The Company Song
While seated together so social and free,
My bold brother Bowyers around me I see;
What theme should inspire, What strain rather flow,
Than a song in the praise of our Old English Bow.
Our firm sinew'd Bowmen in ages long past,
Gain'd that fame by their courage that ever will last,
They protected their rights by the strength of their Bow,
While their wrongs they aveng'd upon each daring foe;
While their wrongs they aveng'd upon each daring foe;
Chorus
And still Agincourt, Poitiers, Cressy, can tell
What thousands of Frenchmen by Brave Bowyers fell.
What thousands of Frenchmen by Brave Bowyers fell.
Through the Bow now less used to the Musket gives place,
With either we'll still meet our foes face to face,
In support of our Country our Children our Wives,
The Bowyers wou'd hazard their Fortune their Lives,
And tho' these same Frenchmen have always been known,
To shoot with a monst'rous Long Bow of their own,
Shou'd they Coward like trusting to darkness and flight,
Escape our brave Tars midst of Fogs or by Night;
Escape our brave Tars midst of Fogs or by night;
Chorus
And shou'd e 'er touch our Coast to their cost they will know,
That Englishmen still have two Strings to their Bow.
That Englishmen still have two Strings to their Bow.
In the Joys of the Chase, what cou'd bring down a Doe,
Or our Grandsires please like an old British Bow,
Such Exercise thus, Health and Strength always yield,
And no pleasure they priz'd like the Joys of the Field.
Little Cupid we know, cou'd not e'en kill a Sparrow,
Depriv'd of his Bow, of his Quiver, his Arrow,
But with these he commands all the Hearts of the Fair,
And Conquers by Love, and subdues ev'ry Care.
And Conquers by Love, and subdues ev'ry Care.
Chorus
May our Love and esteem for the Bow never cease,
That gives Safety in War, Health and Pleasure in Peace.
That gives Safety in War, Health and Pleasure in Peace.
Though the merit they claim, chiefly lays in their Bow,
Place a Fine Haunch before 'em they'll presently shew
At a good Knife and Fork they are not to be Beat,
But can play well their part, while there's plenty to Eat;
Then a Glass of good Liquor, and give it good measure,
To the Bowyers the Lads of true Courage and Pleasure,
Whose Glass is his Arrow, whose Bottle's his Bow,
Whose Aim is good Humour, dull Care is the Foe.
Whose Aim is good Humour, dull Care is the Foe.
Chorus
Whose Heart is his Sov'reign's, whose Laws he defends,
Whose Blood is his Country's whose Bottle's his Friends.
Whose Blood is his Country's whose Bottle's his Friends.
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