THE
SOLDIERS GLORY,
Or the HONOUR of a
Military LIFE,
[A ]n Answer to the Country Farmers Happiness, and the Londoners Pleasure.
Tune of, Old Jemmy is a Lad, of Royal Birth and Breeding . With Allowance.
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FIE sluggish Country Man,
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Forsake your Clownish Breeding;
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And you more arch Trepan
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Of Lond[o]n , leave your Feeding:
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You're both conceited silly Fools,
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To boast what you shou'd hide,
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Insipid, rusty, useless Tools,
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Your Edge is turn'd with Pride.
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Come forth and take up Arms,
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Assert your Country's Glory;
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Mind neither Shops nor Farms,
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But dance the Warlike Bory:
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The Drum does Beat, the Trumpet Sounds,
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Th' Embattell[']d Armies meet;
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Their Complments are Blood and Wounds,
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In Fire and Smoak they greet.
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Our Canons they do Roar,
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And our small Shot does Thunder;
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Whilst you do sleep and snoar,
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Whole Towns we Storm and Plunder:
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You snug at home, like Snails in shels,
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And dare not show your Horns;
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Obscure both Cit and Bumpkin dwells,
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Whilst Fame our Deeds Adorns.
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The Soldier's Life is Brave,
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With Honour still Lenowned;
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No danger he will wave,
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With Laurel to be Crowned:
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He covets Toils and grand Fatigues,
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To wade in purple streams,
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And scorn the City soft Intrigues,
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Or Humdrums Country Dreams.
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What Battles we have won,
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And Coentries we did Conquer;
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How France we did o're run,
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Is known to e'ry Younker:
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But now our London-Derry Boys,
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All Stories do surpass,
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They Routed have the poor Dear Joys ,
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And made Monsieur an Ass.
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Brave Protestants Rejoyce,
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Your Foes before you Tumble;
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Shout with a Warlike Voice,
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Let none be heard to grumble;
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K. James is fled, his Army slain,
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There's none dare keep the Field;
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And Valiant Kirk comes on amain,
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He'll Dye before he'll yield.
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From Scotland there is News,
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The Rebels all are Routed;
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Tho' some wou'd us Amuse,
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As if 'twere to be doubted:
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But be assur'd that all is true,
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The Gazett does Relate;
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Or else you'r worse than Turk or Jew ,
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And Infidells we hate.
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Now farewel Country Clown,
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And City Fop, I leave you;
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The Village and the Town,
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Of Honour do bereave you:
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Whilst you lie saaking in your Nest,
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I Crowns and Septers Guard;
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And at the end in Triumph rest,
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When Honour's my Reward.
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