Scripscrapologia or, Collins's Doggerel Dish Of All Sorts. Consisting of Songs Adapted to familiar Tunes, And which may be sung without the Chaunterpipe of an Italian Warbler, or the ravishing Accompaniments of Tweedle-Dum or Tweedle-Dee. Particularly those which have been most applauded in the author's once popular performance, call'd, The Brush. The Gallimaufry garnished with a variety of comic tales, quaint epigrams, whimsical epitaphs, &c. &c. [by John Collins] |
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THE CHAPTER OF WAR, A Song. |
 | Scripscrapologia |  |
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THE CHAPTER OF WAR, A Song.
The Chapter of Kings, which I wrote myself,
With the Chapter of Letters, lies on the shelf,
So the Chapter I've chose your amusement for,
By the way of a Song, is the Chapter of War;
And I'm sorry to say,
That but short was the day,
We'd the Chapter of Peace in its turn.
With the Chapter of Letters, lies on the shelf,
So the Chapter I've chose your amusement for,
By the way of a Song, is the Chapter of War;
And I'm sorry to say,
That but short was the day,
We'd the Chapter of Peace in its turn.
When the French first join'd in a cut-throat Band,
The Prussians, awhile, made a noble stand;
But their King he thought fighting was all foolish fun,
So he bid them leave off playing—“Pop and go One;”
And the thousands we paid
For his friendship and aid
When the Mouse eats the Cat, he'll return.
The Prussians, awhile, made a noble stand;
But their King he thought fighting was all foolish fun,
So he bid them leave off playing—“Pop and go One;”
And the thousands we paid
For his friendship and aid
When the Mouse eats the Cat, he'll return.
Then the Dutchman, fearing a thief in the night,
Was preparing, with caution, his match to light;
But the smell of the sulphur got up in his nose,
And so muddled his brains, that he fell in a dose;
And the frolick was such,
That both Flemish and Dutch,
By the French were caught napping, in turn.
Was preparing, with caution, his match to light;
But the smell of the sulphur got up in his nose,
And so muddled his brains, that he fell in a dose;
And the frolick was such,
That both Flemish and Dutch,
By the French were caught napping, in turn.
And as for the blustering Dons of Spain,
Their gunpowder puffing prov'd all in vain;
Though with cracking and bouncing at first they began,
But it ended, at last, with a Flash in the Pan;
When, to crown their disgrace,
With the French they made Peace,
And to War went with Us, in their turn.
Their gunpowder puffing prov'd all in vain;
Though with cracking and bouncing at first they began,
But it ended, at last, with a Flash in the Pan;
When, to crown their disgrace,
With the French they made Peace,
And to War went with Us, in their turn.
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The German, as steady as heart could desire,
While able to stand, would for ever stand fire;
But the rest having got a complete Belly-full,
There was none left to back him but honest John Bull;
And He, through the War,
Shew'd the thing he was for,
Was to see them all righted, in turn.
While able to stand, would for ever stand fire;
But the rest having got a complete Belly-full,
There was none left to back him but honest John Bull;
And He, through the War,
Shew'd the thing he was for,
Was to see them all righted, in turn.
But they, some how, got sick of it, one by one,
Though they threaten'd the French, when the squabble begun,
By the Book of Kings, to do all in a jerk,
But the Book of Numbers accomplish'd the work;
For such were their legions,
That, kill them like pigeons,
Still others sprung up, in their turn!
Though they threaten'd the French, when the squabble begun,
By the Book of Kings, to do all in a jerk,
But the Book of Numbers accomplish'd the work;
For such were their legions,
That, kill them like pigeons,
Still others sprung up, in their turn!
But when into Egypt they took their route,
By Nelson and Smith they got knock'd about;
Till into the Nile they were forc'd to troop,
Without bason or spoon to sup Crocodile Soup;
Which made them so sick,
That they chang'd their notes quick,
And they all wish'd for Peace, in their turn.
By Nelson and Smith they got knock'd about;
Till into the Nile they were forc'd to troop,
Without bason or spoon to sup Crocodile Soup;
Which made them so sick,
That they chang'd their notes quick,
And they all wish'd for Peace, in their turn.
For the Fire of Britons they saw with amaze,
That the more they oppos'd it, the brighter 'twould blaze!
And to quench it, they found, it no more could be done,
Than the squirt of a syringe could put out the Sun!
So they curs'd the damn'd War,
That had brought them there,—for
To be burnt and blown up, in their turn.
That the more they oppos'd it, the brighter 'twould blaze!
And to quench it, they found, it no more could be done,
Than the squirt of a syringe could put out the Sun!
So they curs'd the damn'd War,
That had brought them there,—for
To be burnt and blown up, in their turn.
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While their boats all chain'd, and their ports all shut,
Such a comical figure at home they cut,
That, like owls in a cage, they were all in a pout,
And for fear of a popping they durst not pop out;
And so being lock'd up,
And block'd up, and knock'd up,
They could not tell which way to turn!
Such a comical figure at home they cut,
That, like owls in a cage, they were all in a pout,
And for fear of a popping they durst not pop out;
And so being lock'd up,
And block'd up, and knock'd up,
They could not tell which way to turn!
So when we had made them as quomp as mice,
The vermin were all for a Peace in a trice;
And they promis'd, like boys with their bottoms sore,
If we'd hang up the rod, they'd be rogues no more;
But as well you might trust,
To a brittle pye crust,
When, to break it, it serves their own turn.
The vermin were all for a Peace in a trice;
And they promis'd, like boys with their bottoms sore,
If we'd hang up the rod, they'd be rogues no more;
But as well you might trust,
To a brittle pye crust,
When, to break it, it serves their own turn.
For so tired of Peace is their Grand Con Sul,
He again turns about to attack John Bull;
And to shew his poor spite, like a hung'ry hound,
He has robb'd him of one little Turnip Ground!
And the Bugaboo savage
Now threatens to ravage
This snug little Island, in turn.
He again turns about to attack John Bull;
And to shew his poor spite, like a hung'ry hound,
He has robb'd him of one little Turnip Ground!
And the Bugaboo savage
Now threatens to ravage
This snug little Island, in turn.
But if, to be sowing his last wild oats,
He should venture, at last, to unchain his boats;
And to Britons united he dares stand buff,
Let him come, and we'll quickly find chains enough,
Both for Him and his Crew,
And the Devil his Due,
Will come in for, at last, in his turn!
He should venture, at last, to unchain his boats;
And to Britons united he dares stand buff,
Let him come, and we'll quickly find chains enough,
Both for Him and his Crew,
And the Devil his Due,
Will come in for, at last, in his turn!
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