H Y M N
To the Victory in
I sing the Praise of Heros brave
Whose Warlike Merit Conquest gave,
And scorn'd to trample on a Foe,
But beat them first, then let them go:
after a Battle sharp and bloody,
Beyond the reach of Humane Study,
Obtain'd between strong Rocks & Trenches,
By dint of Sword, and vast expences,
'Gainst sturdy Scots, and Spaniards proud,
A, Victory most Men allow'd.
Where aft their Foes were quite confounded
While Cannons roard and Trumpets founded.
B at hear oc there & God knows whither,
Loll in a Fog, in Sun-shine Weather :
Confusion every where proclaim'd
Such wonders which can ne'er be nam'd.
Abundance slain, which some call dead,
Who in the fright rose up and fled
More stranger yet if News be right,
The fray did last from five till Night,
And those who brought the Tidings hither,
Say Dead and Living fled together.
Nay perfect Miracles abounded,
The dead Men rise and kill'd the wounded
Yet when the Battle it was done,
Theree "was nor found so much as one
Nor none can tell which way they'r gane.
No Antient History can declare,
Such Actions in the Feats-of War,
Great Wills, and Carpenter at Precision,
Might here have learnt a milder Lesson:
For tho' the Victory was compleat,
Both Dead and Living safe retreat.
Here was no tricking feigned Pardon
Which "Consequences seldom heard on:
Deluding Men and when that's done;
Hang, Goal, and Banish every one.
When in this fierce and bloody Fray,
Our Foes had leave to march away:
Without the loss of Man or Gun,
Such generous Favours feldom done,"
-Such Mercy in this Fight was shown,
We sav'd Men's Lives and losl our own,
A Victory which no Age can show
To let both Dead and Living go:
Yet notwithstanding Highland Clans,
Thcse mighty Favours still withstands,
Reflecting with their bold Bravadoes,
Our Men shott only at their Shadows.
And give us Reasons very pat,
Bccause they sav'd their Lives by that:
Yet if Reports has not bely'd 'em,
As-Ballets came, they skip'd beside em,
which is a Riddle hard and dark.
When not one Gunner hits a Mark;
I doubt they've learr'd the Magick Art,
And value not our Guns a Fart,
Or else the Skins of Highland Scots,
Are Proof against both Swords and,Shots.
Tho' this is strange, it seems too true,
Because none of their Men were flew,
And which our Reason most has shaken,
Not one poor single Rebel taker:
Three Hours beaten and none die,
Yet no Man knows the Reason why,
Tis very strange 'tween You and I,
LONDON Printed by R.Thomas behind the Royal Exchange.
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Probable date published:
1719-1745 shelfmark: L.C.Fol.76(127)
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