Classic Poem

Come, lads, shall men of Dorset lag
Behind old England's onward flag?
Or fear to take a true-man's ground,
Where England's trumpet-call shall sound?
Shall men of Dorset sculk their parts,
Where England needs good hands and hearts
To find a rifle and a ball,
And man and guard her southern wall?
No, no, my lads, fall in, fall in —
Now don't let Dorset ranks be thin.
For Dorset: Hip, Hurrah!

When Danes came down to take the place,
Did Dorset show them back, or face?
Were Dorset men afraid to fight
With Monmouth, whether wrong or right?
Was nothing noble ever done
By Delhi Salkeld, Dorset's son?
Or did a Dorset man decline
A trial with the Russian line?
No, no, my lads, fall in, fall in —
Now don't let Dorset ranks be thin.
For Dorset: Hip, Hurrah!

Would we lose blessings we should hold
More precious far than worlds of gold;
The gospel in our mother tongue,
And house of prayer for old and young;
Or Dorset's downs where freedom roams,
Or peaceful houses — freedom's homes?
Where freeborn blood so warmly flows,
In cheeks as blooming as the rose?
No, no, my lads, fall in, fall in —
Now don't let Dorset ranks be thin.
For Dorset: Hip, Hurrah!

If foes on sea by chance slipp'd through
The hands of England's sailor crew,
Should we then let them trample, proud,
The land that we have mown and plow'd?
Would we by Dorset's well-mann'd banks
Let on inland their proudest ranks?
Would hands be scarce if we had call
To hold a Dorset bridge or wall?
No, no, my lads, fall in, fall in —
Now don't let Dorset ranks be thin.
For Dorset: Hip, Hurrah!