THE BRAVE MEN OF KENT. TOM D'URFEY, WHEN Harold was invaded And, falling, lost his crown, Through gore to pull him down: Sing, sing, in praise of men of Kent, The hardy stout freeholders, A grove of oaks did bear: Then sing in praise, &c. And when, by barons wrangling, Had banish'd England's peace, They fear'd no wild confusion, But, joined with York, soon did the work, And made a bless'd conclusion. Then sing in praise, &c. The gen'rous, brave, and hearty, M For king and laws they prop the cause The promis'd land of blessing, For Canaan sure was Kent: Sing, sing, in praise of men of Kent, ADDITIONAL STANZAS. From the "Humming Bird." Canterbury, 1786. Augmented still in story, Our ancient fame shall rise, Then sing in praise of men of Kent, And tho' despotic power With iron reins may check, Our British sons of freedom Their parent cause will back: With voice and pen they forthwith stand Brave Sawbridge soon will tell them, That virtue's cause and British laws, Then sing in praise of men of Kent, When royal George commanded The French would sure have landed, Then sing in praise of Kent, A SOLDIER, A SOLDIER FOR ME. From the "Humming Bird." Canterbury, 1786. A SOLDIER, a soldier, a soldier for me. When he trips it away, Who is so nice and well powder'd as he. Sing rub a dub rub; a dub rub a dub; a duba dub dub dub; Thunder and plunder! A soldier, a soldier, a soldier for me. Each morn when we see him upon the parade, He cuts such a flash, With his gorget and sash, And makes such ado, With his gaiter and queue, Sleeping or waking, who need be afraid. Sing rub a dub, &c. Or else when he's mounted so trim and so tall, With broad sword in hand, The whole town to command, Such capers, such prances, Such ogling, such glances, Our hearts gallop off, and are left at Whitehall, Sing taran tantaran;-tantaran tantaran tan Trumpet and thump it, A soldier, a soldier, a soldier for me! HE COMES, HE COMES, THE HERO COMES. From the "Humming Bird." Canterbury, 1786. He comes, he comes, the Hero comes, Prepare, prepare, your songs prepare; A KNAPSACK AND A CHEERFUL HEART. CHARLES DIBDIN. WE Soldiers drink, we Soldiers sing, While the merry, merry fife and drum, Though we march, or though we halt, Still the merry, merry fife and drum, &c. Are lasses kind, or are they shy, For the merry, merry fife and drum, &c. We sigh not for the toils of state; We ask not of the rich nor great; For, be we rich, or be we poor, Are purses full, or duns at door; Still the merry, merry fife and drum, &c. Thus we drink, and thus we sing; For the merry, merry fife and drum, W. SMYTH. From AIKIN'S "Vocal Poetry," 1810. |