They Run, they Leap,
Now high, now deep,
Whilst he that Fishing chooses;
With ease may do't, nay more to boot,
May entertain the Muses.
Then who, &c.
And tho' some envious wranglers,
To jeer us will make bold;
And Laugh at Patient Anglers,
Who stand so long i' th' Cold:
They wait on Miss,
We wait on this,
And think it easie Labour;
And if you'd know, Fish profits too,
Consult our Holland Neighbour.
Then who, &c.
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A New Song, Made in honour of his Grace
the Duke of Marlborough, and the General
Officers, upon the Glorious success of this
last Campaign. Set by Mr. J. Weldon.
BEat the Drum, Beat, beat the Drum,
Let Martial Trumpets sound;
The jolly Bowl prepare,
With fragrant Roses Crown'd:
The Grand Leviathan of France is Tumbling down,
Tumbling down, is tumbling, tumbling down;
Lawrel wreaths for Glorious pains,
Once more great Marlborough, great Marlborough Gains:
Thus whilst Conquer'd, whilst conquer'd Flanders falls,
Proud Orleans, from Turin's Walls,
Is like a Vapour gone.
The Mounsieur's mawl'd by Sea and Land,
Then take six Bumpers in a Hand;
To each brave Brittish Son,
They, they the Work have done,
They, they the Work have done.
