Printed by W. Hogarth.

O THE ROAST BEEF OF OLD ENGLAND &C.

London, Printed for Robb Sayce, N°53, Fleet Street.

T WAS at the gate of Calais, Hogarth tells,
Where fad defpair and famine always dwells;
A meager Frenchman, Madam Grandfire's cook,
As home he fteer'd his carcafe that way took;
Bending beneath the weight of fam'd Sir-loin,
On whom he often wifd in vain to dine;
Good Father Dominick by chance came by,
With rofy gills, round paunch, and greedy eye;
Who when he firt beheld the greasy load,
His benediction on it he beftow'd;
And as the folid fat his fingers pref'd,
He lick'd his chaps and thus the knight addrefs'd:—

Oh rare roaſt beef, lov'd by all mankind,
If I were doom'd to have thee;
When dref'd and garnih'd to my mind,
And swimming in thy gravy;
Not all thy country's force combin'd,
Should from my fury fave thee.
Renown'd Sir-loin, oft times decreed,
The theme of Englifh ballad;
On thee e'en Kings have deign'd to feed,
Unknown to Frenchman's palate:
Then how much more thy taſe exceeds
Soup meagre, frogs, and fallad.

A half-ftarv'd foldier, ſhirtleſs, pale and lean,
Who fuch a fight before had never feen;
Like Garrick's frighted Hamlet gaping ſlood,
And gaz'd with wonder on the Britih food;
His morning's meſs forſook the friendly bowl,
And in ſmall ſtreams along the pavement ſtole,
He heav'd a ſigh, which gave his heart relief,
And then in plaintive tone declar'd his grief:—

A faſe dieu! vat do me fee yonder,
Dat look ſo tempting red and vite,
Begar it is de roaſt-beef from Londre;
Oh! grant to me von litel bite.
But to my guts if you give no heeding,
And cruel fation diſ bon denies,
In kind compaſsion unto my pleading,
Return and let me feaſt mine eyes.

His fellow guard of right Hibernian clay,
Whole brazen front his country did betray,
From tyburn's fatal tree, had hither ſled,
By honest means to gain his daily bread,
Soon as the well known proſpect he defery'd,
In blubb'ring accents dolefully he cry'd:—

Sweet beef that now caues my ſtomach to rife,
So taking thy fight is,
My joy that ſo light is,

To view thee, by pails-full run out of my eyes.

While here I remain my life's not worth a farthing;
Ah hard-hearted Lewy
Why did I come to ye,
The gallows more kind would have fav'd me from ſtarving.

Upon the ground, hard by, poor Sawney fate,
Who fed his noſe, and ſcratch'd his ruddy pate;
But when Old England's bulwark he eſpy'd
His dear lov'd mull, alas! was thrown afide:
With ſlivered hands he bled his native place,
Then ſerubb'd himſelf, and thus bewail'd his cafe:—

How hard, O Sawney, is thy lot,
Who was ſo blithe of late,
To fee ſuch meat as can't be got,
When hunger is ſo great.
O the beef! the bonny bonny beef,
When roaſt ſiced nice and brown,
I with him a ſlice of thee,
How ſweet it would gang down.
Ah, Charley! hadft thou not been ſeen,
This ne'er had happ'd to me:
I wou'd the de'el had pick'd mine ey'n,
Ere I had gang'd with thee.
O the beef, &c.

But fee, my muſe to England takes her flight,
Where health and plenty ſocially unite;
Where failing freedom guards great George's throne,
And whips, and chains, and tortures are not known.
That Britain's fame in loftieſt ſtrains should ring,
In rufic fable give me leave to ſing:—

As once on a time, a young frog, pert and vain,
Beheld a large ox grazing on the wide plain,
He boafted his ſize he cou'd quickly attain.
O the roaſt beef of Old England,
And O the old Englifh roaſt beef.

Then eagerly ſtretching his weak little frame,
Mamma, who ſood by, like a knowing old dame,
Cry'd, ſon, to attempt it your ſurely to blame.
O the roaſt beef, &c.

But deaf to advice, he for glory did thirſt,
An effort he ventur'd more ſtrong than the firſt,
Till ſwellings and ſtraining too hard, made him burſt.
O the roaſt beef, &c.

Then Britons be valiant, the moral is clear,
The ox is Old England, the frog is Monfieur,
Whoſe puffs and bravadoes we never need fear.
O the roaſt beef, &c.

For while by our commerce and arts we are able,
To fee the Sir-loin ſmoaking hot on our table,
The French muſt e'en burſt, like the frog in the fable.
O the roaſt beef of Old England,
And O the old Englifh roaſt beef.