THE
Mock EXPEDITION
OR, THE
Women in BREECHES.
A New BALLAD.
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A New Method of War, an improvement no doubt,
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Our Generals of late have so wisely found out;
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To conquer our Foes is to put them in Fright,
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For by this if they fly, there's no occasion to fight,
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Derry down, etc.
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Our late Expedition this fully implies,
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The best waging of War, is the saving of Lives;
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An old Woman or two, that were frighten'd since dead,
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Or else to their Honour no Blood there was shed.
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Whether English, or French, no great study 'twill cost,
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To determine it who was frighten'd the most;
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Have perhaps this Excuse for not landing courag'ous,
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As Pannicks are catching they might think them contag'ous.
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For not landing, besides other Reasons, excuse 'em,
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(Wou'd the World but consider, they wou'd not abuse 'em)
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Were told, by Report, they'd be by Water sur-rounded,
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And landmen, by nature, don't like to be drowned.
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So quick-sighted by night, saw it rashness to land,
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But more clearly convinc'd when the day was at hand
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There's many do say, if we credit their speeches,
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That womens red petticoats they took for mens breeches.
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If their courage going out was but tardy and slack,
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They seem'd not to want it at returning all back:
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Tho' this myst'ry so dark an odd thought may enlighten,
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Cocks crowing, 'tis said, will lions much frighten.
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To call it an action on each side's not right;
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We may call it much better a fright than a fight:
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Of our land force one thing we may certainly say,
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The feats they perform'd was next running away.
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Well knowing what dangers attend on the brave,
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And that glory, that farce, but lead's to the grave;
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Not forgetting the maxim to take their plea,
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That a prudent retreat is oft winning the day.
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Our commanders some blunder must surely have made
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And made a mistake in the choice of their trade
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A service that's softer may please them much more,
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Not so fitted for Mars as for Venus's Core.
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The winds as in anger against them long blew,
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As if but prophetick of what they wou'd do:
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Such an ominous hint if they wou'd but have read it,
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Might have sav'd much Expence, and the Nation its credit.
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The genius of Britons had for fighting a passion,
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More civiliz'd now 'tis grown quite out of fashion.
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Fine cloaths, smock looks, and the care of the ladies,
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Their heads and their hearts more for this than their trade is.
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Tho' Briton's, tis said, were not Mollies of old,
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Were for dealing of blows, and were manly and bold
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And if out-number'd to fear they were strangers,
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No councils of war restrain'd them from dangers.
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The women, 'tis said, intend to petition,
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That they may go out on the next Expedition:
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If successful in war, and its dangers they dare,
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They expect for the future the Breeches to wear.
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To Petticoats Men, as their shame, be condemn'd,
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So long, or at least till their mettle they mend:
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The breeches then back they will give them again,
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As by right they are theirs when behaving like men.
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