Bonny lass of Calder Braes (1)/The Snug Little Island

by Thomas Dibdin

For other versions of this work, see The Snug Little Island.

THE SNUG LITTLE ISLAND.

Daddy Neptune one day to Freedom did say.
If ever I liv’d upon dry land,
The spot I should hit on, would be little Britain.
Says Freedom, Why that’s my own island.

O what a snug little Island!
A right little, tight little island:
All the globe round, none can be found
So happy as this little island.

Julius Caesar, the Roman, who yielded to no man,
Came by water, he could'nt come by land;
And Dane, Pict and Saxon, their homes turn’d their backs on,
And all for the sake of our island.

O what a snug little Island!
They’d all have a touch at the Island
Some were shot dead, some of them fled,
And some stay'd to live in the Island.

Then a very great war-man, call’d Billy, the Norman,
Cry’d Damn it, I never liked my land;
It would be much more handy to leave this Normandy,
And live on yon beautiful Island.

Says he, 'Tis a snug little Island;
Shan't us go visit the Island?
Hop, skip and jump, there he was plump,
And he kick’d up a dust in the Island.

Yet party deceit help’d the Normans to beat,
Of traitors they manag’d to buy land;
By Dane, Saxon, or Pict, we ne’er had been lick’d
Had they stuck to the King of the Island.

Poor Harold, the King of the Island,
He lost both his life and his Island;
That's very true—what could he do?
Like a Briton he died for his Island.

Then the Spanish Armada set out to invade a',
Quite sure, if they ever came nigh land,
The cou’dn’t do no less than tuck up Queen Bess,
And take their full swing in the Island,

O the poor Queen of the Island!
The Dons came to plunder the Island,
But, snug in her hive, the Queen was alive;
And buz was the word at the Island.

These proud puff’d-up cakes, thought to make ducks and drakes
Of our wealth, but they scarcely could spy land,
Ere our Drake had the luck to make their pride duck,
And stoop to the lads of the Island.

Huzza, for the lads of the Island!
The good wooden walls of the Island!
Devil or Don, let ’em come on,
But how would they come off at the Island?

I don’t wonder much, that the French and the Dutch,
Have since been oft tempted to try land:
I wonder much less they have met no success.
For why should we give up our Island?

O ’tis a wonderful Island!
All of 'em long for the Island:
Hold a bit there—let ’em take fire and air,
But we’ll have the sea and the Island.

Then since Freedom and Neptune have hithereto kept tune.
In each saying, This shall be my land,
Should the army of England, or all they could bring, land,
We’d shew ’em some play for the Island.

We’d fight for our right to the Island,
We’d give ’em enough of the Island;
Frenchmen should just—bite at our dust,
But not a bit more of the Island.