In England high and low degree "Tis in the mouth of all one meets, They say that he's become a lord, To Thompson let the bumbo pass, My timbers, how he maul'd her! And bless the king, and bless the queen, Let Frenchmen come, 'twill soon be seen Let Dutch and Spaniards join their hosts, Zounds! who's afraid, while England boasts Such Admirals as Jervis? THE VICTORY OF TRAFALGAR. JOME, messmates, rejoice! for old England, so glorious A victory never was seen: We've often o'er five, nine, eleven, been victorious, But now we have taken nineteen: Yet 'twas earn'd by a wound that for years will want healing A wound, that on sea or on shore Every Briton shall mourn with one heart and one feeling Our hero, great Nelson's no more! I sail'd with him often in pretty hard service, I heard his last words, that so grieved each bystander, "Twas his "Love and farewell"-Damme! there's a commander! "To each brother tar in the fleet." But he's gone! and so nobly the French and the Spaniards Shall be lather'd, fore, aft, back, and sides, That we'll not leave a rope from the shrouds to the lanyards, For in fighting we'll work double tides. And the notion's a right one;-oh! where's such another? We've lost-why, the 'count's without end!— The King a great subject, each sailor a brother, And every Briton a friend! Not that one of our leaders to honour wants pressing; For wherever our jack is unfurl'd, "Tis on all hands allow'd, as this country's best blessing, England's tars are the pride of the world. See the diff'rence in men!-Nelson, manly and hearty, Is mourn'd through the land by each voice; Had the shot been commission'd to strike Bonyparte, Oh, how every land would rejoice! THE DEATH OF NELSON. E the great twenty-first of October In the mem'rable year eighteen May each hero that fell his true praise be awarded, Nelson France and Spain defied; The bold Royal Sovereign, with best satisfaction, The Vict'ry's fire involved in smoke And from the taffrail to the prow Ne'er with such fatal fury did devastation rattle! Yards, masts, and rigging, reeling hulls, and every hold, Felt English vengeance, as, through this dreadful battle, Our murd'rous double-shotted broadsides told. Let Britons do their duty now! Fierce rage and noble vengeance each bosom inspiring, Dress'd out in grisly terrors, pervaded the decks; And while the wondering Fates were each hero admiring, Eighteen crippled vessels were little more than wrecks. And now, from friends and country torn, THE ARRIVAL OF NELSON'S CORPSE. H, hark! the signals round the coast That gave all hearts to grieve and boast, Great Nelson's corse arrives in sight, Victorious e'en in death; Who, living, did his country right, For did not fame the tidings tell Had ventured to come here: Be laid to every breast; His mighty deeds have fear and doubt |