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Our fame shall echo thro’ the sky;
Never fly nor quit the field.
Till our enemies do yield.
The god of war defies them.
God bless our fleets where’er they be,
The Duke of York and his army;
They could scheme it particularly.
Brave Cobourg and brave Clairfayte;
Likewise brave Hood that’s in our fleet,
And all commanders that are discreet.
That’s not afraid their foes to meet,
Boldly fight for your right.
May your foes be vanquish’d quite,
God save our troops and seamen.
God bless Great George his Majesty,
Our fleets and troops by land and sea,
That fight like Britons bold and free,
And never will dissemble:
Rivers of their blood shall run.
For ever they cry we’re all undone,
We have not strength to load a gun;
Let us fly or we die.
Behold the British troops are nigh,
That makes us fear and tremble.
← → ← → ← → ← ↔ → ← → ← → ← →
THOU rising sun, whose gladsome ray,
Invites my fair to rural play,
Dispel the mist, and clear the skies.
And bring my Orra to my eyes.
