Classic Poem

Be easy with War! here's a fine piece of bother on't,
Faith I can't make either one thing or t'other on't,
Devil may burn both the Father and Mother on't —
Billy's undone us by War,
Oh, Lord! what will the damage be? &c. &c.

Pat, can you tell what the Devil he's driving at?
What is't we're fighting for, what is't he's striving at?
A foul bit of work the d — n'd Tory's conniving at!

For the poor out of bread, what a fine consolation too,
Winter at hand, and all trade in stagnation too;
Nothing to swallow, but lumps of taxation too.
Then, what are our gains, for the millions he squanders now?
Plentiful loss of brave Troops and Commanders now,
Rotting like sheep, in the big bogs of Flanders now!

We're murder'd by thousands, and pay for the slaughter too,
Nothing to drink, to the a — se up in water too;
Dutch running off, and ourselves marching after too.

Our Fleets and our Gun Boats won't answer their uses too,
Horse of no service for ditches and sluices too,
Cannon too late, and all left as the duce is too,

We're flux'd, till our life streams away from our bowels too,
Drench'd so with rain, ye might scrape us with crowels too,
Cattle all glander'd, and all full of rowels too.

Tents we have few, since we left'em behind us too,
Dogs wou'd n't lie on the wet straw , they find us too,
All sorts of death, by my soul they've consign'd us too.

Then faith with mistrust we're a little dejected too,
Prussians withdrawn, and the Dutch disaffected too;
Troops that we'er hir'd not too much respected too.

By my soul, it's a sin, tho' we e'er should want harmony,
When we all fight for the Emp'ror of Germany,
And John Bull has promis'd to pay all the War money,

Then you bitch'd us at home , and your word did'nt keep my dears;
Leaving brave lads to be cut up like sheep my dears,
Toby sham fighting, and C — TH — M asleep my dears.

By my troth there's a damnable sin and omission here,
Tho' it's hush'd up, it must rise in revision here,
Murder cries out, for a state inquisition here.

Then your Cabinet calls this a war of existence now,
That's in plain Irish , to die at a distance now,
And help the work forward , by backward assistance now.

Troth you've purchas'd at Toulon a slippery station too,
Laid out our cash in a wild speculation too;
And united all France, in a d — n'd indignation too.

A wise figure we make, to be starv'd to help slavery,
Fighting for others with profitless bravery;
Oh, get out! you'll undo a good master with knavery.
Ever safe be his throne! may no traitor's endeavour now,
Loyalty's cause from fair Freedom's dissever now,
Here's Fox and the Whig Constitution for ever now,
Billy's undone us by war.