 | Poems on Affairs of State |  |
The Troop at Beaconsfield and their March.
[I]
A medley of Ruffians, bound up in a Band,The shame of their Sex, & the Pest of the Land,
Like Blood-hounds train'd up to the Word of Command.
II
To hunt in a Pack, who single wou'd flye,And tho fierce to others, yet supplicant lye
To be beat by their Keepers, like Dogs, till they cry.
168
III
Each one in Armor, like a Crab in his Case,On a Horse that can wisely find for him his Place,
And place his Red Nose to his Leaders broad A---se.
IV
With a Curse at his Mouth, and a Shot in his Gun,The one to storm Quarters, the other storm Town,
And a Sword that 'gainst Poultry has Miracles done.
V
With Tears of the March from Bastard-big-Whore,Petitions and Curses from Tapster for Score,
And honest Men's Wishes to see 'em no more.
VI
The Trumpet their Actions and Order does sound,The Corporal aloud must the Meaning expound
To each Horse how his Rider must keep to his Ground.
VII
The Files being straitn'd; the Ranks being even,And all things reduced to Sixes and Sevens,
The Blundering Lieutenant swears Thanks up to Heaven.
VIII
The Captain then struts on his Barbary-Nag,Looks Grim, and the Cornet advances the Flag,
The Trumpet does sound, and then marches Tag-rag.
IX
The Dogs they do bark, and the Poultry run,Their meeting on each hand the Passengers shun,
And Curses are after them shot from the Town.
X
Where springs a glad Din 'mongst the Girls and the Boys;The Females they lift up the Heart and the Voice,
The Whores to Lament, and the Chast to rejoice.
169
XI
The Countrey and Towns-men do meet, and condoleFor what has been scor'd, and what has been stole,
For Damages, Cuts, and for Knocks on the Pole.
XII
But when they examine, and find that the Tub,Tho mightily wrong'd, yet retaineth some Bub,
They drink, and shake hands, to each Loss and each Drub.
XIII
Good God! when a Prince thou dost give us again,Such Faith and such Principles in him ordain,
His Friends may live Safely, and he without Pain.
XIV
By the Laws of the Land, and Melitia's old Force,Instead of these Legions of Foot and of Horse,
And Irish Dragoons than Devils far worse.
XV
Then France may her Models of Government keep,Our Seamen return, and go plow on the Deep,
And Justice and Trade may revive from their sleep.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |