Come my sons mourn with your mother,
At the melancholy news,

From New York and other places,
Where Britons now do rendezvous,
Blood and Slaughter still continues,
While our foes Advantage take,
The consequence of such commotion,
Makes Britannia’s heart to ache.

See the stately Towns a burning,
Here the shouts and dismal cry,
Mothers with their children mourning,
While their fathers’ dead do lie.
Hear the roaring cannons thunder,
See one Army run away,

The other briskly push for plunder,
In North America.

On the infant weeps the mother,

My tender babe my breasts are dry,

Your father’s killed I am starved with hunger,
While the rest around do cry,

Once I had a pleasant table,

Famine threatens now to come,

My house is changed into a stable,

This, my dears is now my doom.

View the camps in deep entrenchment,
Where the fruitful garden stood,

See the ground they fought their Battles,
Strewed with bones and stained with blood,
Nothing now but devastation
Is the prospect every way,

Kind heaven stop the desolation
In North America.

View the son pursue the father,
Brother against brother fight,

When they both was joined together
Beat their faces with sweet delight,
No power then could stand against us
But in fear would run away,
Now those foes are laughing at us,
Alas! Alas! America.

When a house is thus divided,

It seldom does continue long,
Quarrels make us poor and weaker,
While our foes grow rich and strong,
This is now the case of Britain,

Oh! gracious heaven stand our friend,
And in mercy shine upon us,

Bring these troubles to an end.