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Exert yourſelves with force and might,
And ſhew that Britons yet can fight,
And do your injur'd nation right.

Hark! how the trumpets to arms doth ſound,
Where there's nothing but blood & wound,
Drums beating, colours flying,
Cannons roaring men a dying,
Theſe are the double effects of war.

Diſplay your colours, mount your guns,
Batter their caſtles and their towns,
And let your thund'ring cannons roar,
Till they the wonted peace reſtore,
And the proud Dons inſult no more.

Then why ſhould we be daunted at all;
For to obey our General's call ;
Fighting for our Church and Laws,
Dying in ſo juſt a cauſe !
Thoſe are the noble effects of war.
O rare Britain!

CORN RIGGS ARE BONNY.

MY PATIE is a lover gay,
his mind is never muddy;
His breath is ſweeter than new hay,
his face is fair and ruddy:
His ſhape is handſome, middle ſize ;
he's ſtately in his wa'king ;
the ſhining of his een ſurprize ;
'tis heav'n to hear him ta'king.