor he did run away; And the flags we brought unto Old England, For to show that we had won the day.

'Twas our brave forefathers renowned of yore, Spread death and destruction on false Gallia's shore; Thus our Edwards and Henries, our Bembows and Shovels, Us'd to thrash the French rascals within their own hovels. Derry down, &c.