Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads Jacobite Ballads, &c. &c. By George W. Thornbury ... with illustrations by H. S. Marks |
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THE FOPS AT THE BOYNE. |
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 | Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads |  |
94
THE FOPS AT THE BOYNE.
Down went hat and feather,
On poured red and blue,
The scented wigs were heading
The banner, though it flew:
Bright shone the purple pennon
All the squadrons through.
On poured red and blue,
The scented wigs were heading
The banner, though it flew:
Bright shone the purple pennon
All the squadrons through.
Gay as in the ring in London,
Laughing as the shot
Tore the ribbons, blue and orange,
When the fire grew hot;
“Salamanders!” cried the trooper,
“All the merry lot.”
Laughing as the shot
Tore the ribbons, blue and orange,
When the fire grew hot;
“Salamanders!” cried the trooper,
“All the merry lot.”
“Fire-drakes ford the Irish river,”
Panting cried Mackay;
Then the splashing and the gurgle
As the waters fly:
Some were wading to the ankle,
Some to full mid-thigh.
Panting cried Mackay;
Then the splashing and the gurgle
As the waters fly:
Some were wading to the ankle,
Some to full mid-thigh.
95
Such a flood of blades and feathers,
Splashed into the tide;
Walled with fire-flames, shone the river,
Red on either side;
A crash and blaze, and bragging France
Fled fast with all her pride.
Splashed into the tide;
Walled with fire-flames, shone the river,
Red on either side;
A crash and blaze, and bragging France
Fled fast with all her pride.
Out the lace cravats were blowing,
Spotted wet with red;
Black the wigs that swept the hot steel,
On the broad chest spread:
Red the stars and red the ribbons
Flaunting on the dead.
Spotted wet with red;
Black the wigs that swept the hot steel,
On the broad chest spread:
Red the stars and red the ribbons
Flaunting on the dead.
Combing wigs and brushing velvet,
Rubbing spots from steel,
Wiping saddles, knotting bridles,
Still they led the reel,
As the gunners, laughing by,
Strain the cannon wheel.
Rubbing spots from steel,
Wiping saddles, knotting bridles,
Still they led the reel,
As the gunners, laughing by,
Strain the cannon wheel.
There, amid the pale and dying,
Foamed the King's champagne;
“A toast, ‘the Queen of Diamonds,’
And may she rule and reign:”
Some that are propp'd with dead men, sit
Screaming with stabs of pain.
Foamed the King's champagne;
“A toast, ‘the Queen of Diamonds,’
And may she rule and reign:”
Some that are propp'd with dead men, sit
Screaming with stabs of pain.
| Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads | |