The TRIUMPHING English Commanders, Or the Rebells Overthrow and utter Desolation.

To the Tune of the Thundring Cannons roar.

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R. L. S.
[depiction of battle scene from English Civil War]
HOld! the num'rous Carriages!
Fraughted strongly to possess
All the Kingdoms great and less,
Of Mighty JAMES the Gratious;
Sith 'tis His own by Birth and Right,
Against the Traytors let us Fight,
And make it only our delight
To kill the Rogues that face us.
Douglas and his Warlike Train,
Triumphs o're the Woods and Plain,
But not disturb the peacefull Swain,
Unless James Scot they favour;
Then the dying endless Cryes
Of such Rogues, shall rend the Skies,
Expecting still their Destinies,
'Cause they of Rebells Savour.
Infinit's the Loyal Host,
Hath ring round the Western-Coast,
Waiting on poor Monmouths Ghost,
Whom they resolve to fetter;
With a Shackle and a Chain,
(A just reward of's evil Brain)
And after rid him out of pain,
'Cause he wou'd be no better.
The Rebells now do Glaston reach,
And where they go, Rebellion Teach,
And still the Good Old Cause they Preach,
And pray for Ignoramus;
Whilst the Dukes and Hero's brave,
Contrive the Faction to enslave;
Monmouth seeks his Neck to save,
But he shall never sham us.
Great Albermarl, and Sommerset,
Grafton, Beaufort, are all met,
And Perkin they have all beset,
And on the Boors are waiters;
Pembrook, likewise them doth joyn,
And Feversham with them combine,
Whose Glories do the Sun outshine,
T' Ecclipse that of the Traytors.
Churchill too, the West Invades,
(With his Glorious merry Lads,
Whose great Honour never fades)
To subdue the Faction:
The Loyal Army troop along,
Through the Towns and Fields they throng,
And hunt by Scent, which lies so strong,
For it smells Association.
May Mars inspire the res'lute Souls,
And Bacchus fill the ebbing Bowls
Of all the Loyal English-Poles,
T' inspire them and their Horses;
The Martial God with's glitt'ring shield,
Will grant no Quarter in the Field,
To Rebells, till he makes 'em yield,
To his unconquer'd Forces.
When the mighty Cannons drown,
The noise of Bells, and ev'ry sound,
From the vastest Wiltshire-down,
Gainst Perkin and the Rebells;
Then we'll recharge, and give no breath
To Traytors, but pursue their death,
And after Triumph o're the Heath,
In spight of Wiggesh Libells.
View the mighty flowing Main!
Swell'd above the lofty Plain!
With the Vitals of the slain,
(Rewards for all the Evils)
Of the Traytors; let's destroy
Ev'ry member for the ROY;
Then return again with joy,
That we've subdu'd the Devils.
Loayl Subjects now rejoyce,
Drums, and Trumpets make a noise,
Drink a cup and sing Brave Boys
Good health to James the Royal.
Loyalty's a noble thing,
Service done unto a King
Honour and Reward doth bring;
Then let us still be Loyal.

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