Song70
When I was a very little fellow,
To Italy I went
Upon music intent,
With a voice very pliable and mellow.
Il sondo to my earo
Si suito e so clearo.
I like it;—I love it;—I adore, oh
And den it was I resolved to have some more,
Che il gela del timore
Sua Pace in tanta pena
Tanta Smorza l’ardore,
Gia sento in ogni vena.
To Turkey then I bent my way;
Tink, tink, a ting a ring, oh!
When cymbals jingle, music play,
Ting, ting a ting a ring, oh!
Yet then I change;
To Germany I range;
And Holland, too, mynher vat is der name,
Bazzoon, O Gloch da cram bo
Vat can a, do, do!
Then turn again
To flippant Spain,
Fast as ever I can go,
Where pretty sets
With castanets
Tack a rack to the merry Fandango.
In France I there
Learn’d many an air,
And music made my gain
With Comment ça,
Monsieur? Ha! Ha!
Miron ton ton ton tain!
But near home I got land,
And lilted I into Scotland,
Where Donald loo’d fair Maggie bonnie;
She loo’d Jock and hated Johnny;
Wi bit love between ’em ganging,
Sawney gied the lad a banging.
And now to Hibernia, the true land of harmony,
Tippling your whiskey to Shelim a gig,
Music, love, wine, and true friendship so charming ye,
Blood and ouns, boderoo, fizle my gig.
In England, no music is fit to be read,
Save one glorious tune that’s in every one’s head.
’Tis a tune we delight in,
So glorious to sing;
God save great George our King,
Long live our noble King!
God save the King.