A Song in Praise of our Forces.
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CHear up your Hearts bold Britons,
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Our Troops are now advancing,
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The Rebels must retreat,
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Or quickly die a dancing;
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Brave Marshal Wade is at the Head,
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To give us his Command, Sir,
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The Chevalier you need not fear,
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We'll put him to a Stand, Sir.
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The Clans they have begun it,
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To pillage and to plunder,
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I hope to see them run yet,
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When e'r out Cannons thunder,
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Then Horse and Foot, let's quickly to't,
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The Country now doth call, Sir,
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To mend some Brogues for Highland Rogues,
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With Powder and with Ball, Sir
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The Time has been their own,
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For Want of good Commanders,
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And that will soon be known,
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By those that's come from Flanders;
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Our British Foot are hard put to't,
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To march through Mud and Mire,
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But all agreed they'll not be rid,
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By Capaucheens and Friars.
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Although the Nights are cold.
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Not very fit for camping,
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The Troops will march up bold,
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Being always us'd to tramping;
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The Blues and Buffs, are old and tough,
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The Greens they ne'er will start, Sir,
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The Yellow Boys don't fear no Noise,
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Their Colours ne'er will part, Sir,
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Therefore let us prepare,
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And be ready for a Battle,
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We'll see their Arses bare,
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When once our Cannons rattle:
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The Yorkshire Blue are bold and true,
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Brave Gentlemen no Doubt, Sir;
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When e'er 'tis o'er you'll here more,
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What they have been about, Sir,
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