Classic Poem

'T IS my lord Ligonier
That assembles us here,
Let us toast to his health and be jolly,
On the day of his birth,
There's no mortal on earth,
That knows him can be melancholy. — Brave boys .

To scourge Britain's foes,
Had such hero arose,
When young Harry had conquer'd the Gauls;
France had now been our own,
And we'd pepper'd their throne,
With our ordnance hot tennis-balls.

But sweet powder for hair,
And wash-balls to look fair,
For a time was our country's disgrace;
But the brave Ligonier
Made it plainly appear,
That there's beauty in ev'ry scar'd face.

You have seen the effect,
None their arms do neglect,
No numbers nor dangers they fear;
Like Prometheus above,
Who fetch'd fire from Jove,
They've got it from great Ligonier .

Then we'll push it about,
Till the bowl is quite out,
And our master let's join to each toast,
Like him all who fight,
Are Old England's delight,
But a coward is always the roast.

As this was the morn
When our hero was born,
To be merry all day we are come;
And if night should o'ertake us,
And the moon should forsake us,
Bright Phaebus will light us all home.

If our wives they should scold,
As their tongues few can hold,
Let us tell them our wine had a spring;
That we all tarry'd here,
For the great Ligonier ,
And to drink a good reign to our king.