I will sing in the Praise, if you'll lend but an Ear,
Of the first Royal Regiment, but don't think I jeer
If I vow and protest they are as brave Men and Willing,
As ever old Rome bred, or new Iniskilling.

II.

Oh, had you but seen them March with that Decorum
That no Roman Triumph could e're go before 'em,
Some smoking, some whistling, all meaning no harm,
Like Yorkshire Attornies coming up to a Term,

III.

On Bobtails, on Longtails, on Trotters, on Pacers,
On Pads, Hawkers, Hunters, on Higlers, on Racers,
You'd ha' swore Knight and Squires, Prigs, Cuckolds, and Pandors.
Appear'd all like so many great Alexanders,

IV.

Whose Warriers who thorow all Dangers durst go.
Most bravely despising Blood, Battle, and Foe,
Were mounted on Steeds the last Lord Mayor's Day,
From Turky, Spain, Barbary, Coach, Cart, and Dray.

V.

'Twas that very day their high Prowess was shown,
In guarding the King thro' the Fire-works o' th' Town;
Tho' Sparks were unhors'd and their lac'd Coats were spoil'd,
They dreaded no Squibs of Men, Women, or Child.

VI.

The Cornet whose nose, though it spoke him no Roman,
Was mounted that day on a Horse that feared no man,
No Wounds, for all o're his Trappings so sumptuous
He had ty'd Squibs and Crackers; 'twas mighty presumptuous.

VII.

For note his Design; faith, 'tis worth your admiring:
'Twas to let the Queen se how his Horse could stand firing,
Not wisely consid'ring her Majesty's marry'd,
And he had been hang'd if the Queen had miscarry'd.

VIII.

All Hearts true as Steel, but of all brave Fellows
Th'Attorney for my money who was so zealous,
He went for the Lease of his own House from Home,
To make a new covering for the Troop's Kettle drum.

IX.

The Lieutenant being thrown by his Jennet,
His Son in Law fancying some Treachery in it,
Gave the Oaths to the Horse, which the Beast took, they say,
But swore by the Lord they went down like chopt hay.

X.

He the Nag of an Irish Papist did buy,
So doubting his Courage and his Loyalty,
He taught him to eat with his Oats Gunpowdero,
And prance to the Tune of Lilly-bolero. [11]

XI.
The Tub-preaching Saint was so furious a Blade,
In Jack-boots both Day and Night preacht, slept, and pray'd;
To call them to prayers he need no Saint's Bell,
For gingling his Spurs chim'd them all in as well.

XII.

A noble stout Scrivener that now shall be nameless,
That in Day of Battle he might be found blameless,
A War-horse of Wood from Duck Carver buys,
To learn with more safety the Horse Exercise.

XIII.

With one eye on's Honour, the other on's Gain,
He fixes a Desk on Bucephalus Main,
That so by that means he his Prancer bestriding,
Might practise at once both his Writing and Riding.

XIV.

But, oh, the sad news which their Joy now confounds,
To Ireland, their own, like the last Trumpet sounds;
Lord! Lord! how this sets them a Waiting Petitions,
And thinking of nothing but Terms and Conditions.

XV.

Oh, who will March for me? speak any that dare,
A Horse and an Hundred Pounds for him, that's fair;
Dear Courtiers, excuse me from Teagland and Slaughter,
And take which you please, Sir, my Wife or my Daughter."

XVI.
Some feign'd themselves lame, some feign'd themselves clapt,
At last finding all themselves by themselves trapt,
The King most unanimously they addrest,
And told him the Truth, 'twas all but a Jest.

XVII.
"A Jest," quoth the King, and with that the King smil'd,
"Come, it ne're shall be said such a Jest shall be spoil'd;
Therefore I dismiss you. in Peace all depart,
For it was more your Goodness than my Desert."

XVIII.

Thus happily freed from the dreadful Vexation
Of being Defenders of this, or that Nation,
They kist Royal Fist, and were drunk all for Joy,
And broke all their swords, and cry'd Vive le Roy.

[Footnote 11: The refrain of a celebrated political song.]