Dunkirk's Lamentation:
Written in French by Monsier de Lo[o]n, and after Translated into Irish by Patrick
Agraw, for the benefit of the Teagues, and now done into English by a Gentleman
who receiv'd it from a Prisoner which they took on the Coast of Flanders, and set to
the Tune of The French Dancing-master: or, The Soldiers Departure.
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BEgar, what we have long been doing,
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will come to nothing now we find,
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Fortune has prov'd the dismal ruine,
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of the Intreague which we design'd;
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Russel he lies now with a Navy,
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ready to send us Bomb and Ball,
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Therefore, Begar, we cry, Per cave,
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our Devil has deceiv'd us all.
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Here we have made vast Preparation,
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to lay the Protestants in gore,
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Who guards the famous British-Nation,
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yet now at last we can't get o'er,
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For the whole Plot is quite disjoynted,
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we shall to dismal Ruine fall;
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Was ever Men so disappointed?
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our Devil has deceiv'd us all.
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Their Prince was likewise to been Murther'd,
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just at the time we were to land,
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This would our great Designs have further'd,
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for with our potent armed Band,
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We could have march'd away for London,
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but now I find we never shall,
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Well may we cry, We are clearly undone,
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our Devil has deceiv'd us all.
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There are some Protestants deducted
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from their own Land-sosciety,
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Who by our friends was so instructed,
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that they'll cut throats as well as we:
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First they were to observe our Motion,
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then to that Work they were to fall,
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But Russel lies now upon the Ocean,
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our Devil has deceiv'd us all.
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'Tis but in vain for us to venter
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over the roaring Seas at last,
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For if their Kingdom we should enter,
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they'll soon our Pride and Glory blast;
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For the whole Plot is rent assunder,
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and our dear friends to Ruine fall,
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Quoth T[e]ague, By Crist, [s]trange and wonder,
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our Devil has deceiv'd us all.
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Berwick, it seems, he told your Master,
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that he might soon obtain that Throne,
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And need not fear the least Disaster,
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in making all the Realm his own;
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Both the Exchequer and the Tower,
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into his hands he said would fall,
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But they will ne're be in his power,
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our Devil has deceiv'd us all.
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We were incourag'd to go over,
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with many Promises of Gold,
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Which we were to receive at Dover,
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to make us valiant, stout and bold,
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Every one of us consented
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to fallow the French General,
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But we are fatally prevented,
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our Devil has deceiv'd us all.
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Sad dreadful fears we now lye under,
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for if our Troops should go on board,
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Russel will rend our Ships assunder,
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no kind of Quarter he'll afford:
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Our Rising-Sun, you know he fix'd,
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with other Ships both great and small,
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In sad confusion we retir'd,
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and once again our fleet he'll maul.
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Quoth Teague, By Crist, I'd rather tarry,
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in the Confines of famous France,
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Then to go forth and to miscarry,
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by some unhappy fatal Chance;
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De English has a Fleet that bears not
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any thing less then Bomb and Ball,
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And by my shoul, there's Russel cares not
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if he consumes and burns all.
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