Classic Poem

I.

All you that have Protestant Ears to hear,
Each of you prepare to shed a salt Tear;
For know that our Monarch intends to disband
The only brave Heroes could conquer Ireland .

II.

The feirce Royal Regiment, as brave Men and willing,
As Dutchmen , or Danes , or those Inneskilling ,
Must now be cashier'd without any Rewards,
Who once did pretend to precede the King's Guards.

III.

O had you but seen them march with that Decorum,
That no Roman Triumph cou'd e'er go before them;
Some smoaking, some whistling, all thinking no harm,
Like Yorkshire Attornies coming up to a Term.

IV.

On Long-Tails, on Bob-Tails, on Trotters, on Pacers,
On Pads, Hawkers, Hunters, on Higlers, or Racers;
You'd ha' sworn Knights, Squires, Prigs, Cuckolds and Panders,
Appear'd all like so many Great Alexanders .

V.

These Heroes , who thorow all Dangers durst go,
Most bravely despising Blood, Battel, and Foe,
Were mounted on Steeds the last Lord Mayor's Day,
From Turkey, Spain, Barbary , Coach, Cart, and Dray.

VI.

'Twas on that very day their Prowess was shown,
For guarding the King thro' the Fire-works o'th'Town;
The Sparks were unhorst, and their lac'd Coats were spoil'd,
Yet these fear'd no Squibs of Man, Woman, or Child.

VII.

The Cornet , whose Nose tho' it spoke him no Roman ,
Was mounted that Day on a Horse feared no Man;
Believe me, for all o'er his Trappings so sumptuous,
He ty'd Squibs and Crackers, 'twas mighty presumptuous.

VIII.

But note his Design, 'twas worth your admiring,
'Twas to let the Queen see how his Horse would stand firing;
Not wisely considering what 'twas to be married,
For at firing the Squibs his own Mistress miscarried.

IX.

Th' Anabaptist , who squirts his Zeal into his Maid,
In his Jackboots, both Night and Day, preach'd, slept, and pray'd;
For jingling his Spurs chim'd them all in as well
To Sermon, or Prayers, as any Sans-Bell.

X.

The Lieutenant-Colonel being thrown by his Jennet,
His Son-in-law thinking some Treachery in it,
Did tender him the Oaths, which the Horse took they say,
But swore by the Lord they went down like chopp'd Hay.

XI.

He the Beast of an Irish Papist did buy,
So doubting his Courage and his Loyalty,
Taught him to eat with his Oates Gunpowdero,
And prance to the Tune of old Lilly-Burlero.

XII.

A noble stout Scrivener, who now shall be nameless,
That in time of Action he might be found blameless;
A War-Horse of Timber from a Dutch Carver buys,
To learn with more Safety the Horse-Exercise.

XIII.

With one Eye one's Honour, the other one's Gain,
He fixes a Desk on Bucephalus' Main;
That so by that means he his Palfry bestriding,
Might practise at once both his writing and riding.

XIV.

But o'the sad News that our Heroes confounds,
To Ireland their own like the last Trumpet sounds;
The King has invited Lord Mayor and Shreive Hublin ,
To dine upon Midsummer -Day with him in Dublin .

XV.

Good Lord ! how this News sets the Champions a trembling,
And now quite forgetting their wonted dissembling,
Can think them of nothing but Suits and Petitions,
Of humble Addresses, of Terms and Conditions.

XVI.

O who'll march for me? now speak any that dare,
A Horse and a hundred Pounds for him that's fair;
Dear Courtier excuse me from Teagueland and Slaughter,
And take, which you please, my Wife or my Daughter.

XVII.

Some feign'd to be lame, some feign'd to be clapt,
At last finding they themselves had thus trapt,
Unanimously they to the King all addrest,
And told the bare Truth, 'twas all but a Jest.

XVIII.

A Jest! quoth the King, and with that the King smil'd,
It ne'er shall be said such a Jest shall be spoil'd;
Therefore, now I break you, in Peace all depart,
For 'twas more your Goodness than my Desert.

XIX.

Thus happily freed from the dreadful Vexation,
Of being Defenders of this or that Nation,
They kiss'd Royal Fist, were drunk all for Joy,
Then broke all their Swords, and cry'd, Vive le Roy .