LOVE and HONOUR.
A Pindarick Ballad.
In Two PARTS.
To the Tune of, Luxemburg 's March. With Allowance.
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Moggy Endeavours to disswade her Jockey from
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going to the Wars.
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I.
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THus I, inconstant Jockey ,
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Fast in my Arms I lock ye,
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Never to see the Wars again;
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Nor hear the bugle sounding Trumpet:
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Here Ise for ever grasp ye,
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And to my bosom clasp ye,
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Where you shall still with me remain,
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Tho' dub a dub a dub the drum beat:
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Here, in the shades, we'll sport and play,
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Kiss all the Night, laugh all the day,
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What have you to do (my Love)
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With Germany , or Spain ?
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What a De'el will you (my Love)
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By either of 'em gain?
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Would you truly shew your Love?
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At home remain
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With your Moggy .
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II.
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Why will you leave your Chattels,
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Plunder to get in Battles?
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Have you not here a new milch Cow,
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With many a tender lamb, and sheep too?
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Sure there a mighty charm is
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Always in following Armies,
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Thus for to leave, the Lord knows who!
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Your Flocks, and her that does 'em keep too.
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Hark! how the whirring bullets fly!
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Hark! how they groan! & how they die!
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Lay this Warlick fury by,
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Dear Jockey , I thee beg;
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I shall ne'er endure ye,
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If you get a Wooden Leg,
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May the De'el e'en cure ye,
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For Mistress Peg ,
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Gud Jockey.
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Jockey shews his steady, and truly Loyal Reso-
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lution, of Serving his most Gracious Majesty
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K. W. against the French.
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I.
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Moggy Udsbred what mean ye?
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Surely the De'el is in ye,
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Thus to controul the Martial rage,
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That calls your Jockey forth to Combat:
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Mun I live like a L oon here,
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Rather than purchase honour
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(While I the Monsieur Foe engage)
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Where dub a dub a dub the Drum beat?
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Moggy, d'ye think I se stay at home?
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Lewis is worse than the Pope of Rome:
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I mun ha' to do (my Love)
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With Germany , and Spain ;
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I 'm unworthy you (my Love)
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I f I at home remain:
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But, I tell you true, (my Love)
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Ise come again
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To my Moggy .
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II.
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Let me gang, out of Scotland ,
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Into some far remote land;
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What shou'd I do with one poor Cow
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And sheep (I think) about a dozen?
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Under the gud King William
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I se meet the French , and kill 'em;
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So shall I Cattle get enough,
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By dint muckle might a thousand:
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Hark! how the Silver Trumpets sound
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See how the French gasp on the ground
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Laird! how fearful Women is!
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Take courage Prithee Peg ;
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I n a battle no Man is
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Afraid of Wooden Leg;
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Ise be, what uncommon is,
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A Scanderbeg
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For my Moggy
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