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Vicar of Bray (American) When royal George ruled o'er this land and loyalty no harm meant For Church and King I made a stand and so I got preferment I still opposed all party tricks for reasons I thought clear ones And swore it was their politics to made us all Presbyterians And this is the law that I'll maintain until my dying day, sir That whatsoever King might reign, I'll still be Vicar of Bray, sir When Stamp Act passed the Parliament to bring some grist to mill, sir To back it was my firm intent, but soon there came repeal, sir I quickly joined the common cry that we should all be slaves, sir The House of Commons was a sty, the Kings and Lords were knaves, sir Now all went smooth, as smooth as can be, I strutted and looked big, sir And when they laid a tax on tea, I was believed a Whig, sir I laughed at all the vain pretense of taxing at a distance And swore before I'd pay a pence, I'd make a firm resistance A Congress now was swiftly called that we might work together I thought that Britain would, appalled, be glad to make fair weather And soon repeal the obnoxious bill, as she had done before, sir That we could gather wealth at will and so be taxed no more, sir But Britain was not quickly seared, she told another story When independence was declared, I figured as a Tory Declared it was a rebellion base, to take up arms - I cursed it For faith, it seemed a settled case, that we should soon be worsted The French alliance now came forth, the Papists flocked in shoals, sir Friseurs, marquis, valets of birth and priests to save our souls, sir Our "good ally" with towering wing embraced the flattering hope sir That we should own him for our King and then invite the Pope, sir Then Howe with drum and great parade marched through this famous town, sir I cried, "May fame his temples shade with laurels for a crown," sir With zeal I swore to make amends to good old constitution And drank confusion to the friends of ou But poor Burgoyne's announced my fate the Whigs began to glory I now bewailed my wretched state, that e'er I was a Tory By night the British left the shore, nor cared for friends a fig, sir I turned the cat in pan once more and so became a Whig, sir I called the army butchering dogs, a bloody tyrant King, sir The Commons, Lords a set of rogues that all deserved to swing, sir Since fate has made us great and free and Providence can't alter So Congress e'er my King shall be, until the times do alter see also VICBRAY printed in Songbook of the American Revolution by Carolyn Rabson SOF
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