Then, Britons, from all nice dainties refrain, Which effeminate Italy, France, and Spain; And mighty roast beef shall command on the main. Oh! the Roast Beef, &c. But since we have learnt from effeminate France, To eat their ragouts, as well as to dance; We are fed up with nothing but vain complaisance, Oh! the Roast Beef, &c. Our fathers of old were robust, stout and strong, And kept open house, with good cheer all day long, Which made their plump tenants rejoice in this song,―― Oh! the Roast Beef, &c. When good Queen Elizabeth sat on the throne, Ere coffee and tea and such slipslops were known; The world was in terror if e’en she did frown, Oh! the Roast Beef, &c. In those days, if fleets did presume on the main, They seldom or never returned back again, As witness the vaunting Armada of Spain. Oh! the Roast Beef, &c. Oh! then we had stomachs to eat and to fight. And when wrongs were cooking, to set ourselves right,―― But now, we’re a――hum!――I could, but Good night, Oh! the Roast Beef, &c. This song was first printed complete in Walsh’s “British Miscellany” about 1740. It was written and composed by Richard Leveridge, with the exception of the first two verses which were written by Henry Fielding, for a comedy entitled “Don Quixote in England.” This piece was acted at the New-Theatre in the Haymarket, 1733. ―――― KAIL-BROSE O’ AULD SCOTLAND. When our ancient forefathers agreed wi’ the laird For a piece o’gude ground to be a kail-yard, It was to the brose that they paid their regard: O! the kail-brose o’ auld Scotland, And O! the Scottish kail-brose. When Fergus, the first of our Kings, I suppose. At the head of his nobles, had vanquished our foes, Just before they began, they’d been feasting on brose, O! the Kail-brose, &c. Our sodgers were drest in their kilts and short hose, Wi’ their bonnets and belts, which their dress did compose, And a bag of oatmeal on their backs to be brose, O! the Kail-brose, &c. But now since the thistle is joined to the rose, And the English nae longer are counted our foes, We’ve lost a great deal o’our relish for brose. O! the Kail-brose &c. Yet each true-hearted Scotsman, by nature jocose, Likes always to feed on a cog o’ gude brose, And, thanks be to heaven, we’ve yet plenty of those. O! the Kail-brose, &c. ANONYMOUS. ―――― THE GROCER’S DELIGHT, OR A SUGAR PLUM FOR MASTER BILLY.