Whose generous heart, by experience we know, Why need we then dread along with him to go? Then farewell, dear wives, and each kind sweetheart, Pray do not repine that from you we must part; But hark! the drums beat, and the fifes sweetly play, We’re order’d to march now to Richmond straightway. Where, clothed in red, and in purple attire, Our exercise then shall be all our desire, Which having acquir’d, then we’ll merrily sing, Success to great George, and the Prussian king, Likewise loyal Pitt, a statesman so bold, Who scorns to be false, for interest or gold. If then the Monsieurs should with their crafty guile, E’er dare to molest us on Britain’s fair isle, We’ll laugh at their fury, and malice so strong, To Charon below how we’ll hurl them headlong. Do they think that our muskets useless shall be, When in numbers great, them advancing we see. If they do, they’re mista’en, we’ll boldly proceed; And conquer or die, ere ignobly we’ll yield; Then crowned with laurel, (for vent’ring our lives) Home then we’ll return to our sweethearts and wives, What joy will be greater, our fame shall abound, The bells then shall ring, and the trumpets shall sound. Let each loyal Briton then fill up his glass, For to drive care away, so round let it pass, Drink a health to king George, who sits on his throne, (Whose power the French to their sorrow have known,) May the Heavens above preserve him from harm, And ever defend him from foreign alarm. THE LASS OF COCKERTON. Tune--_Low down in the Broom._ ’Twas on a summer’s evening, As I a roving went, I met a maiden fresh and fair, That was a milking sent. Whose lovely look such sweetness spoke, Divinely fair she shone; With modest face her dwelling-place, I found was Cockerton.[75] With raptures fir’d, I eager gaz’d, On this blooming country maid, My roving eye, in quickest search, Each graceful charm survey’d. The more I gaz’d, new wonder rais’d, And still I thought upon Those lovely charms, that so alarms In the Lass of Cockerton. Now would the Gods but deign to hear, An artless lover’s prayer; This lovely nymph ’bove all I’d ask, And scorn each other care; True happiness I’d then possess, Her love to share alone; No mortals know what pleasures flow, With the lass of Cockerton. [75] A village near Darlington. ROOKHOPE-RYDE. _A Durham Border Song, composed in 1569._ Rookhope[76] stands in a pleasant place, If the false thieves wad let it be; But away they steal our goods apace, And ever an ill death may they die! And so is the man of Thirlwa’ ’nd Willie-haver, And all their companies thereabout, That is minded to do mischief hither, And at their stealing stands not out. But yet we will not slander them all, For there is of them good enough; It is a sore consumed tree That on it bears not one fresh bough.