Page:George and Britain save (1).pdf/5

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That I've nothing to lose is the cry;
Let who will declare it,
I vow I can't bear it,
I give all such praters the lie.

Tho' my house is but small,
Yet to have none at all,
Would sure be a greater distress, Sir,
Shall my garden, so sweet,
And my orchard, so neat,
Be the prize of a foreign oppressor?

On Saturday's night,
'Tis still my delight,
With my wages to run home the faster,
But if Frenchmen rule here,
I may look far and near,
But I never shall find a Pay-master.

I've a dear little wife,
Whom I love as my life,
To lose her I should not much like,
And it would make me run wild,
To see my sweet child,
With it's head on the point of a pike.

I've my Church too to save,
And will go to my grave