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A Tankard of Ale |
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THE BEER-DRINKING BRITON1
Ye true, honest Britons, who love your own land, Who's sires were so brave, so victorious, so free,
Who always beat France when they took her in hand, Come join, honest Britons, in chorus with me.
Join in chorus, join in chorus with me,
Come join, honest Britons, in chorus with me,
Let us sing our own treasures, old England's good cheer.
The profits and pleasures of stout British beer.
Your wine-tippling, dram-sipping fellows retreat,
But your beer-drinking Britons can never be beat.
The French, with their vineyards, are meagre and pale, The drink of the squeezings of half-ripened fruit;
But we, who have hop-grounds to mellow our ale. Are rosy and plump and have freedom to boot. Let us sing our own treasures, etc.
Should the French dare invade us, thus armed with our poles, We'll bang their bare ribs, make their lanthorn-jaws ring, For your beef-eating Britons are valiant souls
Who will shed their last drop for their country and king.
Let us sing our own treasures, etc.
1 From "Literary Magazine," May, 1757, where it was printed with the music.
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