A New Song: by an American sailor in a British prison, 9 January 1781

SINCE Heav'n has bless'd us with a soil,
     Which has produc'd a lovely tree,
On which fair freedom ever smiles,
     And on it grows fair Liberty :

CHORUS.
Rouse, Americans ! and spurn the Tyrant's chain,
Our rights forever let's maintain.

Let Heav'n still farther grant its aid,
     Cause the fair branches for to shoot,
That we beneath the ample shade,
     May taste its sweet delicious fruit,
          Rouse, Americans ! &c.

This banquet ne'er can be enjoy'd,
     By naughty tyrants' servile brood ;
But Freedom's sons can ne'er be cloy'd,
     With such a noble dainty food.
          Rouse, Americans ! &c.

This food shall all our sons inspire,
     Like sons of Mars, the sword to wield,
In Virtue's cause---and ne'er retire,
     'Till all our foes shall quit the field,
          Rouse, Americans ! &c.

Let us unite both heart and hand,
     Pursue our foes by land and sea ;
Convince the tyrants' cruel bands,
     Americans will e'er be free.
          Rouse, Americans ! &c.

May we ne'er want for Washingtons,
     To lead our armies to the fight ;
And may our brave and warlike sons,
     E'er put their enemies to fight.
          Rouse, Americans ! &c.

The happy day shall soon arrive,
     Your flag shall triumph o'er the waves ;
And distant nations join to say,
     " Americans will ne'er be slaves. "
          Rouse, Americans ! &c.

Then all those heroes that have 'rose,
     For to defend this lovely tree,
Beneath its branches shall repose,
     Enjoying Peace, with Liberty.
          Rouse, Americans ! &c.

Then shall those sordid grov'ling souls,
     Be plung'd in depths of infamy ;
Who, Arnold like, for love of gold,
     Would sell ttheir country's Liberty.
Rouse, Americans ! and spurn the tyrant's chain,
Our rights forever let's maintain.