Edward M. Paxton

COME, freemen, rally,

Your banners fling out,

Till the mountain’s top

Gives back your shout.

The trumpet is sounding

O’er valley and glen;

The sword is unsheath’d

For the murder of men!

Death to the tory,

Torture and shame!

Death to the tory,

Fagot and flame!

King George has declared

That we shall not be free,

His vengeance is roused

For the waste of his tea!

His troops throng our cities,

His vessels our ports,

And waves his proud flag

From the tops of our forts!
Death to the tory, &c.

All blithe is King George

As he sitteth on high,

And the words which he utters

Are, “Worship or die!”

And gayly he sits

Mid the banqueting throng,

And listens with joy

To the reveller’s song.
Death to the tory, &c.

But his fate is now seal’d,

And his power is shaken,

And the people at last

From their slumber awaken;

For their blood has been shed

On the green grass sod,

And no power now rules them

Save that of their God!

Death to the tory,

Torture and shame!

Death to the tory,

Fagot and flame!