Great BRITTAIN's Joy for her most Gracious Majesty Queen
ANN's being unanimously Proclaim'd through England, Scot-
land, and Ireland; with the Loyalists Health.
To the Tune of an Orange.
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Englishman.
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NOW England be Merry, and ever Rejoyce,
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Since Heaven has made us so happy a Choice,
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To govern our Kingdom, and Curb our French Foes;
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The Flower de luce shall stoop to the Rose,
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By a Stuart.
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Our brave English Boys will make the Dogs dance,
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To quell the exhorbitant Power of France;
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Th' Bug'rers will soon be compelled to own,
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They are but as Slaves to Britannia's Crown,
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By a Stuart.
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Welshman.
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Cod pless hur, Cod save hur, hur is a good Queen,
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The like since cood Betty hur never has seen,
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And now by Saint Tavy, cuts splutter a nails,
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Hur now is in hopes of a true Prince of Wales,
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From a Stuart.
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For hur excellent Majesty, who is so cood,
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Hur will willingly Fight, and lose hur Hearts plood,
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With Leek in hur Hat, hur will soon go to France,
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And with a red Herring make Lewis to dance,
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For a Stuart.
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Scotchman.
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Deel bleen me if Ise his Noddle don't cut,
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The old muckle Deel stop Hemp in his Gut,
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By my Sol the old pockyfy'd Lewis le Grand
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Must expect to be kick'd from his vassaliz'd Land,
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By a Stuart.
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The Deel break my Craig, if I se'bate him an ace,
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Of thumping his Carcass and beating his Race;
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By bonny Saint Andrew we need not to fear,
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But that we shall maul them before the next Year,
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For a Stuart.
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Irishman.
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Dear Joy, I must tell you my Shalvashion,
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Most happy since Ann is made Queen ish our Nashion,
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Which makes ush in good Usquebaugh, O, O, hone,
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Drink to the shuccess of the true English Throne,
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Of a Stuart.
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Her Majestish Grash, we will ever adore,
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And from our Shaint Patrick always implore
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That she may her Enemies Conquer, a gra,
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And make the French Tyrant the Shepter obey,
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Of a Stuart.
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French Hugonet.
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Begar she one Woman de very good Heart,
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To mak te grand Lewis hambition for smart,
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One, tu, tre year she will tumbe him down,
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Alle, bave boys let trulily own,
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Our great Stuart.
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He fight de new Queen, O feuter diable,
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For what he not stand agen England is able,
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On Monsieur let fall, he one very bad man,
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Der Vine we wil drink, and Sing Vive l' Ann.
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A fine Stuart.
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The Loyalists Health. To the Tune of let
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Caesar live long.
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Now for joy the blest Ann by three Realms must be Crown'd,
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A Health to her Glory by us shall go round,
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Long, long may she live, and over us Reign,
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So to her Success let's Drink all again,
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our Blood like our Wine doth sparkle for Joy,
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And our Lives we will venture her Foes to Destroy.
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