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| FIRST drink a health, this solemn night, | |
| A health to England, every guest: | |
| That man ’s the best cosmopolite | |
| Who loves his native country best. | |
| May Freedom’s oak for ever live | 5 |
| With stronger life from day to day: | |
| That man ’s the best Conservative | |
| Who lops the moulded branch away. | |
| Hands all round! | |
| God the tyrant’s hope confound! | 10 |
| To this great cause of Freedom drink, my friends, | |
| And the great name of England, round and round. | |
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| A health to Europe’s honest men! | |
| Heaven guard them from her tyrants’ jails! | |
| From wronged Poerio’s noisome den, | 15 |
| From iron limbs and tortured nails! | |
| We curse the crimes of southern kings, | |
| The Russian whips and Austrian rods: | |
| We likewise have our evil things,— | |
| Too much we make our ledgers, gods. | 20 |
| Yet hands all round! | |
| God the tyrant’s cause confound! | |
| To Europe’s better health we drink, my friends, | |
| And the great name of England, round and round! | |
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| What health to France, if France be she, | 25 |
| Whom martial progress only charms? | |
| Yet tell her—better to be free | |
| Than vanquish all the world in arms. | |
| Her frantic city’s flashing heats | |
| But fire, to blast the hopes of men. | 30 |
| Why change the titles of your streets? | |
| You fools, you ’ll want them all again. | |
| Hands all round! | |
| God the tyrant’s cause confound! | |
| To France, the wiser France, we drink, my friends, | 35 |
| And the great name of England, round and round. | |
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| Gigantic daughter of the West, | |
| We drink to thee across the flood! | |
| We know thee and we love thee best; | |
| For art thou not of British blood? | 40 |
| Should war’s mad blast again be blown, | |
| Permit not thou the tyrant powers | |
| To fight thy mother here alone, | |
| But let thy broadsides roar with ours. | |
| Hands all round! | 45 |
| God the tyrant’s cause confound! | |
| To our great kinsman of the West, my friends, | |
| And the great name of England, round and round. | |
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| Oh rise, our strong Atlantic sons, | |
| When war against our freedom springs! | 50 |
| Oh, speak to Europe through your guns! | |
| They can be understood by kings. | |
| You must not mix our Queen with those | |
| That wish to keep their people fools: | |
| Our freedom’s foemen are her foes; | 55 |
| She comprehends the race she rules. | |
| Hands all round! | |
| God the tyrant’s cause confound! | |
| To our great kinsman in the West, my friends, | |
| And the great cause of Freedom, round and round. | 60 |
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