Poem by John Mayne

English, Scots, and Irishmen

ENGLISH, SCOTS, and IRISHMEN,
All that are in VALOUR'S ken!
Shield your KING: and flock agen
    Where his sacred Banners fly!
Now's the day, and now's the hour,
Frenchmen would the Land devour—
Will ye wait till they come o'er
    To give ye Chains and Slavery?

Who would be a Frenchman's slave?
Who would truckle to the Knave?
Who would shun a glorious grave
    For worse than death, for—infamy?
To see your Liberties expire—
Your Temples smoke, your Fleets on fire!
That's a Frenchman's sole desire—
    That's your fate, or Liberty!

Robb'd of all that sweetens life,
Tranquil home, and happy wife!
Reeking from the villain's knife,
    Yonder harmless Peasant see—
Prostrate near him on the heath
A ruin'd Daughter gasps for breath!
Frenchmen riot in their death—
    That's to them a luxury!

In fancy'd conquest over you,
The Tyrant tells his tiger-crew—
If chains will not your minds subdue,
    Nor exile, stripes, and poverty,
Then, when the Land is all defil'd,
He'll butcher woman, man and child—
He'll turn your gardens to a wild—
    Your Courts to caves of misery!

Mothers, Sisters, Sweethearts dear,
All that VIRTUE gives us here!
Can your Sons or Lovers fear
    When Frenchmen threaten slavery?
O! no!—In hosts of VOLUNTEERS,
The GENIUS of the ISLE appears!
With dauntless breast, BRITANNIA rears
    Her arm, and points to VICTORY!

IRISH, SCOTS and ENGLISHMEN
All that WORTH and VALOUR ken!
Shield your KING; and flock agen
    Where his sacred Banners fly!
Now's the day, and now's the hour,
Frenchmen would the Land devour—
To arms! to arms! and make them cow'r,
    Or meet their certain destiny!

1. The Curieux
2. Logan Braes
3. The Muffled Drum
4. Mary Marton
5. Bonaparte, O’er the Sea

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