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Oh what a snug little Island!
Some were shot dead,
Some of them fled, And some staid to live in the Island. Then a very great war-man,call’dBillythe Norman, Cried, d-nit, I never lik'd my land, It would be much more handy to leave this Nor-,
Says he, 'tis a snug little Island!
Hop, skip, and jump,
There he was plump,
Poor Harold, the king of the Island!
That's very true,
What could he do? Like a Briton, he died for his Island. The Spanish Armada set out to invade her; Quite sure if they ever come nigh land, They couldn't do less, than tuck up Queen Bess, And take their full swing in the Island. Oh the poor Queen and the Island! The drones came to plunder the Island!
But snug in the hire,
The Queen was alive,
These proud puff'd up cakes, thought to make.
ducks and drakes Of our wealth; but they scarcely could spy land, E'er our Drake had the lack to inake their pride
Huzza for the lads of the Island!
Let 'em come on,
Then Freedom and Neptune have hitherto kept
tone, In each saying this shall be my land; Should the Army of England, or all they could
We'll fight for our right to the Island !
Frenchmen should just
Bite at the dust,
D ON'T you see that as how, I'm a Sportsman
in style, All so kickish, so slim, and so tall! Why I've search'd after game, and that many's the
My license I pockets, my pony I strides,
And I pelts through the wind and the rain; And if likely to fall, sticks the spurs in the sides;
Leaves the bridle, and holds by the main. To be sure dad at home kicks up no little strife;
But dabhy, what's that-ren't it fashion and life? And at sporting I never was known for to lar;
I was also in danger the first: When at Epping last Easter, they turn'd out astar,
I'm the lad that was roll'd in the dust. Then they calls mea nincom! why over the fields
There a little beyond Dulwich Common, I a chick and a goose tumbled neck over heels;
And two mudlarks, besides an old woman. Then let iniserly dad kick up sorrow and strife; I'm the lad that's genteel, and knows fashion and
life. But don't go for to think, I neglects number one!
Often, when my companions with ardour Are hunting about, with the dog and the gun,
I gues and I hunts in the larder. There I springs me a woodcock, or fushes a quail,
Or finds puss, as she sits under cover; Then so-ho, to the barrel, to start me soine ale.
And when I have din'd, and fed Rover, Pays my landlord his shot as I ogles his wife; While the daughter cries out-Lord, what fashion
and life! Then I buys me some game,all as hoineward wejng,
And when the folksam ax how I got 'em; Though I shooted but once, and then kill'd the
poor dog, I swears, and then stands to't, I've shot'ein.
By the silence of the owl;
By the chirping on the thorn, By the butts that empty roll,
We foretell the approach of morn. Fill then, fill the vacant glass,
Let no precious moment slip; Flout the moralizing ass:
Joys find entrance at the lip.
BRIGIT chanticleer proclaims the dawn,'
The lark springs from the corn;
Fleet Towler leads the cry,
This day a stag must die!
The laugh and joke prevail;
The dogs snuff up the gale.
O'er fields, through brakes, they fly;
With a hey, ho, &c.
Poor stag, the dogs thy haunches gore,
The tears run down thy face;
llis joys were in the chase.
To win the blooming fair;
With a hey, ho, &c.