A New SONG Lately come from IRELAND.
To the Tune of, Cabaleiro-man.
I.
THere was an
Irish Army brave,
That a
Popish Prince of
Wales would have;
An Hen-peckt
King, and a Priest-ridden
Queen,
They gallantly fought for on the Green,
they gallantly, &c.
II.
They fought with many a bloody Curse,
But few of their Enemies were the worse;
They charg'd when they could see no Foes,
For they love to fight, but hate the blows,
for they, &c.
III.
The Valiant General
Tyrconnel,
Mac
Guire, mac
Carty and mac
Donnel;
Mac
Pope, mac
D
[...]vil, and all were along,
With an Army Threescore Thousand strong,
with an Army, &c.
IV.
They plagu'd and plundr'd
Protestants well,
And spansil Thieves good pen-worths did sell;
They took the Garrisons every where,
Because no Enemy did appear,
because no, &c.
V.
They charg'd their Guns with Powder & Ball,
And prim'd their Noses with sneezing all;
Then
your Souls to the Devil
Hannum-an-Diowl you figgs they cry,St.
Patrick now for
Ireland hey,
St.
Patrick now, &c.
VI.
At last they heard an
English-Drum,
beware the
English man
Huggut a Sasanagh yonder they come;Then away they throw both Pike and Gun,
And
Shant, and
Teige, and
Dermot, do run,
and Shane,
and Teige, &c.
VII.
Stay a while
Teige, arroo
stay, stay, stay,
furry, furry, furry,No be me shoul, a
wirry, wirry, wirry;
By the Virgin
Mary we are all undone,
For
Shane, and
Teige, and
Dermot do run,
for Shane, &c.
VIII.
Arroo shoulder your Pike,
put your Pike on your back.
cur a Peek er da wholen,Or else we must pay for the Cows we have stolen;
the Devil take your head.
Fogrim da shian, arroo fire your Gun,No be me shoul to
de Bogg I will run,
no be me shoul, &c.
IX.
Now the devil take all our
Priests & our
Fryars,
by my shoul
Der diegh they have left us fast in the bryars;by my Gosips hand
Lawmaharrus-Chreist we are all undone,For
Shane, and
Teige, and
Dermot do run,
for Shane, &c.
X.
We have lost both Purgat'ry and our Estate,
Both the Field & the Bench we bragg'd of late;
For now the good
Catholick days are done,
Since
Shane, and
Teige, and
Dermot do run,
since Shane, &c.
XI.
Dear joys give us leave to return to our brogues,
We'll burn our
Paddreens and leave off to be Rogues;
To serve K.
William or any that come,
Poor
Shane, and
Teige, and
Dermot will run,
poor Shane, &c.
XII.
Our
Popish Queen and
Catholick Cause,
We'll quite forsake and yield to the Laws:
We'll grant our Prince of
Wales is beshit,
And own him to be but a counterfeit Chit,
and own him to be, &c.
XIII.
my dear joy.
A-gra-ma-chree, come do what you will,Henceforth we will be for the
Protestants still;
In paying you Rent, and kissing your bum,
Poor
Shane, and
Teige, and
Dermot will run,
poor Shane, &c.
This may be Printed, J. F.
FINIS.