A Ballad and Poem about Hannah Snell

A Ballad and Poem about Hannah Snell

Hannah performed "A New Song" as part of her act at the New Wells, Goodman's Fields. The ballad was sold at the theatre's bar and was later reproduced in Robert Walker's biography of 1750.

A New Song
Tune - "Come and listen to my Ditty"

	All ye noble British Spirits,
	That midst Dangers Glory sought,
	Let it lessen not your Merit,
	That a Woman bravely fought.
	Cupid slily first inroll'd me,
	Pallas next her Force did bring,
	Press'd my Heart to venture boldly
	For my Love, and for my King.

	Sailor-like, to fear a Stranger,
	Straight I ventured on the Main,
	Facing Death and e'ery Danger,
	Love and Glory to obtain.
	Tell me you, who hear my Story,
	What could more my Courage move,
	George's Name inspired with Glory,
	William was the man I lov'd.

	When from William, Susan parted,
	She but wept and shook her Hand;
	I more bold (tho' tender hearted),
	Left my Friends and native Land;
	Bravely by his Side maintaining
	British Rights, I shed my Blood,
	Still to him unknown remaining,
	Watch'd to serve and do him good.

	In the midst of Blood and Slaughter,
	Bravely fighting for my King;
	Facing Death from e'ery Quarter,
	Fame and Conquest Home to bring.
	Sure you'll own 'tis more than common,
	And the World proclaim it too,
	Never yet did any Woman
	More for Love and Glory do.

"The Female Soldier" was first published in the London Evening Post, July 5 - July 7 1750.

The Female Soldier

	Hannah in Briggs* behav'd so well,
	That None her softer Sex could tell:
	Nor was her Policy confounded,
	When near the Mark of Nature wounded:
	Which proves, what Men will scarce admit,
	That Women are for Secrets fit.

	That healthful Blood cou'd keep so long,
	Amidst young fellows hale and strong,
	Demonstrates, tho' a seeming Wonder,
	That Love to Courage truckles under.

	O how her Bed mate bit his Lips,
	And mark'd the Spreading of her Hips;
	And curs'd the Blindness of his Youth,
	When she confess'd the Naked Truth?
	Her Fortitude, to no man's second,
	To Woman's Honour must be reckon'd.
	Twelve Wounds! 'Twas Half† great Caesar's Number,
	That made his Corse the Ground encumber.
	How many Men, for Heroes nurst,
	Had left their Colours at the First.

	'Twas thought Achilles' greatest Glory,
	That Homer rose to sing his Story:
	And Alexander mourn'd his Lot,
	That no such bard cou'd then be got.--
	But Hannah's praise no Homer needs;
	She lives to sing her Proper Deeds.

	* A Cant Word for Breeches.
	† Plutarch tells us that Caesar has 23 Wounds

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