Page:Songs compleat, pleasant and divertive (Wit and mirth or, Pills to purge melancholy).djvu/97

 A Pox of your race of high Flyers, That late on the Battlements stood; Who shew'd to get out of the Bryers, What Princes you had of the Blood; And welfare the Gallant Hanover, Who late his high Birth to discover; Charg'd as a young Hero shou'd: 'Tis said too, who fled too, Were snapt so, and cropt so, They never could face us again; That cunning, or running, Won't better the matter, They shun mighty Marlborough in vain, And Monsieur t'alarm ye, If once more he Hockstets your Army, We'll give ye no thanks for Spain.

Thy Troops can do nothing but rattle, Brave Webb the discovery begun; Who prov'd at the Wynendale Battle, How fast thy Mob Army could run: His valour shall flourish in Story, And thus while he adds to our Glory, His own will out-Post the Sun. Forgetting that beating, A hearty bold party, Late Marcht towards Brussels fair Town, There bouncing and clattring, With Cannon for battring, The Electoral Hotspur sate down; But when some time after, Our Generals cross'd o're the water, Away the wild Goose was flown.

Bavaria this shameful disaster, Not half yet repays thy past ill, For first being base to thy Master, And afterwards false to King Will;