The Sequel, etc. A Song

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The Sequel, &cetc.

I.

Ye Whigs sing Te Deum, ye Jacobites fret;

There’s excellent News in yethe London Gazette:

That Strippling Invader, yethe young Chevalier,

Is gone back to yethe North wtwith a Flea in his Ear.

2.

Great William advances, yethe Rebels retreat;

Had yethe Dastards stood still, they had surely been beat.

Such Wonders were never perform’dperformed in ysthis Isle;

The illustrious Youth has retaken Carlisle!

3.

He his Courage derives fmfrom a valorous Stock,

And is a true Chip of yethe German Old Block:

For so noble a Siege all that’s needful he got,

And they wanted for Nothing but Powder &and Shot.

4.

What Muse wtwith such Glory shall dare to keep pace?

Strike a Medal in Gold, &and reflect his Sweet Face.

We never deserv’ddeserved such a Prince of our own.

Prepare, ye great Artists, your CanvassCanvas &and Stone.

With 820 (820)
4.

Wtwith green Laurels crown’dcrowned &and immortal Renown,

In Triumph return’dreturned, he revisits the Town;

All his Battles refights, all his Labours renews,

And of mighty Exploits brings himself yethe First News.

6.

When the Scots, like Antæus, retouch’dretouched yrtheir own ^ ^ ^Earth ~~Ground~~,

Their Courage &and Vigour reviv’drevived to new Birth;

Unconscious of Flight, they redoubled such Blows,

As proclaim’dproclaimed, they were only asham’dashamed of yrtheir Foes.

7.

The Flanel-cloath’dFlannel-clothed Troops were so stunn’dstunned wtwith SurprizeSurprise,

Wtwith yethe Rain &and yethe Hail &and yethe Wind in their Eyes;

They fled, wtwith great Fear &and yethe Weather struck blind,

And left all their Cannon &and Baggage behind.

8.

O Hawly! O Falkirk! Confusion &and Shame!

Is the Fault in the Troops, or is Heav’nHeaven to blame?

Prestonpans led the van, says ytthat surly old Blade,

And Clifton too boasts of a late Ambuscade.

9.

Great William, who is of his Army the Soul,

To govern, direct, guide &and actuate the Whole,

On whose Crest sits fell Terror &and horrid Dismay,

Dispatches his Name, &and recovers the Day.

10.

Again they retreat, again Brunswick pursues.

Pray, tell me, ye Whigs, is not this joyful News?

Had you trusted in Heaven, you’d been left in yethe Lurch;

Then e’eneven discontinue yethe Prayers of yethe Church.

11.

With yethe Speed of a Stag to yethe Mountains they hye;

But Rumour’s a Jilt, that delights in a LyeLie:
Like 821 (821)
Like yethe Parthian they fly, then wtwith Caution pursue;

For a Scotchman dare fight, give yethe Devil his due.

12.

Now sing not a Triumph till Victory’s got,

Nor make a new Law for yethe hanging a Scot.

Many Things may fall out 'twixtbetwixt yethe Cup &and yethe Lip,

And no Mortal knows where a Hero may slip.