THE BRAVE MEN OF KENT.

TOM D'URFEY,

WHEN Harold was invaded

And, falling, lost his crown,
And Norman William waded
Through gore to pull him down :
When counties round, with fear profound,
To mend their sad condition,
And lands to save, base homage gave,
Bold Kent made no submission.

Sing, sing, in praise of men of Kent,
So loyal, brave, and free:

'Mongst Britain's race if one surpass,
A man of Kent is he.

The hardy stout freeholders,
That knew the tyrant near,
In girdles and on shoulders

A grove of oaks did bear:
Whom when he saw in battle draw,

And thought how he might need 'em,
He turn'd his arms, allow'd their terms
Replete with noble freedom.
Then sing in praise, &c.

And when, by barons wrangling,
Hot faction did increase,
And vile intestine jangling

Had banish'd England's peace,

The men of Kent to battle went,
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,
All o'er the shire we find;
And for the low church party
They're of the brightest kind.

M

For king and laws they prop the cause
Which high church has confounded;
They love with height the moderate right,
But hate the crop-ear'd Roundhead.
Then sing in praise, &c.

The promis'd land of blessing,

For our forefathers meant,
Is now in right possessing,

For Canaan sure was Kent:
The dome at Knoll, by fame enroll'd
The church at Canterbury,

The hops, the beer, the cherries, here,
May fill a famous story.

Sing, sing, in praise of men of Kent,
So loyal, brave, and free:

'Mongst Britain's race if one surpass,
A man of Kent is he.

ADDITIONAL STANZAS.

From the "Humming Bird." Canterbury, 1786.

Augmented still in story,

Our ancient fame shall rise,
And Wolfe, in matchless glory,
Shall soaring reach the skies;
Quebec shall own, with great renown,
And France, with awful wonder,
His deeds can tell how great he fell,
Amidst his god-like thunder.

Then sing in praise of men of Kent,
All loyal, brave, and free:
Of Britain's race, if one surpass,
A man of Kent is he.

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,

Bold men of Kent won't fail them.

Then sing in praise of men of Kent,
All loyal, brave, and free:

Of Britain's race, if one surpass,
A man of Kent is he.

When royal George commanded
Militia to be rais'd,

The French would sure have landed,
But for such youths as these;
Their oxen stall, and cricket ball,
They left for martial glory,

The Kentish lads shall win the odds
Your fathers did before you.
Then sing in praise of Kent,
All loyal, brave, and free:
Of Britain's race, if one surpass,
A man of Kent is he

A SOLDIER, A SOLDIER FOR ME.

From the "Humming Bird." Canterbury, 1786.

A SOLDIER, a soldier, a soldier for me,
His arms are so bright,

And he looks so upright,

So gallant and gay,

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 dub a 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!
A soldier, &c.

HE COMES, HE COMES, THE HERO COMES.

From the "Humming Bird." Canterbury, 1786.

He comes, he comes, the Hero comes,
Sound the trumpet, beat the drums,
From port to port, let cannous roar,
He's welcome to the British shore.

Prepare, prepare, your songs prepare;
Loudly rend the echoing air:
From pole to pole your joys resound,
For virtue's his, with glory crown'd.

A KNAPSACK AND A CHEERFUL HEART.

CHARLES DIBDIN.

WE Soldiers drink, we Soldiers sing,
We fight our foes, and love our King,
While all our wealth two words impart,
A knapsack and a cheerful heart.

While the merry, merry fife and drum,
Bid intruding care be dumb,
Sprightly still we sing and play,
And make dull life a holiday.

Though we march, or though we halt,
Or though the enemy we assault,
Though we're cold, or though we're warm,
Or though the sleeping town we storm,

Still the merry, merry fife and drum, &c.

Are lasses kind, or are they shy,
Or do they pout they know not why?
While full the knapsack, light the heart,
Content we meet, content we part.

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;
We beat our foes, and love our King,
While all our wealth two words impart,
A knapsack and a cheerful heart.

For the merry, merry fife and drum,
Bid intruding care be dumb,
Sprightly still we sing and play,
And make dull life a holiday.

THE SOLDIER.

W. SMYTH. From AIKIN's" Vocal Poetry," 1810.

WHAT dreaming drone was ever blest,
By thinking of the morrow?
To-day be mine-I leave the rest

To all the fools of sorrow;

Give me the mind that mocks at care,
The heart, its own defender;

The spirits that are light as air,

And never beat surrender.