THE Granadiers Loyal Health. A SONG.  
The First Line of these Notes to be Sung Twice over.  
 
 

Old England's Glory now begins,  
Under the best of Gracious Kings;  
Ill Fates which many years have frowned,  
With smiling Conquest now hath Crowned;  
And put and end to all Dispute,  
Against our Gracious King and Duke.   

II.  
The Royal Line for to enlarge,  
For Rupert we have got Prince George;  
Of Conduct and of Courage known,  
To his Immortal praise alone;  
We'll drink the Health ere we go hence,  
Both to the King, the Duke, and Prince.   

III.  
We'll Front the Guards with Fire and Sword,  
For to defend our Sovereign Lord;  
Let flat-faced Oats like Sodom burn,  
Mahomet's Saint, and Christians scorn:  
While Rebels here in Mourning lurk,  
Because the Christians Banged the Turk.   

IV.  
Make ready Links, they your right Foot  
Out of the Stirrup, then fall too't:  
Recover your Muskets, Charge the Front  
Toth' Right and Left, there's Lives lies on't:  
Blow your Matches, fire your Fuse.  
We'll make the Rebels fly like Jews.   

V.  
Hand your Granades, let 'em fly,  
Like Thunder flashes from the Sky;  
Like Fire-drakes or some Blazing-Star,  
Which are true Signets of sweet War:  
We with our Oboes, Gun, and Drum,  
Shall make Mars Harmony where we come.   

VI  
Tothth' God of Wine let's now descend,  
Old Bacchus that true Soldiers Friend;  
Where Mars oft fails, he still Inspires,  
Both Heart and Brain with Warlike Fires:  
Come brush about that smiling Bowl,  
To Albermarle and his great Soul.   

VII.  
Come Bowl about Boys, while we stay,  
Two in a Hand to Loyal Gay:  
And Daring Parker true and stout,  
And Hesting must not be left out:  
Heroic Boys, when whigs did Sway,  
They feared not Monmouth, Tom, and Grace.   

VIII.  
Howard and Sackfield for the Crown,  
They'll make our English Turks come down,  
And send 'em unto Tecklets Gang,  
There let 'em either Starve or Hang:  
A score of Bumpers round the Board,  
To Christians and Victorious Sword.   

IX.  
Hark! Hark! I hear the Drum  
Beat Rad-dan, their Majesties come;  
Wind up your Bottoms, clear the Bar,  
See what's the Reckoning in the Star:  
Whilst whigs Designs are all debarred,  
Come Fellow-soldiers to the GUARD.   
FINIS.  
Printed for K. Dean, in Cranborn- Street, in Leicester-Fields near Newport- House, 1683.