Great and Happy News
FOR
ENGLAND,
OR,
The Defeat of the Irish Army by King WILLIAM, in a Mortal Battle near Dublin, with
the Account of the Fatal Loss, etc.
To the Tune of, The Liggan Water.
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LEt the Nations now revive,
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English Arms in Ireland thrive;
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Great King WILLIAM with his Thunder,
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Makes the Tories truckle under,
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And does disappoint them still,
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Whilst his powerful Bullets kill.
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For Duke Berkwick he is dead,
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And all the Irish from us fled.
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The Mighty Warriour though he's lost,
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The Papists great Designs are crost;
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His Vallour through the World is fam'd;
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And he Renown'd where e're he's nam'd:
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Vallour will it self out live,
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Fame of Vallour will survive,
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To give him then his due, let all
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Say that we did our Champion call.
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On the Mortal Plain they fought,
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Where our Cause the Triumph wrought,
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Best of Causes gain'd the day,
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And Popery it did dismay:
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For Tyrconnel he is slain
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Upon the fatal Irish Plain;
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And great King William he comes on,
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'Till our proud foes are quite undone.
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Retreating from his Arms they fled,
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Our Courage fill'd them full of Dread,
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Mighty Schomberg still in Arms,
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Fear'd not Battles nor Alarms:
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In Camp from Infancy was bred,
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His Courage nothing e're could dread;
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By base Surprize some say he fell,
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Yet Victory he did foretell.
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His Vallour Monsieur did controul,
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And let the Tyrant know his Soul
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Could not from a Prince be free,
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That Protestants gave Liberty:
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And though in Fields of War defi'd,
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His Courage through the World was try'd,
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Marshal of haughty France he stood,
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'Till that rash Monarch div'd in Blood.
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Of Protestants to urge his sway,
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And make the wretched him obey;
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Great Walker's fate with him we joyn,
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Though something an Inferiour Line;
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Thy Name great Walker ne'er shall dye,
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Your either Fame shall reach the Skye;
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The Bloody fight no death can give,
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Here and hereafter you shall live.
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When our loud Thunder on the shoar,
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To France's terrour loud shall roar,
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The Fates shall pay them back again
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Those Lives that by surprize were slain;
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The kinder Powers our King defend,
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'Till dismal War shall make an end;
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And let the Mighty Heroes rest
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In Honour's Bed, by Fame possest.
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Junes second gave the fatal blow,
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Great Dublin's Walls at it did bow;
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The Fatal doom of Sword and fire,
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They gave the Frenchmen their due hire:
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Proud Lewis sweated when he knew
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King William gave his Men their due,
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And though some great Commanders fell,
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Yet dying, were revenged well.
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Our Foes full many breath'd their last,
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And Numbers on the ground were cast;
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The Kingdom now we claim our own,
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The Hopes of all our foes are gone;
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Fear not then brave Boys but run,
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The Triumph it comes speedy on;
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King William's fortune it does rise,
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And we our foes shall all despise.
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