So the blessings of thousands shall make up their lot, And each sporting box vie with Humanity's cot. XXXIII. THE BRITISH BOW. TUNE: True Blue. Sug at the Anniversary Meeting of the Royal British Bowmen, on the 12th of August, of which Society His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales is the Patron. 1 WHEN Britain's Isle, untaught to fear, 2 By it Caractacus maintain'd For many a year the field; By it Boadicea reign'd; And taught proud Rome to yield; Whene'er she drew the British Bow, She broke the ranks and thin'd the foe. 3 To save their cots from beasts of prey 4 Their guard, their pleasure still it prov'd, 5 The noble art we now restore, Erst gallant Cambria's boast, The arms our great forefathers bore Again adorn our coast, Our breasts with ancient ardour glow, 6 Array'd the feather'd shaft to send And by their matchless skill bestow Fresh laurels on the British Bow. 7 While summer's smiles the fields adorn, Amidst the flow'ry plain ; And still would have the world to know 8 Allay'd be each corroding care, Be gloomy thoughts away! And while we bend the British Bow, 1 XXXIV. THE ARCHERS' BUGLE. 1 THE Bugle sounds, the Archers all The south wind scarcely stirs the trees, What crouds now throng the verdant lawn, For the Archers shoot for the Bugle horn. 2 The Butts are plac'd, the Targets' dyes 3 Erect and firm, with steady eye, The strong-nerv'd hand they well apply, 4 Tho' all are good, yet some excel, To th' golden centre, gains first prize; Three rounds shall give up the amount, Applause shall reign throughout the lawn, 5 Oh! happy art, from war to cease, The feast concludes the happy day, XXXV. ADDRESS TO A FLY. THE SENTIMENT FROM STERNE. 1 AH silly, vain and buzzing Fly, 2 Again thou com'st-I have thee now- Go, get thee gone: with pardon flee, There's room i' th' world for thee and me. J. P. |