Classic Poem

Ye Commons and Peers,
Pray lend me your ears,
I'll sing you a song if I can;
How Louis le Grand
Was put to a stand,
By the arms of our gracious Queen Anne.

How his army so great
Had a total defeat,
Not far from the River of Dender;
Where his grandchildren twain
For fear of being slain,
Galloped off with the popish pretender.

To a steeple on high
The battle to spy,
Up mounted these gallant young men;
But when from the spire
They saw so much fire,
They most gallantly came down again.

Then a horseback they got
Upon the same spot,
By the advice of their cousin Vendome;
O Lord! cried out he
To young Burgundy,
Would your brother and you were at home.

Just so did he say,
When without more delay
Away the young gentry fled;
Whose heels for that work
Were much lighter than cork,
But their hearts were more heavy than lead.

Not so did behave
Young Hanover brave
In this bloody field I'll assure ye;
When his war horse was shot
He mattered it not,
But fought it on foot like a fury.

While death flew about
Aloud he called out
Hoh! You chevalier of St. George.
If you'll neither stand
By sea nor by land,
Pretender, that title you forge.

Thus firmly he stood
As became that high blood,
Which runs in his veins so blue;
This gallant young man,
Being kin to Queen Anne,
Did as were she a man, she would do.

What a racket was here,
(I think 'twas last year)
For a little ill fortune in Spain;
When by letting 'em win,
We have drawn the putts in
To lose all they are worth this campaign.

Though Bruges and Ghent
To Monsieur were lent,
With interest he soon shall repay 'em;
While Paris may sing
With her sorrowful king,
De Profundis instead of Te Deum.

From their dream of success,
They'll awaken we guess
At the noise of great Marlborough's drums.
They may think if they will
Of Almanza still,
But 'tis Blenheim wherever he comes.

O Louis perplexed,
What general's next?
Thou hast hitherto changed 'em in vain:
He has beat 'em all round,
If no new ones are found,
He shall beat the old over again.

We'll let Tallard out
If he'll take t'other bout;
And much he's improved let me tell ye,
With Nottingham ale
At every meal,
And good pudding and beef in his belly.

As losers at play
Their dice throw away,
While the winner he still wins on:
Let who will command,
Thou hadst better disband,
For old Bully, thy doctors are gone.