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Title: Song By An Irish Schoolmaster.
CollectionIrish Emigration Database
Sender Gendermale
Sender Occupationunknown
Sender Religionunknown
OriginDublin, Ireland
DestinationLondon, England
RecipientEditor of the London Chronicle
Recipient Gendermale
Relationshipauthor writes to newspaper
SourceThe Belfast News-Letter, And General Advertiser, Nov. 27, 1759.
ArchiveThe Central Library, Belfast.
Doc. No.9502231
Partial Date
Doc. TypeEMG
LogDocument added by LT, 21:02:1995.
Word Count303
To the Editor of the London Chronicle.
SIR, Dublin, Oct. 30, 1759.
I Hand you a rough copy of a Song I heard last night
with pleasure. It was made by an Irish Schoolmaster
in one of our country towns; the last lines were
added by a Quaker, who is so much of a Christian as
to wish well to his Enemies. I am your constant
reader. A. B.

Tune, Smile Britannia, etc.
BRITANNIA, loud rejoice,
Since Heav'n declares for thee;
Let Conquest swell thy voice,
With chearful [cheerful?] harmony;
Your gallant sons and fam'd allies
Now raise your glory to the skies.
From Minden's plains, hence fam'd,
The haughty foes are chas'd,
Their boasted numbers sham'd,
Their [faces?] all defac'd:
For Britain's sons and Ferdinand
Have slain the flow'r of Gallia's land.
Their fleets, whole moons delay'd,
Ignobly shun the fight,
As vainly they'd evade
Our navel force by night;
But all their wiles could not deceive
Boscawen vigilant as brave.
Gaul's universal sway,
Long fought thro' tides of blood,
Subverted feels decay,
Whilst Britain rules the flood;
Our plundered forts and lands restor'd
By Johnston's and by Amherst's sword.
Canada's vast confines
Own thy superior might.
Nor limits now, nor lines,
Need ascertain thy right;
For gallant Wolfe we drop a tear;
His fame fair Quebec will revere.
But if applause is due
To chiefs by sea and land,
How much, O PITT, to you
Who these just measures plann'd!
Whom Britain's Genius did ordain,
T'add lustre to great GEORGE's reign.
By Truth and Valour led,
What foes can Britain fear?
And gracious George her head,
What verdant laurels wear?
For golden Sol cannot survey
A clime but owns Britannia's sway.
'Grateful, to Heav'n give praise;
'Set the Oppressed free;
'Where'er Sol shines his rays,
'Spread Right and Liberty,
'To nation's not so bless'd as we:
'Rescue ev'n France from slavery.'