The Bloody Siege of VIENNA▪  
A SONG.  
Wherein the Turks have lost One Hundred and Sixty Thousand Men; being the greatest Victory that ever was obtained over the Turks, since the Foundation of the Ottoman Empire. Written by an English Gentleman Volunteer, that was at the Garrison during the Siege.  

THE Gods are now in Council sat,  
For to survey the World's debate;  
Both Mars and Jove incensed are  
'Gainst Treason and Rebellious War:  
This is the Fatal Year Designed,  
To crush the Faction in all parts;  
The Algerines are all confined  
To pay for all their Thieving Arts.   

But HUNGARY, that Bloody Scene,  
Of which the Germane whigs have been  
The provocation, and the Cause,  
'Gainst God, the Emperor, and their Laws,  
Yet still pretend Religion;  
At the same time brought in the Turk,  
They all are turned Mahometan,  
Like ours, against the Duke of York.   

Their Sovereign Lord the Emperor,  
Engaged 'gainst the French in War:  
Then, than those Bloody Rebel's rose,  
Surprised his Friends with mortal blows;  
They Sacrificed Peasant and Peer,  
With Fire and Sword, they laid all waist:  
No Quarter gave for Seven Year,  
Then brought the Turk to Burn the rest.   

Three Hundred Thousand Turks in Rage,  
Who never spared Sex nor Age;  
In Seven Hundred Leagues they Marched,  
Till they VIENNA did Invest:  
They raised Batteries round the Town,  
Which did Command the highest Towers;  
Candy, nor Rhoads, nor Christian Crown,  
Was never assaulted by such Powers.   

Then all the Skies in Black did Mourn,  
As if the Town like TROY might Burn:  
Then just as JOVE doth shake the World,  
With Thunderclaps their Balls were hurled  
Against our Walls, the Gates, and Forts,  
Each shot Two Hundred Pound in weight:  
Their Shouts and Yells, and Guns Reports,  
As if the Furies came to Fight.   

The Christians answered them again,  
More like to Angels, then like Men:  
Our Canonneers with Courage stands,  
Three times dismounted their great Guns;  
Each time our Soldiers sallied forth,  
Killed all that durst oppose their Arms:  
Each Christian Sword, for ten too hard,  
Which gave their Camps too true Alarms.   

A Hundred Mines at least they sprung,  
Our Works blown up, both small and strong,  
Quartered Men blown in the Air,  
Kill, Kill, was all the Language there:  
Their Trenches filled with slaughtered Turks,  
Their Camp infected by the smell;  
Guns went thump, thump; Plague Damn the Rump,  
That taught all Nations to Rebel.   

This Thunder, Tempest, Fire, and Blood,  
We Fifty Days and Nights withstood;  
Their Treacherous Mines we Countermined,  
And Killed their Miners there confined:  
We Kill'd'em Seventy Thousand Men,  
Of our Fifteen was left but Five;  
Brave POLAND then, like Caesar, came  
the Captive Town for to relieve.   

Like Gods the Christians made their way,  
As if they scorned to lose the day:  
And to Revenge the Christian Cause,  
They laid in more than Humane Blows;  
And Fight through their Ranks by force,  
At every blow cut down a Turk:  
To th' Knees in Blood, Run, Run that could,  
The Christians than had done their Work▪   

Like Fiends before the approaching Sun,  
The Turks before the Christians Run;  
Their Gold and Jewels, Tents and Guns,  
Fell all into the Christians Hands:  
No Tecklet all this Brunt appeared,  
Jack Presbyter liked not the sport;  
And the Turk doth Swear, this Thousand Year,  
He'll come no more at th' Emperor's Court.    

LONDON, Printed for J. Dean, Bookseller in Cranborn-street, in Leicester▪ Fields, near Newport-House.