Classic Poem

Come beat alarm, sound a charge
As well without as in the verge,
Let every sword and soul be large
To make our monarch shine, boys.
Let's leave off whores and drunken souls
And windy words o'er brimming bowls,
Let English hearts exceed the Poles'
'Gainst Perkin, King in Lyme, boys.

Such a fop-king was ne'er before
Is landed on our western shore,
Which our black saints do all adore,
Inspir'd by Tub-Divine, boys.
Let us assume the souls of Mars
And march in order, foot and horse,
Pull down the standard at the cross
Of Perkin, King in Lyme, boys.

Pretended son unto a King,
Subject of delights in sin,
The most ungrateful wretch of men;
Dishonour to the shrine, boys.
Of Charles, and James the undoubted right
Of England's crown and honours bright:
While he can find us work, let's fight
" Gainst Perkin, King in Lyme, boys.

The Sainted Sisters now look blue,
Their cant's all false if God be true;
Their teaching stallions dare not do
No more but squeeze and whine, boys;
Exhorting all the clowns to fight
Against their God, King, Church, and Right,
Takes care, for all their wives at night,
For Perkin, King in Lyme, boys.

" Poor Perkin" now he is no more,
But James Scott as he was before;
No honour left but soul to soar
Till quite expir'd with time, boys.
But first he'll call his parliament
By Ferguson and Grey's consent,
Trenchard and all the boors in's tent,
Fit for the King in Lyme, boys.

" Gainst these mock kings, each draw his sword;
In blood we'll print them on record,
" Traitors against their sovereign lord";
Let's always fight and join, boys.
Now they're block'd up by sea and land,
By treason they must fall or stand,
We only wait the King's command
To burn the rogues in Lyme, boys.

But now we hear they're salli'd forth,
Front and flank 'em, south and north,
Nobles of brave England's worth,
Let your bright honours shine, boys.
Let guns and cannons roar and ring
The music of a warlike King,
And all the gods just conquest bring
Against the rogues in Lyme, boys.