A New Scotch ballad call'd Bothwell-Bridge, or, Hamilton's hero, to the tune of Fortune my foe.

A New Scotch ballad call'd Bothwell-Bridge, or, Hamilton's hero, to the tune of Fortune my foe.

Table of contents

A New Scotch Ballad: CALL'D BOTHWEL-BRIDGE: OR, Hamilton's HERO.

§

A New Scotch Ballad: CALL'D BOTHWEL-BRIDGE: OR, Hamilton's HERO.

[Page]

To the Tune of Fortune my Foe.

1.

WHen valiant Bucklugh charg'd his Foes,

And put the Rebel Scots to fight,

Full many a Gallant Squire aroſe

And ruſh'd into the Fight.

2.

From ſturdy Mars they all did ſpring,

And by the Dint of Spur and Switch

Could make their Steeds to kick and fling,

And leap o're Enemy like Ditch.

3.

But lo! amidſt this furious Train

Of matchleſs Wights, appeared one

With Courage and with Proweſs main

As ever yet was ſhown.

4.

Of Viſage dark as day of Doom,

Moſt pittifully rent and tore,

Shews him a Warrier in the Womb

That Wounds receiv'd e're he was bore,

5.

His Breaſt all Steel, of Temper tuff,

And Falſtaff's Belly deckt with Charms,

VVith Brandon's Head, all clad in Buff,

Secure from Scottiſh Arms.

6.

Full ſix Foot deep in Stature he,

A goodly ſight for to behold,

Of Parentage and Pedigree

Moſt wondrous to unfold.

7.

Not gen'rous Whore, of better kind,

Nor Stallion ſtout, of Mettle higher

Than is the fierce undaunted mind

Of this our lofty Squire.

8.

But, that you may believe, his Race

Was ſuch as we dare brag on,

Know to St. George he Kinſman was,

and Son and Heir to th' Dragon.

9.

From that bold Knight he Valour gain'd,

And from the Venom of this Syre

The gift of ſwelling he obtain'd,

And eke of ſpitting Fire.

10.

At two Months Age, from Mothers Paps,

He ſuck'd out Bullets 'ſtead of Milk;

Which rowling in his Warlike Chaps

They turn'd as ſoft as Silk.

11.

With this rank Food he fed ſome years

Till he ſo ſtrong a Stomack got,

That he could ſwallow down whole Spears▪

And mumble Canon-ſhot.

12.

Did he but hear thoſe Furies roar

He'd ruſh into the heat of Battel,

And bowze Combuſtion from the Bore

As 'twere from mouth of Sucking-bottle.

13.

No Armour needful was in fight,

Nor car'd he for the Pow'rful ſhield;

He valu'd Courage not a Doit

To man him in the dreadful Field.

14.

For let the whiffling Bullets ſtray,

'Tis no matter whether thick or thinner,

His only buſineſs was to pray

They'd ſhoot him down his Dinner.

[Page]

15.

THus dyetted, 'gainſt Scottiſh Loon,

He proudly troopt by Monmouth's ſide,

Accouter'd with a Knife and Spoon

Which all their Arms defi'd.

16.

But as the Duke right manfully

March'd on his ſtubborn Foes to meet,

He all beſh— the Shot which he

So likely was to eat.

17.

Behind his Grace he tamely ſlunk,

(Suppos'd) from Wounds his Breech to keep:

And at each thundring Volley ſhrunk

Like Hog-Louſe in a Heap.

18.

Moſt pittiouſly he there did ſhrugg,

And curſt a thouſand times damn'd Mars,

Then popt down head to ſave each Lugg

And worſhipp'd Royal A—

19.

Full ſore he ſtunk whileſt helter skelter,

He heard the Ammunition skim,

For ſtill as he would ſeek new ſhelter

Fear, like Gun-ſtick, ſcow'rd him.

20.

Yet did our Hero 'ſcape the Brunt,

Through Ghoſtly Skill to diſappear,

For, like a Duck, he div'd i'th' Front,

And roſe again i'th' Rear.

21.

Where, ſafe as a Surgeon in the Hold,

With Sweard ſharp ſet for cruel Blow

He huff'd and puff'd, look'd big and bold,

And ſtroak'd the Soyl where Beard ſhould grow.

22.

Then with his truſty Whynnyard he,

All man, Sir, ſlaſhing through the Air,

Cry'd, like the Taylor to the Tree,

Here I could have you, Sir,—and there—

23.

Thus did he brandiſhing proceed,

Till the deſperate Warlike Minion

Made th' individual Attoms bleed,

And peel'd them like an Onion.

24.

This without pitty too to ſpare

Thoſe which he breath'd, as if he meant

Revenge on the Philoſopher

That ſays, Our World is accident.

25.

His waiting Genius, eke alſo

With world of pains, and muckle do,

From Scabbard Salted, as I trow,

A pickl'd Weapon drew.

26.

To Lord and Maſter true he ſtuck,

And ventur'd full as hard as he;

For 'twas the way to meet good luck,

And be from dangers free.

27.

The luſty Loon came on behind,

And in his mighty Cloak-bag caught

That Courage blown away by th' VVind,

VVith which the Eſquire ſhould have fought.

28.

The ſprightly Wallet 'gan to jump,

Poſſeſs'd with theſe Almighty Charms,

And, bidding long-farewell to Rump,

VVas in a moment up in Arms.

29.

The noble Champion bravely then

Began to ſmile and take good chear,

'Twas time to lay about him when

Portmanteau turn'd a Volunteer.

30.

Martch on, my Darlings then, quoth he;

For lo! the Battel's at a ſtand,

And 'tis ordain'd that only we

Should tame this uncouth Land.

31.

This ſaid, into a Body they

With Marſhall Skill drew up their Force,

Conſiſting, as you heard me ſay,

Of Cloak-bag and twa Horſe.

32.

But ah! alack, and weel-a-day!

The Canny Duke (God bleſs his Grace)

E're theſe three Wights could reach their prey,

Had laid it dead upon the place.

33.

The Squire, all Fury, took it ill,

For ſorely he began to maunder,

And 'cauſe he left no Foes to kill

Wept out like Alexander.

34.

Yet when he ceas'd to ſob and frown,

Quoth he, What though the Kerns are ſlain?

To ſave my Honour and Renown

I'll kill them o're again.

35.

With that his Punnyard forth he draws,

(Thus Death himſelf prov'd mortal too)

For napping in a dead man's Jaws

He ran him through and through.

36.

This was his Zeal and Loyalty,

And fear of being Credit-ſhamm'd,

He garr'd each Treach'rous Scot twice dee▪

In hopes he might be double damn'd.

37.

Thus too St. George he has o'recome,

And ſtabb'd the mighty Hero's Fame,

Honour he leaves him not a Crum,

All's due to —'s Name.

38.

He now as England's Champion raigns;

'Tis he alone is born to rule,

To bind the Qarrelſome in Chains,

And call a Giant Fool.

FINIS.

§

LONDON, Printed for T. B. 1679.

Information about this book

Title statement

A New Scotch ballad call'd Bothwell-Bridge, or, Hamilton's hero, to the tune of Fortune my foe.

Edition statement

1679

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2006-06 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A52976

ID [STC]

Wing N749

ID [STC]

ESTC R35070

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

14979149

ID [OCLC]

ocm 14979149

ID [VID]

103012

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Early English books online.

Notes

(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A52976)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 103012)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1575:34 or 21241:21)

Source

— A New Scotch ballad call'd Bothwell-Bridge, or, Hamilton's hero, to the tune of Fortune my foe.,

Extent

1 broadside.

Printed for T.B.,. London :: 1679.. (Reproductions of originals in the Harvard University Library and British Library.)

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