ENGLAND's Surprize;
OR,
The French King's Joy for the Duke of Marlborough's
being turn'd out of Favour.
To the Tune of, Now now comes on the Glorious Year.
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WHat News is this flys up and down,
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Of M---h, that Warriour of Renown?
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His glorious Sun's eclips'd at Noon,
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which lately shin'd most splended:
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All round Britannia's most spacious Isle,
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His Foes did dread, and his Friends did smile,
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French Politicks he oft beguil'd,
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and chiefly him they dreaded.
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A valiant Hero in the Field,
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When he his warlike Sword did wield,
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He made proud Lewis's Forces yield,
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as Captives to his Glory;
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And Conq'rer was where e'er he came;
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His Conduct, Valour, Might and Fame,
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Did signalize his awful Name,
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and eke record his Story.
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It is a Task would tedious grow,
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All his heroick Deeds to show,
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And how he made the French to know,
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that Mars could ne'r exceed him
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In great Atchievements there of late,
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Where Victories did on him wait,
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And Thousands of them met their Fate,
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each trembling Soul did dread him.
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In the famous Hogstet Fight was try'd,
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His noble Actions too, beside,
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And Schellemburg could well decide
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his Valour, which gave Wonder:
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With great amazement all was fill'd,
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To see the slaughter'd Foes lye kill'd;
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At Ramellies French Blood he spill'd,
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and at Lisle, like dreadful Thunder,
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His Cannons Balls did fly and roar,
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So that for Mercy they implor'd,
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And did surrender all their Store,
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not able to resist him:
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In many valourous Fights since then,
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He did return Victorious, when
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Fresh Lawrels crown'd him, and each Pen
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proclaim'd him still the Victor.
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A Warriour great all will allow,
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Yet some Defects appeareth now;
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But what it is there is but few
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can very well conjecture:
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No question but our Senate good,
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Just Reasons have why they withstood
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His Motives, and find no Man cou'd
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be wholly without Blemish.
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Tho' of late in Triumph here he came,
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And splendedly was entertain'd,
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Whilst Fames loud Trumpet did proclaim
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him Champion of Great Britain:
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The noble Warriour seems to grieve,
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That he the Toils of War must leave;
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Yet 'tis high time the Sword to sheath,
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since ANNA thinks it fitting.
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'Tis certain he's from Favour fell,
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All worldly Pomp is soon expell'd,
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'Tis fit all Subjects Homage yield,
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and pay all due Submission:
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But France, it seems, doth boasting say,
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This is to them a joyful Day;
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They for his Downfal loud do pray;
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and breaking his Commission.
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Lewis le Grand doth rant and roar,
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For all his Gout, old Agues and Sores,
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Is Marlbro' out? I wish no more;
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Begar, now Lads ne'r fear them:
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My aged Heart is void of Care,
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I am brisker than I was by far,
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Now Britain's, now come if you dare;
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Begar, we'll peace-meal tear them.
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And thus, it seems, he doth rejoyce,
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Thinking we have no noble Choice;
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But Britain yields Heroick Boys,
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with Eugene great, to maul them:
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Yet still we hope, and with the best,
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Our Marborough may be still carest,
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Whilst bounteous ANNA's Royal Breast,
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his Faults will pardon all Boys.
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