Humours of Gravel-Lane, or, The cobler's daughter's wedding/The British Hero; or, Death of Gen. Wolfe

The Britiſh Hero; or, Death of Gen. Wolfe

R E C I T A T I V E.

O’Er Quebec’s plain, where Gallia’s forcesſpread
To many warlike chiefs the deſtin’d bed,
When Wolf appear’d all glorious to behold.
His bands connected, reſolute, and bold;
The clanging inſtruments awake the woods,
And founds reſponſive tremulate the floods;
The burniſh’d arms attract the ſolar rays.
And glitt’ring terror o’er the field diſplays.
When thus brave Wolfe addreſt his warlike train,
While on the Gallic lands lie look’d diſtdain.

AIR.

⁠Think, think, my brave friends,
⁠On your valour depends,
Your country’s glory and good,
⁠No mean thoughts of gain
⁠In your breaſt entertain,
Be lucrative motives withſtood.

⁠Let honour inſpire,
⁠For honour give fire,
For honour high brandſih the blade;
⁠Be virtue your cauſe,
⁠And honour your laws,
Your toils will by Heav’n be repaid.

R E C I T A T I V E.

⁠Now carnage by horror ſhews her face,
And unrelenting death encress'd his pace,
Drums, trumpets, cannons in confuſion roar,
Expiring cries affright the hoſtile thore,
But in the field, alas! as in the ſtate,
The greateſt merit meets the hardeſt fate;
Wolfe falls, Britannia’s Genius gave a groan.
And Fame immortal ſeal’d him for her own,
Streaming in blood he rolls his livid eyes,
And hearing ſhouts, has England loſt? he cries,
O no! I view the Victor's Colours fly,
My country conquers, and in peace I die.
Yet ere his ſoul it’s deſtin’d journey ſped,
He ſigh’d, and thus to his attendants ſaid.

A I R.

Farewel, my friends. Britannia now adieu,
I die contented, ſince ! bleed for you;
⁠Victory now his wings expands,
⁠To ſmooth the trachiefs way,
⁠And peace immortal opes its hands,
⁠To lead me up to day.
My country’s ſerv’d. I ask no greater ſame,
Thou is contained in a Briton’s name.