The READING Skirmish;
Or, The Bloody Irish Routed by the Victorious Dutch.
Five hundred Papishes came there,
to make a final end
Of all the Town, in time of Prayer,
but God did them defend.
To the Tune of, Lilli borlero.
Licensed according to Order.
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WE came into brave Reading by Night,
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five hundred Horse-men proper and tall;
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Yet not resolved fairly to Fight,
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but for to cut the Throats of them all:
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Most of us was Irish Papists,
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who vow'd to Kill, then Plunder the Town;
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We this never doubted, but soon we were Routed,
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by Chreest and St. Patrick, we all go down.
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In Reading Town we ne'r went to Bed,
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every Soul there mounted his Horse,
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Hoping next day to fill them with dread,
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yet I Swear by St. Patricks Cross,
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We most shamefully was Routed,
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Fortune was pleas'd to give us a Frown,
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And blasted our Glory, i'le tell you the Story,
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by Chreest and St. Patrick, we all go down.
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We thought to slay them all in their sleep,
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but by my Shoul, were never the near;
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The Hereticks their Guard did so keep,
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which put us in a trembling fear:
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We concluded something further,
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to seize the Churches all in the Town,
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With killing and slaying, while they were a Praying,
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but we were Routed, and soon run down.
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Nay, before Noon, we vow'd to dispatch
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every Man, nay, Woman and Child;
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This in our hearts we freely did hatch,
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vowing to make a prey of the Spoil:
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But we straightways was prevented,
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when we did hope for Fame and Renown,
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In less then an hour, we forced to scoure,
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by Chreest and St. Patrick, we are run down.
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We were resolved Reading to clear,
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having in hand the flourishing Sword,
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The Bloody Sceen was soon to appear,
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for we did then but wait for the Word:
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While the Ministers were Preaching,
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we were resolved to have at their Gown,
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But straight was surrounded, and clearly confounded
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by Chreest and St. Patrick, we all go down.
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Just as we all were fit to fall on,
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in came the Dutch with fury and speed;
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And amongst them there was not a Man,
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but what was rarely Mounted indeed:
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And Rid up as fierce as Tygers,
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knitting their Brows, they on us did frown,
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Not one of them idle, their Teeth held their Bridle,
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by Chreest and St. Patrick, we were run down.
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They never stood to use many Words,
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but in all haste up to us they flock'd,
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In their right hands their flourishing Swords,
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and in their left Carbines ready Cock'd:
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We were forc'd to flye before them,
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thorow the Lanes and Streets of the Town,
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While they pursu'd after, and threatn'd a slaughter,
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by Chreest and St. Patrick, we were run down.
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Thus being fairly put to the Rout,
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hunted and drove before 'um like Dogs,
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Our Captain bid us then face about,
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but we wisht for our Irish Bogs;
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Having no great mind for Fighting,
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the Dutch did drive us thorow the Town;
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Our Foreheads we Crossed, yet still was unhorsed,
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by Chreest and St. Patrick, we're all run down.
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We threw away our Swords and Carbines,
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Pistols and Cloaks lay strow'd on the Lands;
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Cutting off Boots, for running, Uds-doyns,
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one pair of Heels was worth two pair of Hands:
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Then we call'd on sweet St. Coleman,
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hoping he might our Victory Crown;
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But Dutchmen pursuing, poor Teagues, to our Ruine,
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by Chreest and St. Patrick, we're all run down.
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Never was Teagues so much in Distress,
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as the whole World may well understand;
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When we came here we thought to possess
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worthy Estates of Houses and Land:
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But we find 'tis all a Story,
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Fortune is pleased on us to frown;
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Instead of our Riches, we stink in our Breeches,
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by Chreest and St. Patrick, we're all run down.
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They call a thing a Three-legged Mare,
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where they will fit each Neck with a Nooze;
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Then with our Beads to say our last Prayer,
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after all this to Dye in our Shooes:
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Thence we pack to Purgatory,
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for us let all the Jesuits Pray;
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Farewel Father Peters, here's some of your Creatures
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would have you to follow the selfsame way.
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