King William's March;
OR THE
Glorious Success of His Majesties Arms in Ireland.
To a Pleasant New Trumpet Tune, call'd, King William's March.
Licensed according to Order.
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HArk! Hark! and yonder
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hear the Martial Thunder;
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William the Great,
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he has now done the Feat,
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and his Hect'ring Foes knock under:
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Hark! the Roaring Cannon,
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Ecchoing all, Ecchoing all,
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with the Voice of Triumph call,
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from the Boyne and Shannon:
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From the Boyne and Shannon.
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(2)
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Nassau the Glorious,
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Drives them all before us,
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See how he Strides
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O're their heads, whilst he rides,
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Like the God of War, Victorious:
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Nor to make a Stay long,
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With a Jerk, with a Jerk,
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What kept Noll four years at work,
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Holds him but a Day long.
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Holds him but a Day long.
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(3)
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Teague, who Slimly,
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Once did look so Grimly,
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Like a true Jade,
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At his old Running Trade,
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Gallops o're his Boggs most nimbly:
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Monsieur all in haste too,
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Much ado, much ado,
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Without either Brogue or Shoe,
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Forc'd to Trot as fast too.
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Forc'd to Trot, etc.
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(4)
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Jerny-bledu, and Nounze, Sir,
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Did you hear the Bouncer?
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Ireland and all,
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Was a Breakfast too small,
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For the Hungry Maw of Monsieur:
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Swallow'd at a Swoop all,
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Till King Will, till King Will,
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Gave him such a bitter Pill,
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Made him Gourge it up all.
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Made him, etc.
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(5)
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To Truck to France too,
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Teague had lead the Dance too,
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And Monsieur Don,
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Had the Kingdom out-run,
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Had his Friends in Hell stood Stanch too,
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Had they done their Duty:
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But Old Nick, but Old Nick,
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Play'd him such [a] slippery Trick,
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The Jacobites play'd Booty.
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The Jacobites, etc.
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(6)
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By my Shoulwasion,
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A Plague confound this Fashion.
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Patrick our Head,
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Bu-bu-bo, he is Dead,
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And Jemmy has left our Nation:
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Oh Decrees, Sir,
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Mother Church, Mother Church,
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Has left poor Teagues own shelf i'th' Lurch,
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Without one Yard of Freeze, Sir.
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Without one Yard of Freeze, Sir.
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