TEAGUE and MONSIEUR'S Lamentation
One to another at
LIMERICK,
When hearing of King WILLIAM's coming, Mounsieur
and all his Crew flies from thence.
To the Tune of, O Hone, O Hone.
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I.
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POor Teague, what shall we do?
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O Hone, O Hone,
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With all our Popish Crew,
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O Hone, O hone;
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To Limerick we are fled,
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And all our hearts is sad,
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King William drives us mad,
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O hone, o hone.
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2.
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Our Master James is gone,
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O hone, O hone,
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And left us here alone,
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O hone, O hone;
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What Courses shou'd we take,
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King William makes us quake,
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We all do stink at stake,
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O hone, O hone.
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3.
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When dat he does come here,
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O hone, O hone,
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Begar me den do fear,
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O hone, O hone,
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When Cannon shot does play,
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We all shall run away,
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And fairly loose the day,
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O hone, O hone.
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4.
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Morbleu, then let us go,
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O hone, O hone,
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To 'scape our Mortal Foe,
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O hone, O hone,
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Let's leave the Irish Joys,
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And run away, brave Boys,
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And let them take the prize,
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O hone, O hone.
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5.
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Our Hellish Plots are crost,
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O hone, O hone,
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Upon the English Coast,
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O hone, O hone,
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For England's up in Arms,
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To keep 'em from all harms,
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And all the Country swarms,
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O hone, O hone.
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6.
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Say James shall come no more,
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O hone, O hone,
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Upon the English shore,
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O hone, O hone,
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They'll drive the Popish Host,
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From off the English Coast,
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King William rules the Rost,
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O hone, O hone.
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7.
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Come let us not delay,
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O hone, O hone,
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Nor any longer stay,
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O hone, O hone,
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Let's hoise up Sail amain,
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And leave the Irish Train,
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And ne're return again,
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O hone, O hone.
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8.
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Now Teague does fret and fume,
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O hone, O hone,
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To see his Friends consume,
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O hone, O hone,
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Vat shall we do, Dear Joy,
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Poor Teague begins to cry,
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Dey vil us all destroy,
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O hone, O hone.
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9.
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De French-men all are fled,
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O hone, O hone,
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And left us almost dead,
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O hone, O hone,
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We are opprest with Fear,
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Forsaken by Mounsieur,
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King William now draws near,
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O hone, O hone.
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10.
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When to our Walls he comes,
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O hone, O hone,
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With Trumpets and with Drums,
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O hone, O hone,
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For to oppose his Train,
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Be Creest 'twill be in vain,
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Poor Teague may then be slain,
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O hone, O hone.
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11.
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Who 'scapes to Boggs will run,
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O hone, O hone,
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His mighty Arm to shun,
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O hone, O hone,
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We must Obedience yield,
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Since we have lost the Field,
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And dread King William's Shield,
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O hone, O hone.
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12.
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Then we will Quarter cry,
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O hone, O hone,
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And to his Majesty,
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O hone, O hone,
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Who bravely leads the Van,
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Surrender all we can,
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His Mercy to obtain,
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O hone, O hone.
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