Cavalier Tunes

Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite

now,

King Charles!

To whom used my boy George quaff else,
By the old fool's side that begot him?
For whom did he cheer and laugh else,
While Noll's damned troopers shot him?
CHORUS.-King Charles, and who 'll do him
right now?

King Charles, and who's ripe for fight
now?

Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite

now,

King Charles!

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III

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BOOT AND SADDLE

Boot, saddle, to horse and away!
Rescue my castle before the hot day
Brightens to blue from its silvery gray.
CHORUS.-Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! 4

Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say; Many's the friend there, will listen and pray God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay— CHORUS.-Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" 8

Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,
Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads'

array:

Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay, CHORUS.-Boot, saddle, to horse, and

away!"

I 2

Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay, Laughs when you talk of surrendering, “Nay! I've better counsellors; what counsel they? CHORUS.-Boot, saddle, to horse, and

WHEN Britain first, at Heaven's command,

Arose from out the azure main,

This was the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sung the strain:
Rule, Britannia, rule the waves!

For Britons never will be slaves.

The nations not so blest as thee

Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall; While thou shalt flourish, great and free, The dread and envy of them all.

Still more majestic shalt thou rise,

More dreadful from each foreign stroke;

As the loud blast that tears the skies
Serves but to root thy native oak.

England and America in 1782

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame;
All their attempts to bend thee down
Will but arouse thy generous flame,

But work their woe, and thy renown.

To thee belongs the rural reign;

Thy cities shall with commerce shine;
All thine shall be the subject main,

And every shore it circles thine.

The Muses, still with Freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair;

Blest Isle with matchless beauty crowned,
And manly hearts to guard the fair.

1740.

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James Thomson.

ENGLAND AND AMERICA IN 1782

O THOU that sendest out the man
To rule by land and sea,

Strong mother of a Lion-line,

Be proud of those strong sons of thine
Who wrench'd their rights from thee!

5

What wonder if in noble heat

Those men thine arms withstood,
Retaught the lesson thou hadst taught,
And in thy spirit with thee fought-
Who sprang from English blood!

10

But Thou rejoice with liberal joy,
Lift up thy rocky face,

And shatter, when the storms are black,
In many a streaming torrent back,

The seas that shock thy base!

Whatever harmonies of law

The growing world assume,

Thy work is thine-the single note

15

O MY Dark Rosaleen,

Do not sigh, do not weep!

The priests are on the ocean green,
They march along the deep.
There's wine from the royal Pope,

Upon the ocean green;

And Spanish ale shall give you hope,

My Dark Rosaleen!

My own Rosaleen!

Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope,

Shall give you health, and help, and hope,

My Dark Rosaleen!

Over hills and thro' dales,

Have I roam'd for your sake;

12

My Dark Rosaleen

All yesterday I sail'd with sails
On river and on lake.

The Erne, at its highest flood,
I dash'd across unseen,

For there was lightning in my blood,
My Dark Rosaleen!

My own Rosaleen!

O, there was lightning in my blood,
Red lightning lighten'd thro' my blood,
My Dark Rosaleen!

All day long, in unrest,

To and fro, do I move.
The very soul within my breast
Is wasted for you, love!
The heart in my bosom faints

To think of you, my Queen,
My life of life, my saint of saints,

My Dark Rosaleen!

My own Rosaleen!

To hear your sweet and sad complaints,
My life, my love, my saint of saints,
My Dark Rosaleen!

Woe and pain, pain and woe,

Are my lot, night and noon,
To see your bright face clouded so,
Like to the mournful moon.

But yet will I rear your throne

Again in golden sheen;

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