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SONG.

[What a de'el is the Stir we make with War]

What a de'el is the Stir we make with War,
To confound our Estates for Ambition;
With a crafty Pretence of conquering France,
To drill out the Coin of the Nation?
'Twere a muckle thing to exchange our King;
Lubberloons have got well by the Barter:
For th'acute valiant Prince takes the Forlorn of France
As the stout bonny Scot took the Tartar.
De'el faum mine Eyen if e'er I seen
Sike a Parcel of Loons in the Nation,
Since the Lord of the Boyne has cost us more Coin,
They repent of their gude Abdication.
For the Loons of the Kirk do now find the Work
Were a Muckle for their Purses:
And the War that's begun by the good valiant Son
Shall be crown'd with a Trophy of Curses.