Hafte to arms and form the lines

That leads to martial glory.

CHORU S.
Charge the musket, point the lance,

Brave the worst of dangers ;
Tell the blustering fons of France,

That we to fear are strangers.

Britain, when the lion's rous'd,

And the Aag is rearing, Always finds her sons dispos'd To drub the foe that's daring.

Charge the muskét, &c.

Hearts of oak with speed advance ;

Pour your naval thunder,
On the trembling shores of France,
And strike the world with wonder.

Charge the musket, &c.

Honour for the brave to share,

If the noblest booty;
Guard your coasts, protect the fair ;
For that's a Briton's duty.

Charge the musket, &c.

What if Spain should take their parts,

And form a base alliance ?

All unite and English hearts,

May bid the world defiance.

CHORUS.
Beat the drum the trumpet found,

Manly and united ;
Danger face, mantain your ground,

And see your country righted.

SONG 215. A QUIRE of bright beauties

In spring did appear,
To chufe a May.lady

To govern the year;
All the nymphs were in white,

And the shepherds in green,
The garland was given,

And Phillis was queen. But Phillis refus'd it,

And lighing did say, I'll not wear a garland,

While Pan is. away.

While Pan and fair Syrinx,

Are fled from the shore, The graces are banishid,

And love is no more :

; Or

The soft god of pleasure

That warm’d our desires, Has broken his bow,

And extinguish'd his fires ; And vows that himself

And his mother will mourn, Till Pan and fair Syrinx

In triumph return.

Forbear your addresses,

And court us no more ; For we will perform

What the deity swore : But if you dare think

Of deserving our charms, Away with your sheep hooks,

And take to your arms : Then laurels and myrtles

Your brows shall adorn, When Pan and fair Syrinx

In triumph return.

S O N G 216. The TIPPLING PHILOSOPHER S. DIOGENES surly and proud,

Who fnarl'd at the Macedon youth, Delighted in wine that was good,

Because in good wine there was truth

;

1

But growing as poor' as a Job,

Unable to purchase a flask,
He chose for his manfion a tub,

And liv'd by the scent of the cask.

Heraclitus ne'er wou'd deny

A bumper, to cherish his heart ;
And when he was maudlin wou'd cry,

Because he had empty'd his quart :
Tho' fome are so foolish to think,

He wept at mens follies and vice,
'Twas only his custom to drink,

Till the liquor flow'd out of his eyes.

Democritus always was glad

To tipple and cherish his foul ;
Would laugh like a man that was mad,

When over a good flowing bowl ;
As long as his cellar was stor’d,

The liquor he'd merrily quaff ;
And when he was drunk as a lord,

At them that were fober he'd laugh.

Wife Solon, who carefully gave

Good laws unto Athens of old,
And thought the rich Creus a llave

(Tho'a king) to his coffers of gold; He delighted in plentiful bowls,

But drinking, much talk would decline, Because 'twas the custom of fools,

To prattle múch over their wine.

Old Socrates ne'er was content,

Till a bottle had hightened his joys, Who in's cups to the oracle went,

Or he ne'er had been counted so wise : Late hours he most certainly lov’d,

Made wine the delight of his life, Or Xantippe would never have prov'd

Such a damnable fcold of a wife.

Grave Seneca, fam'd for his parts,

Who tutor'd the bully of Rome, Grew wife o'er his cups and his quarts,

Which he drank like a miser at home; And, to shew he lov'd wine that was good,

To the laft, (we may truly aver it,) He tinctur'd his bath with his blood,

So fancy'd he dy'd in his claret.

Pythagoras did filence enjoin,

On his pupils who wisdom would feek; Because he tippled good wine,

Till himself was unable to speak ; And when he was whimsical

grown, With fipping his plentiful bowls, By the strength of the juice in his crown,

He conceiv'd transmigration of souls. Copernicus too, like the rest,

Believ'd there was wisdom in wine, And thought that a cup of the best

Made reason the brighter to shine ;