Teague, the Irish Trooper:
BEING
His Sorrowful Lamentation to his Cousin Agra, and the rest of his Fel-
low Soldiers, recounting their Misfortunes in the most remarkable Fights, from the
River BOYNE, to the Surrender of LIMERICK, their last Hope.
To the Tune of the Old Siege of Limerick: Or, Let Cesar live long. Licensed according to Order.
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Dear Cousin Agra, and my Friends now attend
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To this doleful Ditty, which poor Teague has penn'd:
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The Irish Nation be Chreest now is lost,
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In [all] our designs we are utterly crost:
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We still have been forc'd to Surrender and Yield,
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To K. William's Army who Conquers the Field.
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When first his vast Army set foot on the Land,
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Against them we marcht, yet not able to stand:
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For they did with Courage and Conduct appear,
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Which caused us streightways to tremble for fear:
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When e're they drew near, we were forced to Yield,
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To K. William's Army who Conquer'd the Field.
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Remember the Fight at the Boyne my dear Joy,
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How they did our Army and Forces destroy;
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Through Fire and Water they marched amain,
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And vow'd that the Kingdom they soon would regain:
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That day we were forc'd to Surrender and Yield,
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To K. William's Army, which Conquer'd the Field.
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They threaten to put then the Kill upon Teague,
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Therefore by my shoul we run one, to three League,
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Too many for us they have been all along,
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Which makes me to sing this sorrowful Song;
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As being compell'd to Surrender and Yield,
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To K. William's Army which Conquers the Field.
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There's fair Drogheda, nay, and Dublin too,
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This Conquering Army in short did subdue;
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While we to the Bogs, and the Mountains did fly,
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Dear Cousin, cause Teague was unwlling to dye:
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Thus were we constrain'd to Surrender and Yield,
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To K. William's Army, which Conquers the Field.
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Then famous Athlone we resolv'd to defend,
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The which then was taken by storm in the end:
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And Galloway likewise Surrender'd also,
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Be Chreest then our game did begin to run low,
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And forced we were to Surrender and Yield,
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To K. William's Army, which Conquers the Field.
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The Fight at fair Agram I'd like to forgot,
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Where so many Thousands were slain on the spot;
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My Father and Brother were kill'd in the Fray,
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My heart now is ready to break Cousin Gray,
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And still we are forc'd to Surrender and Yield,
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To King William's Army, which Conquers the Field.
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There's great Collonel Sarsefield did swagger and bost,
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That he would soon down with the Protestant Host;
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But now to our sorrow by Chreest we have found,
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That they have like Tygers encompast us round:
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An famous fair Limerick is forced to Yield,
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To K. William's Army which Conquers the Field.
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In that very City our hopes we did place,
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And now we are all in a sorrowful case;
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For why their great Cannons against us they play'd,
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At which Warlike Thunder we all were afraid.
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And Limerick at length now is forced to Yield,
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To K. William's Army which Conquers the Field.
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Be Chreest Brother Tory when we Salli'd out,
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Like Souldiers of courage both Valliant and Stout,
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The Governour Monsieur did bar up the Gate,
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The which is a sorrowful tale to relate;
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For there Teague was slaughtered and forced to Yield
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To K. William's Army which Conquers the Field.
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I put on my Shack-boots, and left Cart and Plow,
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And thought to have been a Commander e're now,
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But I must return like a poor tatter'd Rogue,
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Without e're a Shirt, Coat, nay Stocking, or Broague,
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Since famous fair Limerick is forced to Yield,
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To K. William's Army, who Conquers the Field.
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A curse of the French would they ne'er had come here,
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By them our sorrows has been most severe;
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But seeing we find how we have been misled,
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Great William for ever shall now be our head;
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To His Royal Power and Conduct we'll Yield,
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Where ever he goes let him conquer the Field.
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