The Works of Capt. Alex. Radcliffe :: :: University of Virginia Library

Rat too, rat too, rat too, rat tat too, tat rat too,
With your Noses all scabb'd and your Eyes black and blew,
All ye hungry poor Sinners that Foot Souldiers are,
Though with very small Coyn, yet with very much Care,
From your Quarters and Garrets make haste to repair.
To the Guard, to the Guard.

From your sorry Straw Beds and bonny white Fleas,
From your Dreams of Small Drink and your very small ease,
From your plenty of stink, and no plenty of room,
From your Walls daub'd with Phlegm sticking on 'em like Gum,
And Ceiling hung with Cobwebs to stanch a cut Thumb,
To the Guard, &c.

From your crack'd Earthen Pispots where no Piss can stay,
From Roofs bewrit with Snuffs in Letters the wrong way;
From one old broken Stool with one unbroken Leg,
One Box with ne'er a Lid to keep ne'er a Rag,
And Windows that of Storms more than your selves can brag,
To the Guard, &c.

With trusty Pike and Gun, and the other rusty Tool;
With Heads extremely hot, and with Hearts wondrous cool;
With Stomachs meaning none (but Cooks and Sutlers) hurt;
With two old totter'd Shooes that disgrace the Town Dirt;
With forty shreds of Breeches, and no one shred of Shirt,
To the Guard, &c.

See they come, see they come, see they come, see they come,
With Allarms in their Pates to the call of a Drum;
Some lodging with Bawds (whom the modest call Bitches)
With their Bones dry'd to Kexes, and Legs shrunk to Switches;

With the Plague in the Purse, and the Pox in the Breeches,
To the Guard, &c.

Some from snoring and farting, and spewing on Benches,
Some from damn'd fulsom Ale, and more damn'd fulsom Wenches;
Some from Put, and Size Ace, and Old Sim, this way stalk;
Each mans Reeling's his gate, and his Hickup his talk,
With two new Cheeks of Red from ten old Rows of Chalk,
To the Guard, &c.

Here come others from scuffling, and damning mine Host,
With their Tongues at last tam'd, but with Faces that boast
Of some Scars by the Jordan, or Warlike Quart Pot,
For their building of Sconces and Volleys of Shot,
Which they charg'd to the mouth, but discharg'd ne'er a Groat,
To the Guard, &c.

They for Valour in black too, the Chaplain does come!
From his preaching o'er Pots now to pray o'er a Drum.

All ye whoring and swearing old Red Coats draw near,
Like to Saints in Red Letters listen and give ear,
And be godly awhile ho, and then as you were,
To the Guard, &c.

After some canting terms, To your Arms, and the like,
Such as Poysing your Musquet, or Porting your Pike;
To the right, To the left, or else Face about;
After ratling your Sticks, and your shaking a Clout,
Hast your Infantry Troops that mount the Guard on foot,
To the Guard, &c.

Captain Hector, first marches, but not he of Troy,
But a Trifle made up of a Man and a Boy;
See the Man scant of Arms in a Scarf does abound,
Which presages some swaggering, but no bloud nor wound;
Like a Rainbow that shews the World shan't be drown'd;
To the Guard, &c.

As the Tinker wears Rags whilest the Dog bears the Budget,
So the Man stalks with Staff whilest the Footboy does trudge it

With the Tool he should work with (that's Half Pike you'll say;)
But what Captain's so strong his own Arms to convey,
When he marches o'er loaden with ten other mens Pay?
To the Guard, &c.

In his March (if you mark) he's attended at least
With Stinks sixteen deep, and about five abreast,
Made of Ale and Mundungus, Snuff, Rags, and brown Crust for,
While he wants twenty Taylors to make up the cluster,
Which declares that his Journey's not now to the Muster,
But to the Guard, &c.

Some with Musquet and Belly uncharg'd march away,
With Pipes black as their Mouths, and short as their Pay;
Whilest their Coats made of holes shew like Bone-lace about 'em,
And their Bandeliers hang like to Bobbins without 'em,
And whilest Horsemen do cloath 'em, these Footscrubs do clout 'em,
For the Guard, &c.

Some with Hat ty'd on one side, and Wit ty'd on neither;
Wear gray Coats and gray Cattle, see their Wenches run hither,
For to peep through Red Lettice and dark Cellar doors,
To behold 'em wear Pikes rusty just like their Whores,
As slender as their Meals and as long as their Scores,
To the Guard, &c.

Some with Tweedle, wheedle, wheede; whilest we beat Dub a Dub;
Keep the base Scotish noise, and as base Scotish scrub:
Then with Body contracted, a Rag open spread,
Comes a thing with red Colours, and Nose full as red;
Like an Ensign to the King, and to the Kings Head,
Towards the Guard, &c.

Two Commanders come last, the Lieutenant perhaps,
Full of Low Country Stories and Low Country Claps.
To be next him the other takes care not to fail,
Powder Monkey by name that vents stink by whole sale,

For where should the Fart be but just with the Tail
Of the Guard? &c.

And now hey for the King Boys, and hey for the Court,
Which is guarded by these as the Tower is by Dirt;
These Whitehall must admit and such other unhouse ye,
Each day lets in the drunk, whilst it lets out the drowsie,
And no place in the world shifts so oft to be lowsie.
Thank the Guard, &c.

Some to Scotland-Yard sneak, and the Sutlers wise kisses;
But despairing of Drink till some Countryman pisses,
And pays too (for no place in the Court must be given)
To the Can-office then, all a Foot-Soldier's Heav'n,
Where he finds a foul Fox, soon, and cures Sir—
On the Guard, &c.

Some at Sh---house publick (where a Rag always goes)

At once empty their Guts and diminish their Clothes.
Though their Mouths are poor Pimps (Whore and Bacon being all
Their chief Food) yet their Bums we true Courtiers may call,
For what they eat in the Suburbs, they sh--- at Whitehall,
For the Guard, &c.

Such a like Pack of Cards to the Park making entry,
Here and there deal an Ace, which the Jews call a Centry,
Which in bad Houses of Boards stand to tell what a clock 'tis,
Where they keep up tame Redcoats as men keep up tame Foxes,
Or Apothecaries lay up their Dogs Turds in Boxes.
Oh the Guard, &c.

Some of these are planted (though it has been their lucks
Oft to steal Country Geese) now to watch the Kings Ducks;
While some others are set in the side that has Wood in,
To stand Pimps to black Masques that are oft thither footing,

Just as Housewives set Cuckolds to stir their Black Pudding.
Oh the Guard, &c.

Whilest another true Trojan to some passage runs,
As to keep in the Debtors, so to keep out the Duns;
Or a Prentice, or his Mistress, with Oaths to confound,
Till he hyes him from the Park as from forbidden ground,
'Cause his Credit is whole, and his Wench may be sound,
And quits the Guard, &c.

Now it's night, and the Patrole in Alehouse drown'd,
For nought else but the Pot and their Brains walk the round;
Whilest like Hell the Commanders Guard-chamber does shew,
There's such damning themselves and all else of the Crew,
For though these cheat the Men, they give the Devil his due,
On the Guard, &c.

Whilest a Main after Main at old Hazard they throw,
And their Quarrels grow high as their Money grows low;

Strait they threaten hard (using bad Faces for Frowns)
To revenge on the Flesh, the default of the Bones,
But the Blood's in their Hose, and in Oaths all their Wounds.
Like the Guard, &c.

In the Morning they fight, just as much as they pray;
For some one to the King does the Tidings convey
For preventing of Murder; Oh 'tis a wise way!
Though not one of 'em knows (as a thousand dare say)
That belongs to a dead man, unless in his pay
For the Guard, &c.

With their Skins they march home no more hurt than their Drums,
But for scratching of Faces, or biting of Thumbs;
And now hey for fat Alewives, and Tradesmen grown lean;
For the Captain grown Bankrupt, recruits him again,

With sending out Tickets, and turning out Men
From the Guard, &c.

Strait the poor Rogue's cashier'd with a Cane, and a Curse,
Fall from wounding no Men, now to cut ev'ry Purse:
And what then? Man's a Worm; these we Glowworms may name:
For as they'r dark of Body; have Tails all of flame.
So tho' those liv'd in Oaths, yet they die with a Psalm.
Farewell Guard, &c.