Reading Fight.
To the Tune of Lylliburlero; OR, O Brother Teague, dost hear the Decree?
1
DOst hear, Brother Teague, how de Cause goes?
In Reading they put Blood on our Nose:
We dere did agree in de Dark to creep,
And Massacre all in deir dead Sleep.
Lero lero, Lero lero, Lylliburlero, Bullen-a-la.
2
But de sly Her'ticks watching all Night,
Put us to stink for fear dey would Fight:
We den did consult to lay new Snares,
And de next Day to kill dem at Pray'rs.
Lero lero, &c.
3
Five Hundred and more true Boys combin'd,
To Murder dem all before dey Din'd:
Each kept his Post with Hand on his Sword;
Thus we all stood expecting de Word.
Lero lero, &c.
4
But now by my Shoul, me quake to tell,
Eighty wild Dutchmen, as fierce as Di-vell,
All in a Trice so hedg'd us around,
Dat at de first Blow dey make us give Ground.
Lero lero, &c.
5
Never were Men with Fury so swell'd,
With deir great Tooths deir Bridles dey held.
In one Hand a Sword, in d'other a Gun;
Thus Engag'd, we wisely did Run.
Lero lero, &c.
6
Our Captains swore to us, Face about;
But 'twas too late, our Courage was out:
And dey were as quick to Fly as we,
None durst look back on d' Enemy.
Lero lero, &c.
7
Whilst dey rode up, we Gallop't away,
We soon had enough of such Dutch Play:
Dey hunted us round de Streets like Dogs,
O Brother Teague, we wisht for our Bogs!
Lero lero, &c.
8
We put d'Cross on our Faces all o're;
But for all dat, we ran as before:
We fled for Salvashon in de Church;
But here by Chreest we were left in de Lurch.
Lero lero, &c.
9
For d' Protestant Horses found us out,
And put us all to a Second Rout:
We thought of d'Advice a Priest once gave,
Dat none but de Cath-lick Church can Save.
Lero lero, &c.
10
Many Dear-Joys lay Wounded and Slain;
Some Ran away, and ne're came again:
And now by St. Patrick, what dost think?
Have we not Reason enough to Stink?
Lero lero, &c.
11
Now, are we not finely brought to Bed?
Instead of Lords, we are Knockt on de Head:
Dey promis'd us Houses, Farms, and Land,
And told us, All was at our Command,
Lero lero, &c.
12
When first we Arriv'd on d' English Shore;
But now we shall ne're see Ireland more.
O Padre Peters, dat Imp of de Pope,
Now he has brought our Bodies to Rope.
Lero lero, &c.
13
Dere is a thing one Leg and a Pair,
Where many Teagues will say deir Last Pray'r:
Dere will d' Hangman put Neck in de Noose,
So wee Dear-Joys must dye in our Shoes.
Lero lero, &c.
14
Ah! who in England would come to be Rich,
To swing like a Dog, and rot in a Ditch?
Let's fling down our Arms, and howl our A-bone,
O Irish Lads, we are all undone.
Lero lero, &c.
15
But what if we first with some Her-tick Blood,
Wash out our Sins, and so become good?
Then let's dye Martyrs for Cath-lick Cause,
Since dat our Swords can't cut Penal Laws.
Lero lero, Lero lero, Lylliburlero, Bullen-a-la.
London, Printed in the Year 1689.