Classic Poem

F O ur hundred thousand pounds!
A lusty Bag indeed:
Was't ever known so vast a Sum
Ere past the River Tweede ?

Great pity it is, I swear,
Whole Carts was thither sent,
Where hardly two in fifty knew,
What Forty shillings meant:
But 'twas to some perceiv'd,
Three Kingdoms were undone.
And those that sit here thought it fit,
To settle them one by one,
Now Ireland hath no haste,
So there they'le not begin;
The Scotish ayde must first be paid,
For ye came freely in,
And William Lilly writes —
Who writes the truth you know;
In frosty weather they marched hither,
Up to the chins in snow.
Free quarter at excesse,
They do not weigh a feather,
Those Crowns for coals, brought in by shoals;
Scarce kept their men together,
Of Plunder they esteem
As trifles of no worth,
Of force ye dote, because recruit
Issued no faster forth.
If once this Cash is paid,
I hope the Scot be spedd,
He need not steal, but fairly deal,
Both to be cloth'd and fedd.
Our sheep and Oxen may
Safe in their pastures stand,
What need they filch the cow
That's milch to sojourn in their land.

I wonder much the Scot
With this defiles his hand,
Because the summ's a price of Rome ,
Rais'd out of the Bishops lands;
But too too well ye know
To what intent they in come;
'Twas not their pains produc'd this gains,
'Twas sent to pack them home:
Methinks I hear them laugh
To see how matters proved,
And give a shout, it so fell out,
Ye were more fear'd than loved.
If Jockey after this
Reneaginge hath forgot,
From antient sires, he much retires,
And shows himself no Scot .