New BALLAD
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I.
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NOW Britain, now hold up thy Head,
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Thy Foes are in Disgrace;
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And Harry, who not long since said,
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No Whig should keep his Place,
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May sigh and sob, and follow Bob,
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Well dreading what's to come;
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French Wine he lov'd, but always mov[?]
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Against good Brunswick Mum.
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II.
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But we're convinc'd by our late Peace,
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There's Poison in French Wine:
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We saw ourselves in desperate Case,
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And all our Strength decline.
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But Heaven sent for to prevent
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Those Ills that were to come:
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And show'd our Cure was only sure
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In good right Brunswick Mum.
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III.
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Now this spruce Liquor will revive
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Our Merchant's drooping Hearts,
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And make our Manufactures thrive
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Abroad in Foreign Parts.
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The Parliament with one Consent.
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Shall every Trickster doom:
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For Bourbon's Pay no more can sway,
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Since we drink Brunswick Mum.
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IV.
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The Popish Priests Te Deum sing
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For the young Chevalier:
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Tho' Lewis should proclaim him King,
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Yet we need nothing fear.
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His Friends are out, then who can doubt
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Of happy Times to come:
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For Conquering JOHN, to France well known
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Drinks deep of Brunswick Mum.
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V.
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The Catalans will be reliev'd,
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Who fight for Liberty:
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Their Fate, long, honest Men has griev'd,
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But could not set them free:
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Bob and Harry made all miscarry,
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Who for Relief did come;
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For French Pistoles had brib'd their Souls
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To banish Brunswick Mum.
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VI.
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The Jacobite poor scribling Crew,
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Who wrote for the Pretender;
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The Monitor and Abel too
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Their Pensions must surrender.
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Th' Examiners Care no more shall dare
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To threaten what's to come;
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For to asswage their Popish Rage,
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We'll give them Brunswick Mum.
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VII.
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Now, now, true Protestants rejoyce,
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Stand by your Laws and King;
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Now you've proclaim'd the Nation's Choice,
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Let traiterous Rebels swing:
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Let Royal George the Papists scourge;
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To England quickly come:
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His Health till then, let honest Men,
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Drink all in Brunswick Mum.
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