Printer-friendly versionSend by email
British War Poetry in the Age of Romanticism 1793-1815, by Betty T. Bennet, Edited by Orianne Smith

Previous Poem    -    Next Poem

1793.3
Church and King
A Song
Anon
The Gentleman's Magazine, LXIII (March 1793), p. 261

Tune,—"Rule Britannia."

While o'er the bleeding corpse of France
    Wild Anarchy exulting stands,
And female fiends around her dance,
    With fatal Lamp-cords in their hands,

Chorus.—We Britons still united sing,
Old England's Glory,—Church and King.

Poor France, whom blessings cannot bless,
    By too much Liberty undone;
Defeat is better than excess,
    For, having all—is having none.

Chorus.—Let Britons then united sing,
Old England's Glory,—Church and King.

True Freedom is a temp'rate treat,
    Not savage mirth, not frantic noise;
'Tis the brisk pulse's vital heat;
    'Tis not the fever that destroys.

Chorus.—Let Britons then united sing,
Old England's Glory,—Church and King.

The Gallic lilies droop and die,
    Profan'd by many a patriot knave;
Her clubs command, her Nobles fly,
    Her Church a Martyr—King a Slave.[1]

Chorus.—While Britons still united sing,
Old England's Glory,—Church and King.

Yet—, Faction's darling child,
    Enjoys this sanguinary scene,
And celebrates, with transports wild,
    The Wrongs, miscall'd the Rights, of Men.

Chorus.—But Britons still united sing,
Old England's Glory,—Church and King.

Thy Puritanic spleen assuage,
    Polemic Priest! restrain thine ire!
Nor with such idle, ideot, rage,
    Against the Church thy Pop-guns fire!

Chorus.—For, Britons will united sing,
Old England's Glory,—Church and King.

Of Trains of Powder preach no more!
    Vain is thy force, and vain thy guile!
To GOD and Kings their Rights restore,
    Nor HIM blaspheme, nor them revile!

Chorus.—For, Britons will united sing,
Old England's Glory,—Church and King.

While, pillow'd on his People's breast,
    Our Sov'reign sleeps secure, serene,
Unhappy Louis knows no rest,
    But mourns his more unhappy Queen.

Chorus.—Let Britons then united sing,
Old England's Glory,—Church and King.

He finds his Palace a Bastile,
    Amidst the shouts of Liberty;
Doom'd ev'ry heart-felt pang to feel,
    For merely striving to be free.

Chorus.—Let Britons then united sing,
Old England's Glory,—Church and King.

Go, democratic Demons, go!
    In France your horrid banquet keep!
Feast on degraded Prelates' woe,
    And drink the tears that Monarchs weep!

Chorus.—While Britons still united sing,
Old England's Glory,—Church and King.

Our Church is built on Truth's firm Rock,
    And marks each sacrilegious hand,
In spite of each electric shock,
    The Heav'n-defended steeples stand.

Chorus.—While Britons true united sing,
Old England's Glory,—Church and King.

Old British sense, and British fire,
    Shall guard that Freedom we possess;
——may write, and Paine conspire,——
    We wish no more, and fear no less.

Chorus.—While Britons still united sing,
Old England's Glory,—Church and King.

 


Notes

1. [Author's note]: "Louis, when this was written, was yet living."

Previous Poem    -    Next Poem

About this Page

Published @ RC

September 2004

Country