7
And none dare challenge, or gainsay;
They'll rob a Virgin of her prize,
And pardon her before she rise,
It's shocking to the human ear
The tricks of Popish Priefts to hear. Fal, &c.
Where is the zeal your fathers bore,
Against the Pope and Romish Whore,
Think on Argyle and ⟨Jeaviswood⟩,
Who fear'd not ⟨faggot⟩, nor the sword,
But to oppose the Romish Faity,
Lay down their lives and welcome death. Fal &c,
Ye Lowland Lads that drive the cart,
I know you have good hands and heart,
Charge your musket, point your lance,
Us to Mars' field do ye advance,
And join brave Donald without breeks,
Who make the French to wet their cheeks. &c.
Why should the Peasant's heart be cold,
When Princes' hearts are firm and bold,
They are the head you are the hand,
That should defend our British land,
Go forth with Howe and Elliot true,
The French and Spaniards to subdue. Fal, &cl
Blythe Sandy.
Blyth Sandy is a bonny boy,
and always is a wooing,
Nor is he e'er too hold or coy,
although he is so loving.
