Copley to hang offends no text; With schedules and with tax bills next The slaves who loved the Income Tax, The peer shall dangle from his gate, One coat, one scrip, one pair of shoes We'll strap the bar's deluding train Hail glorious hour, when fair Reform And Hunt receive commands to form Carlisle shall sit enthroned, where sat And many a mausoleum fair Shall rise to honest Cashman. Then, then beneath the nine-tailed cat And curates lean, and rectors fat, Shall dig the ground they tithe, sir. Down with your Bayleys, and your Bests, Down with your sheriffs, and your mayors. Then, when the high-born and the great On all the wealth of Church and State, We'll live when hushed the battle's din, In drinking unexcised gin, And wooing fair Poissardes, sir. THE BATTLE OF MONCONTOUR. (1824.) Он! weep for Moncontour! Oh! weep for the hour Oh! weep for Moncontour! Oh! weep for the slain, One look, one last look, to our cots and our towers, Alas! we must leave thee, dear desolate home, Farewell to thy fountains, farewell to thy shades, Farewell, and for ever. The priest and the slave THE BATTLE OF NASEBY, BY OBADIAH BIND-THEIR - KINGS-IN-CHAINS-AND-THEIRNOBLES-WITH-LINKS-OF-IRON, SERJEANT IN IRETON'S REGIMENT. (1824.) OH! wherefore come ye forth, in triumph from the North, With your hands, and your feet, and your raiment all red? And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous shout? And whence be the grapes of the wine-press which ye tread? Oh evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit, And crimson was the juice of the vintage that we trod; For we trampled on the throng of the haughty and the strong, Who sate in the high places, and slew the saints of God. It was about the noon of a glorious day of June, That we saw their banners dance, and their cuirasses shine, And the Man of Blood was there, with his long essenced hair, And Astley, and Sir Marmaduke, and Rupert of the Rhine. Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword, The General rode along us to form us to the fight, When a murmuring sound broke out, and swell'd into a shout, Among the godless horsemen upon the tyrant's right. And hark! like the roar of the billows on the shore, The furious German comes, with his clarions and his drums, His bravoes of Alsatia, and pages of Whitehall; They are bursting on our flanks. Grasp your pikes, close your ranks; For Rupert never comes but to conquer or to fall. They are here! They rush on! We are broken! We are gone! Our left is borne before them like stubble on the blast. O Lord, put forth thy might! O Lord, defend the right! Stand back to back, in God's name, and fight it to the last. Stout Skippon hath a wound; the centre hath given ground: Hark! hark!-What means the trampling of horsemen on our rear? Whose banner do I see, boys? 'Tis he, thank God, 'tis he, boys. Bear up another minute: brave Oliver is here. Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a row, Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on the dykes, Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the Accurst, And at a shock have scattered the forest of his pikes. |