The Bogg-Trotters March;
Or, King Williams Glorious Conquest over the whole Irish Army.
To an Excellent New Tune, Or, March Boys, March Boys, etc.
Licensed according to Order.
|
I.
|
OLd James with his rascally Rabble of Rogues,
|
He drew up his Army pretending to stand;
|
But as they march[']d they must trust to their Brogues,
|
The De'l take hind most was his Command:
|
He had a Ditty he mumbl'd along,
|
It went in the Tune of Lilli borlero;
|
But we will follow them close with a Song,
|
Of march Boys, march, Boys, Tan ta ra ro:
|
March Boys, march Boys, merry, merry march, Boys,
|
Tragues but a Mushrom to a Man, Boys,
|
See how how they fly, how they run, how they dye,
|
Whilest Conquering William leads us on Boys.
|
II.
|
Thus Teague with his Loyalty, Mettle, and Pride,
|
Resolve to maintain his Natural Prince;
|
Who the plague blames him so nearly ally'd,
|
In Truth, Religion, Wit, and Sence;
|
He quits his Crowns, they surrender his Towns,
|
If he plays the Fool, they all do the same, Sir;
|
Lose or win, or get it all again soon;
|
Thus they play the factious Game, Sir,
|
Game Sir, Game Sir, Ninny, Ninny, tame Sir;
|
See what a Monster they have made thee;
|
Shave, shave thy Pate, drown thy Wife, poyson Kate,
|
Be Chreest and St. Patrick they've all betray'd thee.
|
III.
|
The Irish Nation was carry'd to pawn,
|
For Mony, the Catholick War to maintain;
|
As soon as King William a Sword he had drawn,
|
His Conquering Army redeem'd it again;
|
Now Monsier, Begar, he may hang himself,
|
They scamper'd and left the whole Kingdom behind 'em,
|
But still we will follow the hectoring Elf,
|
In France, in France, we hope to find 'em
|
Charge, Boys chare Boys, rally, rally, charge Boys,
|
Like noble Lads with warlike Thunder;
|
Pursue them amain, in retreat they are slain,
|
Their Troops and their Ranks we'll break in sun-der.
|
IV.
|
Loud Cannons did roar, and the Trumpets did sound,
|
The which warlike Musick soon fill'd 'em with fear;
|
The Devil a Teague of 'em all stood their ground,
|
Nor likewise the prodigal Huff, Monsieur;
|
For, like nimble Deer, they all took their flight,
|
Not only the French, but the Cartholick Tory;
|
And still in their running they bid us Good-night,
|
And thus brave Nassau gained Glory:
|
Sound Boys, sound Boys, let the Trumpet sound, Boys,
|
We were resolved they should restore us;
|
Towns which we won, whilst the Catholicks run,
|
And thus did we conquer all before us.
|
V.
|
Poor Teague with a sigh and a sorrowful face,
|
With crossing his breast, to the Saints he did cry,
|
In spight of Tyrconnel, his Majesty's Grace,
|
We'er forc'd to the Boggs and Mountains to fly:
|
When none did resist we conquer'd a deal,
|
The greatest part of the Irish Nation;
|
But fait it has prov'd like a slippery Eel,
|
We are forc'd to surrender at Discretion:
|
Nassau, Nassau, with his Valiant Army,
|
Fought and pursu'd us all together;
|
Rather than dye, we did bid them Good-bye,
|
For our Brogues they were made of running Leather.
|
VI.
|
Old Jemmy our Master is scamper'd to France.
|
And we wou'd have follow'd as fast as we could;
|
But e'er we cou'd out of the Nation advance,
|
Like sorrowful Tories we all were fool'd;
|
Many that ventur'd to fight were kill'd,
|
But, for my own part, I was fearful to fire:
|
Be Chreest in my running I was well skill'd,
|
And therefore in time I did retire:
|
Charge Boys, charge Boys, still they follow'd, Charge Boys;
|
Fearful I was that they wou'd find me;
|
But as I run, I did throw down my Gun,
|
And never so much as look'd behind me.
|
|
|
|
|
|