Hail ! Sons of old Cestria, whose forms still display
The manhood that erst gave your Lupus the day;
Ye that live, till, and honor the shores of the Dee,
That loves and now lingers around the Roodee.
Derry down.

Descendants of heroes, come hither, my boys,
Whose fame, ancestorial, Fame's trumpet employs;
A truce to your labours, all happy now be,
And partake in the joys that now deck the Roodee.

And ye that from Cambria's high summits may come,
To share in the triumph of Owen's own son;
Draw near from the fountains that feed your own Dee,
And see how reluctant she leaves the Roodee.

And ye (without whom) Mirth's merry prank,
And creation itself is a void and a blank;
Each dear Angelina on each side the Dee,
Come forth, and give zest to the scenes on Roodee.

They come, where olympics give way to a race,
And the groves of Idalia seem robb'd of each grace,
Each heart (within Beauty's bright sphere) is in glee,
And Paphos now rivals in vain the Roodee.

Night's curtain descending, the offspring of Taste
Now hie where a C OOKE forms a rational feast;
The curtain of Thespis ascending you see,
A new pleasure succeeds to those found on Roodee.