John Bull, we all know, is remarkably slow
Ere he pulls off his coat, or he fights;
But when once he begins, mind he dies or he wins,
In defence of his Queen and his rights.
Then hurrah! for the band, who with rifle in hand
Are prepared to keep foemen at bay;
And God only knows who are England's foes,
So hurrah! for the green and the grey.
How glorious to see, thus united and free,
The sons of old England prepare,
Who for sweethearts and wives would hold cheaply their lives,
Nor their blood nor their treasure would spare,
Nor their blood nor their treasure would spare.
Should the war cannon roar on our dear native shore
(Tho' they'd hail the occasion with sorrow),
There is not a soul in that brave muster-roll
But would die for old England to-morrow;
There is not a soul in that brave muster-roll
But would die for old England to-morrow.
How frequently a man in furnishing his heart and his house, selects both his wife and furniture less for use than ornament; the auctioneer can settle the one, while death alone (or worse) puts an end to the other ill-advised arrangement.
