News from the Camp,
ON
BLACK HEATH:
OR,
The Noble Souldiers Resolution:
EXPRESSING
His Heroick Courage to serve his King, and Country, to his utmost Abillity,
Through all Dangers and Exigences.
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COme all you brave Gallants! away to the Feild,
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Where Honour her Crowns and her Laurels doth yeild:
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Leave Drinking, and Fooling, and dandling of Wenches,
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To take up your Lodging in Tents, and in Trenches:
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Our Countries Foes we will strike with a Dampe,
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And out-shine the Reports of Tilbury-Campe.
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Should Caesars bold Army Revive once again,
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Romes Eagles must stoope to the Cross of Britain;
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Nor should that proud Bully, the Grand Alexander,
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Henceforth stile himself Universal Commander,
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Nor Cry for more Worlds, for, lo! here he might find,
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Another more stout, yet Unconquer'd behind.
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Great Britain, That World by it self, which gives Law
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To it's Neighbours, and keeps Usurpers in Awe,
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Which Fetters the Ocean in Chains, as of old,
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King Zerxes Attempted in vain, we are told,
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But now 'tis her Captive, where each Man of Warr,
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Rules as he lists, and all others can Barr.
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Yet the Bounds to Increase of her spreading Command,
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She endeavours to grow no less potent by Land,
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For Forces, all places do Club, and the Shires:
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Vye which shall send fastest their brave Volunteirs,
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For he is a Cockscomb, a Coward, or worse
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That Comes not his Country to serve, but on force.
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From York-Shire, I'se lately Marcht up to the Town,
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And the Dee'l Split my Crag if again I'le gang down,
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Without doing something shall make it appear,
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A Northern Lad scorns to be Hector'd by feare,
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Our Armes they are good, our bodies are strong
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Let Old-men Advise, we will Fight that are Young.
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Then hasten away to the noble Campaign,
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And when the Drum Beats, Let us over the Main,
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The Winds shall assist with a bountiful Gale.
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And waft our Fleet or'e with a full spreading Sail.
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Whilst the Skies being rent with our Cannons Loud Rore
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Waves Dance to that Musick, And set us on Shore.
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No danger shall daunt us, no Toile, nor no Pain,
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Wee, are Sons of the Blade, and not born to complain,
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To our Foes wee'l appear as furious and Rough
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As Seas, when Winds meet on their Brow with a Huff,
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But streight to our Friends no less gentle are mad,
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Then Lovers kind Notes in a Sycamore shade.
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Where e're our Prince pleases our Arms to imploy,
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Wee'l follow our Leaders with Courage and Joy,
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By Land, or by Sea, whether Battel or Seige,
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Wee'l Accomplish all things that our duties obleige:
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This Generous Soul each true Souldier should have,
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If he cannot Triumph, he's content with a Grave.
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Farewell to our Friends, it shall never be sed,
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We dishonour the parts wherein we were bred,
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Farewel to our wives, poor hearts though we Roam.
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Tis like we're as honest as they are at Home:
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But a thousand Farewells to those Lasses so kind,
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For whose sakes I am vext we must Leave them behind.
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Now let the Drums rattle, the Trumpets resound,
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And Brazen-mouth'd Cannons, with breath tear the ground
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We scorn for all this, the Least fears to betray,
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More danger, more Honour, the Proverb doth say,
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When Bullets about us Like Atoms do fly, (
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The Base may Retreat, the Brave rather will dy.
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