Low-Country Soldier:
Or, His humble Petition at his return into England,
after his bold Adventures in Bloody Battles.
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GOod Your Worship cast an Eye,
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Upon a Soldiers misery;
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Let not these lean Cheeks I pray,
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Your Worships Bounty from me stay,
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but like a noble Friend,
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some silver Lend,
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And Jove shall pay You in the End:
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But I will pray that Fate,
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May make You Fortunate,
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In Heaven or in some Earthly state,
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To beg I neer was bred, kind sir,
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Which makes me blush, to keep this stir
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But tho I rove from place to place,
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For to make known my woeful case:
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For I am none of those,
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that a Roving goes;
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and in rambling shew their drunken blows
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for all that they have got.
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is by banging of the Pot,
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in wrangling who should pay the Shot.
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Olympick Games i oft have seen,
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And in brave Battles have i been;
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The Cannons there aloud did Roar,
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My proffer high was evermore:
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for out of a Bravado,
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when in a Barricado,
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by tossing of a Hand-Granado,
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Death then was very near,
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When it took away this Ear;
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But Yet, thank God, im here, im here,
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And at the siega of Buda, there,
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i was blown up into the Air,
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from whence i tumbled down again,
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and lay a while among the slain,
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Yet rather than be beat,
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i got upon my feet,
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and made the Enemy retreat;
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Myself and seven more,
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We fought Eleven score,
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The Rogues were neer so thrashd before.
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I have at least a Dozen times,
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been blown up by these Roguish Mines,
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Twice thro the Skull have i been shot,
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That my brains do boil like any Pot,
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such Dangers have i past,
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at first and at last,
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as would make Your Worship sore aghast
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And there i lay for dead,
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till the Enemy were fled,
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And then they carried me home to Bed
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At push of Pike i lost this Eye,
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And at Birgam Siege i broke this Thigh;
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At Ostend like a warlike Lad,
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i laid about as i were mad:
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but little would You think
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that eer i had been,
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such a Good old Soldier of the Queens:
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But if Sir Francis Vere
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Were living now and here,
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He would tell You hnow i flashd em there.
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The Hollanders my fury know,
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full oft with them ive dealt a blow,
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Then did i take a warlike Dance,
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Quite thro Spain and into france;
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and there i spent a flood
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of very Noble Blood,
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Yet all would do but little good,
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for Now i am come home,
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With my rags upon my Bum,
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And crave of Your worship one small Sum.
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AND Now my case You understand,
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Pray lend to me Your helping hand,
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A little thing would Pleasure me,
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To keep in mind Your Charity;
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it is Not Bread and Cheese,
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Nor Barley Lees,
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Or any such like Scraps as these,
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But what i beg of You,
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is a Shilling ONE or two,
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Kind Sir, Your Purse Strings pray undo.
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EPILOGUE.
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HAVE i spent all MY Days in bloody Wars,
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thus slashd carbonadod & cut out in scars
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Have i danced oer the ice marchd thro the dirt
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Without either Hat, Hose, Shoe, or Shirt;
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And must i now Beg, Bow, troop, trud and trot,
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To every Pagan and poor Peasant Sot?
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No! by this Hand and Sword Not i
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That Mans not fit to live, that fears to Die,
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ill Purse it then, the Highway is MY hope;
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His Hearts Not big, that fears a little Rope,
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--Stand, & Deliver, sir--
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Here boy, take MY Horse, walk him if thourt able,
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Lead him a turn or two, and put him into stable
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As for You Mrs. Minks, dont at me Jeer.
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To Night for supper let me have good Cheer;
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MY Pheasant MY fowls, choice of other Birds,
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ill Not be fed with Apple-PYE Cheese & Curds
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As for Your Swines flesh ill eat None,
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Unless it be a Roast Pig, & then i may pick a bone
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The rest my Boy shall transport into his Snapsack,
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and so we are prepared for the next Rendez-
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vous.
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