What cloathes and what cloathes does this little Boney wear? He wears a large cock’d hat for to make the people stare; But it’s O my oak stick! I’d advise him to take care! What shall be done, should this little Boney die? Nine cats shall squall his dirge, in sweet melodious cry, And it’s O in my heart, if a tear shall dim my eye! Yet still he boldly brags, with consequence full cramm’d On England’s happy island, his legions he will land; But it’s O in my heart, if he does may I be d————d.” I will give but one more example, not that the stock is exhausted by some hundreds, but that I fear to be wearisome, and this one shows that if occasionally the matter of invasion was treated with a light heart, there were many, nay, the large majority, who looked upon its possibility _au grand serieux_. “THE EVE OF INVASION. “The hour of battle now draws nigh, We swear to conquer, or to die; Haste quick away, thou slow pac’d Night, To-morrow’s dawn begins the fight. CHORUS. Brothers, draw th’ avenging sword, Death or Freedom be the word. A SOLDIER. Did ye not leave, when forc’d to part, Some treasure precious to the heart? And feel ye not your bosoms swell, Whene’er ye think of that farewell? _Chorus._ ANOTHER SOLDIER. My Lucy said, no longer stay, Thy country calls thee hence away, Adieu! may angels round thee hover, But no slave shall be my lover. _Chorus._ ANOTHER. My Grandsire cried, I cannot go, But thou, my Son, shall meet the foe; I need not say, dear Boy, be brave, No Briton sure would live a slave. _Chorus._ ANOTHER. My Wife, whose glowing looks exprest, What patriot ardour warm’d her breast, Said, ‘In the Battle think of me; These helpless Babes, they shall be free.’ _Chorus._ ALL. Shades of Heroes gone, inspire us, Children, Wives, and Country fire us. Freedom loves this hallow’d ground— Hark! Freedom bids the trumpet sound. CHORUS. Brothers, draw th’ avenging sword, Death or Freedom be the word.”