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Till our British Muse
Did their lillies arouse;
And the diamonds came tumbling
From Bonaparte's Crown.
Let the Trumpet, &c:
Our Militia, and others,
Now think on your brothers,
Your fathers and mothers,
Your children and wives;
Never neglect them,
But always respect them,
And honour will crown you
The rest of your lives.
Let the Trumpet, &c.
Let the C— B— be jogging,
And go a stock-jobbing,
On a rough riding gelding,
Pray set him a-stride,
On a Porcupine saddle,
His brains being able,
To the land of Peru
Away let him ride.
Let the Trumpet, &c.
