The mild dove of Peace long hath spread
Her soft wings o'er Britannia's head;
And the blessings we know to her presence we owe;
Oh! who would not grieve if she fled?
But for all that is present and past,
God grant that good feeling may last,
And confusion to he, whomsoe'er he may be,
Who the first stone of warfare shall cast.
Still hurrah! for the Red and the Blue, &c., &c.
Trot on.
[Published by permission of Messrs. D'Almaine & Co., London, to whom the Copyright belongs, and where the Music may be had.]
Oh! waste not in grieving and sorrow
A life that is merely a span,
Nor dream ye too much of to-morrow;
Making sure of to-day is the plan;
There's enough in this world to amuse us,
There's plenty of good to be done;
And if Fortune, the jade, should abuse us,
Let us merrily sing and trot on.
Trot on then, I charge you, and gaily,
Whether heavy or light be your load;
Trot on, for this truth we learn daily,
That cheerfulness shortens the road.
Chorus—Trot on, trot on, trot on, &c.
