Wit and Mirth: or Pills to Purge Melancholy.

Volume VI.

by Various.

PILLS TO PURGE MELANCHOLY.

VOL. VI.

_A_ BALLAD _on the Battle of_ AUDENARD. _Set by Mr._ LEVERIDGE.

[Music]

Ye Commons and Peers, Pray lend me your Ears, I'll Sing you a Song if I can; How _Lewis le Grand_, Was put to a Stand, By the Arms of our Gracious Queen ANN.

How his Army so great, Had a total Defeat, Not far from the River of _Dender_; Where his Grand-Children twain, For fear of being slain, Gallop'd off with the Popish Pretender.

To a Steeple on High, The Battle to Spy, Up Mounted these clever young Men; And when from the Spire They saw so much Fire, They cleverly came down again.

Then a Horse-back they got, All upon the same spot, By advice of their Cousin _Vendosme_; O Lord! cry'd out he Unto young _Burgundy_, Wou'd your Brother and you were at Home.

Just so did he say When without more delay, Away the young Gentry fled; Whose Heels for that Work Were much lighter than Cork, But their Hearts were more heavy than Lead.

Not so did behave The young _Hannover_ brave In this b.l.o.o.d.y Field I a.s.sure ye; When his War-Horse was shot, Yet he matter'd it not, But charg'd still on Foot like a Fury.

When Death flew about Aloud he call'd out, Ho! you Chevalier of St. GEORGE; If you'll never stand By Sea nor by Land, Pretender, that t.i.tle you forge.

Thus boldly he stood, As became that high Blood, Which runs in his Veins so blue; This Gallant young Man Being kin to Queen ANN, Fought as were she a Man, she wou'd do.

What a Racket was here, (I think 'twas last Year) For a little ill Fortune in _Spain_; When by letting 'em Win, We have drawn the Putts in To lose all they are worth this Campaign.

Tho' _Bruges_ and _Ghent_, To the Monsieur we lent, With Interest he soon shall repay 'em; While _Paris_ may Sing, With her sorrowful King _De Profundis_, instead of _Te Deum_.

From their Dream of Success, They'll awaken we guess At the sound of Great _Marlborough's_ Drums; They may think if they will Of _Almanza_ still, But 'tis _Blenheim_ wherever he comes.

O _Lewis_ perplex'd, What General's next?

Thou hast hitherto chang'd 'em in vain; He has beat 'em all round, If no new ones are found, He shall Beat the old over again.

We'll let _Tallard_ out If he'll take t'other bout; And much he's improv'd let me tell ye, With _Nottingham_ Ale, At every Meal, And good Pudding and Beef in his Belly.

As Losers at Play, Their Dice throw away, While the Winner he still Wins on; Let who will Command, Thou hadst better Disband, For Old Bully thy Doctors are gone.

A Happy Memorable BALLAD, _On the Fight near_ Audenard, _between the Duke of_ Marlborough, _of_ Great-Britain; _and the Duke of_ Vendosme, _of_ France. _As also the strange and wonderful Manner how the Princes of the Blood Royal of_ France, _were found in a Wood. In allusion to the_ Unhappy Memorable SONG _commonly call'd_ CHEVY-CHACE.

[Music]

G.o.d Prosper long our Gracious Queen, Our Lives and Safeties all: A woful Fight of late their did Near _Audenard_ befal.

To drive the _French_ with Sword and Gun, Brave _Marlborough_ took his Way; Ah! woe the Time that _France_ beheld The Fighting of that Day.

The Valiant Duke to Heaven had swore, _Vendosme_ shou'd pay full dear, For _Ghent_ and _Bruges_, e'er his Fame Should reach his Master's Ear.

And now with Eighty Thousand bold, And chosen Men of Might; He with the _French_ began to wage A sharp and b.l.o.o.d.y Fight.

The Gallant _Britains_ swiftly ran, The _French_ away to Chase; On _Wednesday_ they began to fight, When Day-light did decrease.

And long before high-Night, they had Ten Thousand _Frenchmen_ slain; And all the Rivers Crimson flow'd, As they were dy'd in grain.

The _Britains_ thro' the Woods pursu'd, The nimble _French_ to take; And with their Cries the Hills and Dales, And every Tree did shake.

The Duke then to the Wood did come, In hopes _Vendosme_ to meet; When lo! the Prince of _Carignan_ Fell at his Grace's Feet.

Oh! Gentle Duke forbear, forbear, Into that Wood to shoot; If ever pity mov'd your Grace, But turn your Eyes and look:

See where the Royal Line of _France_, Great _Lewis's_ Heirs do lie; And sure a Sight more pitious was Ne'er seen by Mortal Eye.

What Heart of Flint but must relent, Like Wax before the Sun: To see their Glory at an end, E'er yet it was begun.

Whenas our General found your Grace, Wou'd needs begin to Fight: As thinking it wou'd please the Boys, To see so fine a Sight.

He straightway sent them to the Top Of yonder Church's Spire; Where they might see, and yet be safe From Swords and Guns, and Fire.

But first he took them by the Hand, And kiss'd them e'er they went; Whilst Tears stood in their little Eyes, As if they knew th' Event.

Then said, he would with Speed return, Soon as the Fight was done; But when he saw his Men give Ground, Away he basely run,

And left these Children all alone, As Babes wanting Relief; And long they wandred up and down, No Hopes to chear their Grief.

Thus Hand in Hand they walk'd, 'till At last this Wood they spy'd; And when they saw the Night grow dark, They here lay down and cry'd.

At this the Duke was inly mov'd, His Breast soft Pity beat; And so he straightway ordered His Men for to Retreat.

And now, but that my Pen is blunt, I might with ease relate; How Fifteen Thousand _French_ were took, Besides what found their Fate.

Nor should the Prince of _Hannover_ In silence be forgot; Who like a Lyon fought on Foot, After his Horse was shot.

And what strange Chance likewise befel, Unto these Children dear: But that your Patience is too much Already tir'd, I fear.

And so G.o.d Bless the Queen and Duke, And send a lasting Peace: That Wars and foul Debate henceforth In all the World may cease.