ROUSE BRITONS, ROUSE.
O rouse, Britons, rouse,
Let us still be united,
Since Great Bonaparte
Has landed in France,
Let Britons be Britons,
To see themselves righted,
To show the C— B—
And Boney a dance.
Chorus.
Let the Trumpet of Fame,
Aloud to proclaim
The brave British heroes
Are faithful and true;
Let the C— B— be jogging,
And go a flock-jobbing
With the Great Bonaparte,
To the land of Peru.
When Great Bonaparte,
With his cunning art,
He went our Mechanics
All for to knock down,
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.
Now here's a good health
To the faithful Sir Francis;
May honour and glory
Be stampt on his name:
To Whitebread and Roastbeef;
Drub robbing C— B— thieves,
For robbing poor Scrougen
They were much to blame
Let the Trumpet, &c.
And we must not forget
Our noble Prince Regent,
And his Royal Father,
Tho' now on decline:
We'll all drink the health
Of our able Statemen,
Who surround the throne,
With a glass of good wine.
Let the Trumpet, &c.
FINIS.
Falkirk—T.Johnston, Printer.—1815.