The Low-Country-Soldier:
OR,
His humble Petition at his Return into England , after his
bold Adventures in bloudy Battels.
To an excellent new Tune. Licensed according to Order.
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G Ood your Worship cast an eye
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Upon a Souldier's Misery;
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Let not theses lean Cheeks, I pray,
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Your Worship's Bounty from me stay;
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But like a n[o]ble friend,
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Some Silver lend,
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And Jove shall pay you in the end,
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And I will pray that Fate,
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May make you fortunate,
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In H eaven, or in some Earthly State.
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To beg I ne'er was bred, kind Sir,
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Which makes me blush to keep this stir;
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Nor do I rove from Place to Place:
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For to make known my wofull Case:
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For I am none of those
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that a roving goes,
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And in rambling show their drunken blows
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For all that they have got,
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Is by banging of the Pot,
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In wrangling who should pay the shot.
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Olympick Games I oft have seen,
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And in brave Battels have I been;
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The Cannons there aloud did roar,
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My Proffer high was evermore:
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For, out of a Bravado,
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When in a Barricado,
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By tossing of a hand Granadoe,
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Death then then was very near,
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When it took away this ear;
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But yet, thank God, I'm here, I'm here.
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And at the Siege of Buda there,
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I was blown up into the Air,
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From whence I tumbl'd down again,
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And lay awhile among the slain;
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Yet rather than be beat,
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I got upon my Feet,
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And made the Enemy retreat;
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My self and seven more
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We fought Elevenscore;
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The Rogues was ne'er so thrash'd before.
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I have, at least, a dozen times,
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Been blown up by these roguish Mines;
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Twice through the Skull have I been shot,
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That my Brains do boil like any Pot:
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Such Dangers have I past,
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At first and at last,
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As would make your Worship sore aghast;
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And there I lay for dead,
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Till the Enemy was fled,
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And then they carry'd me home to Bed.
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At push of Pike I lost this Eye,
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And at Birgam Siege I broke this Thigh,
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At Oftend, like a warlike Lad,
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I laid about as I were mad;
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But little would you think,
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That e'er I had been
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Such a good Soldier of the Queen;
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But if Sir Francis Vere
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Were living now and here,
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H e would tell you how I slash'd them there.
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The Hollanders my Fury know,
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For oft with them I've dealt a Blow:
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Then did I take a warlike Dance,
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Quite through Spain and into France ;
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And there I spent a floud
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Of very noble Bloud,
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Yet all would do but little good;
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For now I home am come,
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With my Rags upon my Bum,
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And crave of your Worship one small Summe.
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And now my Case you understand,
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Pray lend to me your helping hand;
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A little thing would pleasure me,
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To keep in mind your Charity:
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It is not Bread and Cheese,
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Nor Barley Lees,
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Or any such-like Scraps as these;
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But what I beg of you,
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Is a Shilling one or Two,
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Kind Sir, your Purse-string pray undo.
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HAve I spent all my days in bloudy Wars,
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Thus slash'd, carbonado'd, & cut out in scars?
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Have I danc'd o'er the Ice, march'd thro' the Dirt,
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Without either Hat, Hose, Shoe, or Shirt?
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And must I now beg, bow, troop, trudge and trot,
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To every Pagan, and poor Peasant Sot?
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No, by this Hand and Sword not I,
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That Man's not fit to live who fears to dye:
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I'll Purse it then, the Highway is my hope;
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His Heart's not big, that fears a little Rope,
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------- Stand, and Deliver, Sir,-----------
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Here Boy, take my Horse, walk him if thou'rt able,
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Lead him a turn or two, and put him into th'Stable
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As for you Mrs. Minks, don't at me Jeer,
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To night for Supper let me have good Chear;
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My Pheasants, my Fowls, and choice of other Birds,
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I'll not be fed with Apple-pye, Cheese, and Curds:
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As for your Swine's flesh I'll eat none,
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Unless it be a roast Pig, and then I may pick a Bone.
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The rest my Boy shall transport into his Snap-
sack, and so we are prepar'd for the next
Rendezvous.
FINIS.
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