aste to retire,
And leap into the water for fear of the fire.
But says the good river, Ye fools, plague confound ye,
Do ye think to swim through me, and that I'll not drown ye?
Who have ravish'd, and murder'd, and play'd such damn'd pranks,
And trod down the grass on my much-injured banks?
Then, swelling with anger and rage to the brink,
He gave the poor Monsieur his last draught of drink.
So it plainly appears they were very well bang'd,
And that some may be drown'd, who deserved to be hang'd.
Great Marlbro' well push'd: 'twas well push'd indeed:
Oh, how we adore you, because you succeed!
And now I may say it, I hope without blushing,
That you have got twins, by your violent pushing;
Twin battles I mean, that will ne'er be forgotten,
But live and be talk'd of, when we're dead and rotten.
Let other nice lords sculk at home from the wars,
Prank'd up and adorn'd with garters and stars,
Which but twinkle like those in a cold frosty night;
While to yours you are adding such lustre and light,
That if you proceed, I'm sure very soon
'Twill be brighter and larger than the sun or the moon:
A blazing star, I foretell, 'twill prove to the Gaul,
That portends of his empire the ruin and fall.
Now God bless your majesty, and our Lord Murrough,[2]
And send him in safety and health to his borough.

[Footnote 1: Subsequently M.P. for Blessington, in the Irish Parliament;
he suffered some injustice from Wharton, when Lord-Lieutenant: he lost
his senses, and died in 1710. See Journal to Stella, "Prose Works," ii,
pp. 39, 54; and Character of the Earl of Wharton, "Prose Works," v, p.
27.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 2: Murragh Boyle, first Viscount Blessington, author of a
tragedy, "The Lost Princess." He died in 1712.--_W. E. B._]

JACK FRENCHMAN'S LAMENTATION[1]

AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG

To the Tune of "I tell thee, Dick, where I have been."[2]

Ye Commons and Peers,
Pray lend me your ears,
I'll sing you a song, (if I can,)
How Lewis le Grand
Was put to a stand,
By the arms of our gracious Queen Anne.

How his army so great,
Had a total defeat,
And close by the river Dender:
Where his grandchildren twain,
For fear of being slain,
Gallop'd off with the Popish Pretender.

To a steeple on high,
The battle to spy,
Up mounted these clever young men;[3]
But when from the spire,
They saw so much fire,
Most cleverly came down again.

Then on horseback they got
All on the same spot,
By