When good Queen Elizabeth sat on the throne,
Ere coffee and tea, and such slip-slops were known
The world was in terror, if e'en she did frown,

Oh! the Roast Beef, &c.

In those days, if fleets did presume on the main,
They seldom or never return'd back again;
As witness the vaunting Armada of Spain,

Oh! the Roast Beef, &c.

O then we had stomachs to eat and to fight,
And when wrongs were cooking, to set ourselves right!
But now we're a-hum!-I could, but,-good night!

Oh! the Roast Beef, &c.

The Roast Beef of Old England was first printed in Walsh's "British Miscellany," n.d. (about 1740). It was written and composed by Richard Leveridge, but the two first verses are Fielding's. (See "Don Quixote in England," 1733).

THE BRITISH GRENADIERS.

Anonymous. From an engraved "Music-sheet," printed about 1780.

SOME talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules.

Of Hector and Lysander, and such great names as these;

But of all the world's brave heroes, there's none that can compare, With a tow, row row, row row, row row, to the British Grenadier.

Those heroes of antiquity ne'er saw a cannon ball,

Or knew the force of powder to slay their foes withal;
But our brave boys do know it, and banish all their fears,

Sing tow, row row, row row, row row, to the British Grenadiers.

Then Jove, the god of thunder, and Mars, the god of war,
Brave Neptune with his trident, Apollo in his car,

And all the gods celestial, descending from their sphere,
Behold with admiration the British Grenadier.

Whene'er we are commanded to storm the palisades ;

Our leaders march with fusees, and we with hand-grenades,

We throw them from the glacis, about the Frenchmen's ears,
With a tow, row row, row row, row row, for the British Grenadiers.

And when the siege is over, we to the town repair,
The townsmen cry huzza, boys, here comes a grenadier,
Here come the grenadiers, my boys, who know no doubts or fears,
Then sing tow, row row, row row, row row, for the British Grenadiers

Then let us fill a bumper, and drink a health to those

Who carry caps and pouches, and wear the louped clothes.
May they and their commanders live happy all their years,

With a tow, row row, row row, row row, for the British Grenadiers.

THE SOLDIER'S DRINKING-SONG.

From the "Convivial Songster."

LET'S drink and sing,

My brother-soldiers bold,

To country and to king,

Like jolly hearts of gold!

If mighty George commands us, we're ready to obey;
To fight the foe, alert we go, where danger points the way.
Nor wounds nor slaughter fright us,

Nor thund'ring cannon-balls;

Nor beds of down delight us

Like scaling city walls.

With sword and gun,

We'll make the foe to fly:

No Britons dare to run,—

All Britons dare to die.

And when, at length returning with honour, gold, and scars
We cheerful come to view the home we left for foreign wars,
Again we'll meet the danger,

Again renew the fight,

And tell the list'ning stranger

What foes are put to flight.

Then drink and sing,

My brother-soldiers bold,

To country and to king,

Like jolly hearts of gold!

While merry fifes so cheerful our sprightly marches play,

While drums alarm our bosoms warm, they drive our cares away. Content we follow glory,

Content we seek a name,

And hope in future story

To swell our country's fame.

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.