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       BONAPARTE'S ANSWER

                        T O

        JOHN BULL'S CARD.

  TUNE—HERE WE GO UP, UP, UP.

MY dear Johnny Bull the laſt mail
brought over your kind invitation,
And ſtrongly it tempts us to ſail
in our boats, to your flouriſhing nation.
But Prudence ſhe whiſpers, ' Beware,
don't you ſee, that his fleets are in motion ;
He'll play you ſome d—d Ruſe de Guere,
if he catches you out on the ocean."

                  CHORUS.

Our fears they mount up up, up,
our hopes they ſink down-y down-y
Our hearts they beat backwards and forwards
our heads they turn round-y round-y.

You ſay that pot-luck ſhall be mine,
Je n'entens pas ces mots, Monſieur Bull ;
But I think I can gueſs your deſign,
when you talk of a good belly-full.
I have promis'd my men, with rich food,
their courage and faith to reward ;
I tell them your puddings are good,
tho' your dumplings are rather too hard.
Chor. O my Johnny, my Johnny,
and O my Johnny, my deary,
O let us, good fellows, come over,
to taſte your beef and beer-y.