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

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1794.19
A New Song
"Captain Morris"
The Cambridge Intelligencer (October 4, 1794)

[It has been suggested that there is more Truth than Wit in the following Song. The justice of this suggestion, we leave to our Readers to determine.]

Sure, Master JOHN BULL, I shan't know till I'm dead,
Where the devil you're driving to, a—e over head!
Troth, I've watch'd you, my dear, day and night, like a cat;
And, bad luck to myself, if I know what you're at.

But, the reason you waste all this blood, and this gold,
Is a secret, they say—that can never be told:
To be sure, for such secrets my tongue isn't fit;
For I can't keep it still, without speaking a bit.


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Published @ RC

September 2004