Jockies Lamentation, VVhose seditious work was the loss of his Country, and his KIRK.
To a stately new Scottish Tune.
WHen first the Scottish wars began
The English man did lead the van,
with musket and pike
The bonny blithe and cunning Scot
Had laid a plot, but wee could not
smell out the like,
Although hee could neither write read,
Yet General Lashly past the Tweed
With his gay gang of blew-caps tall,
Along wee march't with our General,
New-castle wee took all in a trice,
And thought for to make it our Paradice
And then wee were gallant and gay
For why we took the pillage away.
Then streight to plundering wee did fall,
Of great and smal, for wee were all
most valiant that day.
And Jenny in her silken gown,
The best in Town from foot to Crown
was bonny and gay;
Our suits and our silks did make such a smother
That hardly next day wee know one another;
For Jocky, hee was wonderous fine,
And Jenny in her silks did shine
For there ice did get mee a Beaver then
But now it is beat to a cap agen;
For a Red coat took every ragge
What Jocky now and Jenny must bagge.
The English rais'd an Army streight
With mickle state, and wee did wait
to charge them all,
Then every valiant musket-man
Put fire in pan, that wee began
apace to fall:
For when that the powder was toucht by the cols
Then every man did pay for his pole
For the Red-coat the battel wonne,
And Jocky fast to Scotland did run,
And at Dunbar-fight, a well an aneer,
For there wee were put into mickle fear;
They took our guns and silver all,
And hung our silks in Westminster-hall.
Full well I wot in Lancashire
Our brethren dear, did plunder there
both rich and poor,
Which caus'd the fury of the North
When wee set forth, to bee in wroth,
and vex us sore,
For when that the Red-coats had knockt us down
Did beat Jocky over the face
And was not this a pittiful case?
They bid us remember our plundering tricks,
And thumpt us and bumpt us with cudgels and sticks
But the Deel brust my body and wem
If ever Ice gang to England agen
PRince Rupert hee at Marston-moor
In time of yore, did bang us sore
being forc't to flye
Had not it been, for English men
To charge again the battel then
and victory,
Was bravely gain'd by our General,
But Lashly did run with his blew-caps all;
At Horthams Town appear'd a sprite,
For Jocky had rather eat than fight
Their leggs they were weary with running so last
And yet the bold Caveys were routed at last;
And Jocky never so frighted had been
Who thought it secure to keep a whole skin,
The godly Presbyterian
That holy man a war began,
in Scotland there,
Then Jocky gay, both Laird and Lad
Like people mad, were very glad
in armes to appear;
They made a new Covenant for to pull down
The Crosses that stood in every Town
And the Rochet that the Bishop did bear
And the white smock his Chaplin did wear,
But now the good Covenant's gone to rack,
And quite out of date like an old Almanack,
And all the Crosses are our own losse
For Jocky's gone home by weeping-cross.
The Red-coats all came over Fife,
With mickle strife, and ventured life
our bloods to tame
Brunt-Island we were forc't to yeeld
For in the field great store were kill'd
as Ice can name,
At least five hundred Scots were slain
Besides two thousand were prisoners tane,
Which made the gay Girles sigh and cry
To see their sweet-hearts lying by;
The High-Landers having so mickle a reach
Did finde that the pellets did light in their bréech
For the Red-coats did often let flye
And Jocky for quarter did presently cry.
Our enemies to Starling-brig
(Like a whirligig did dance a Jig)
to fight our men
To England streight, with mickle pride
Wee cross the Tweed, and were agreed
to charge agen;
At Worster our Kirk and our King went to rack
And he that run foremost durst never look back
Our mickle army had the rout
And there wee were forc't to wheel about,
The silver before which from England we took
Is now their own mony Ice swear on a book
But since that England and Scotland were foes
They keep up their silver, and pay us with blows.
The Low-lands all, and High-lands too
And bonnet blew Ice yeeld to you,
to bee your own
For Red coats they with gun and sword
Makes every Lord with one accord
to cry, O hone.
Our lives and our wives, our goods and lands
For Jocky must a servant bee,
And Jenny live as poor as hee
Our horses, cattle, sheep and cowes,
Our carts and harrows, teams and plows,,
Wee may not challenge for our own,
For Jocky hath little, and Jenny hath none.
I must confesse this holy firk.
Did only work upon our Kirk,
for silver and meat
Which made us come and bring our broods
Venture our bloods for your own goods
which prov'd a cheat
But see what covetousnesse doth bring
Wee have lost our Kirk, and every thing,
Then alack sir, and well wee may cry
Our back sir and belly must dye,
Wee fought for treasure, and not for glory
And there's an end of a Scottish story,
Despised of all for silver and gold,
Oh the worst tale that ever was told,
S. S.
Finis.
London, Printed for Francis Grove on Snow-hill▪
Entred according to Order▪