A New Scotch Ballad: CALLED BOTHWEL-BRIDGE: OR, Hamilton's HERO.  
To the Tune of Fortune my Foe.  

1.  
WHen valiant Bucklugh charged his Foes,  
And put the Rebel Scots to fight,  
Full many a Gallant Squire arose  
And rushed into the Fight.   

2.  
From sturdy Mars they all did spring,  
And by the Dint of Spur and Switches  
Could make their Steeds to kick and fling,  
And leap o'er Enemy like Ditch.   

3.  
But lo! amidst this furious Train  
Of matchless Wights, appeared one  
With Courage and with Prowess main  
As ever yet was shown.   

4.  
Of Visage dark as day of Doom,  
Most pitifully rend and tore,  
Shows him a Warrior in the Womb  
That Wounds received ere he was boar,   

5.  
His Breast all Steel, of Temper tough,  
And Falstaff's Belly decked with Charms,  
With Brandon's Head, all clad in Buff,  
Secure from Scottish Arms.   

6.  
Full six Foot deep in Stature he,  
A goodly sight for to behold,  
Of Parentage and Pedigree  
Most wondrous to unfold.   

7.  
Not generous Whore, of better kind,  
Nor Stallion stout, of Mettle higher  
Than is the fierce undaunted mind  
Of this our lofty Squire.   

8.  
But, that you may believe, his Race  
Was such as we dare brag on,  
Know to St. George he Kinsman was,  
and Son and Heir to th' Dragon.   

9  
From that bold Knight he Valour gained,  
And from the Venom of this Sire  
The gift of swelling he obtained,  
And eke of spitting Fire.   

10.  
At two months' Age, from Mother's Paps,  
He sucked out Bullets 'stead of Milk;  
Which rolling in his Warlike Chaps  
They turned as soft as Silk.   

11.  
With this rank Food he fed some years  
Till he so strong a Stomach got,  
That he could swallow down whole Spears▪  
And mumble Canon-shot.   

12.  
Did he but hear those Furies roar  
He'd rush into the heat of Battle,  
And bowze Combustion from the Boar  
As 'twere from mouth of Sucking-bottle.   

13.  
No Armour needful was in fight,  
Nor cared he for the Powerful shield;  
He valued Courage not a Doit  
To man him in the dreadful Field.   

14.  
For let the whiffling Bullets stray,  
'Tis no matter whether thick or thinner,  
His only business was to pray  
They'd shoot him down his Dinner.   

15.  
THus dyetted, 'gainst Scottish Loon,  
He proudly trooped by Monmouth's side,  
Accoutered with a Knife and Spoon  
Which all their Arms defied.   

16.  
But as the Duke right manfully  
Marched on his stubborn Foes to meet,  
He all besh— the Shot which he  
So likely was to eat.   

17.  
Behind his Grace he tamely slunk,  
(Supposed) from Wounds his Breech to keep:  
And at each thundering Volley shrunk  
Like Hog-Louse in a Heap.   

18.  
Most piteously he there did shrug,  
And cursed a thousand times damned Mars,  
Then popped down head to save each Lugg  
And worshipped Royal A—   

19  
Full sore he stunk whilst helter skelter,  
He heard the Ammunition skim,  
For still as he would seek new shelter  
Fear, like Gun-stick, scow'rd him.   

20.  
Yet did our Hero 'scape the Brunt,  
Through Ghostly Skill to disappear,  
For, like a Duck, he dived i'th' Front,  
And rose again i'th' Rear.   

21.  
Where, safe as a Surgeon in the Hold,  
With Sword sharp set for cruel Blow  
He huffed and puffed, looked big and bold,  
And stroked the Soil where Beard should grow.   

22.  
Then with his trusty Whynnyard he,  
All man, Sir, slashing through the Air,  
Cried, like the Tailor to the Tree,  
Here I could have you, Sir,— and there—   

23.  
Thus did he brandishing proceed,  
Till the desperate Warlike Minion  
Made th' individual Atoms bleed,  
And peeled them like an Onion.   

24.  
This without pity too to spare  
Those which he breathed, as if he meant  
Revenge on the Philosopher  
That says, Our World is accident.   

25.  
His waiting Genius, eke also  
With world of pains, and muckle do,  
From Scabbard Salted, as I trow,  
A pickled Weapon drew.   

26.  
To Lord and Master true he stuck,  
And ventured full as hard as he;  
For 'twas the way to meet good luck,  
And be from dangers free.   

27.  
The lusty Loon came on behind,  
And in his mighty Cloak-bag caught  
That Courage blown away by th' Wind,  
With which the Esquire should have fought.   

28.  
The sprightly Wallet began to jump,  
Possessed with these Almighty Charms,  
And, bidding long-farewell to Rump,  
Was in a moment up in Arms.   

29.  
The noble Champion bravely then  
Began to smile and take good cheer,  
'Twas time to lay about him when  
Portmanteau turned a Volunteer.   

30.  
March on, my Darlings then, quoth he;  
For lo! the battle's at a stand,  
And 'tis ordained that only we  
Should tame this uncouth Land.   

31.  
This said, into a Body they  
With Marshal Skill drew up their Force,  
Consisting, as you heard me say,  
Of Cloak-bag and twa Horse.   

32.  
But ah! alack, and weel-a-day!  
The Canny Duke (God bless his Grace)  
ere these three Wights could reach their prey,  
Had laid it dead upon the place.   

33.  
The Squire, all Fury, took it ill,  
For sorely he began to maunder,  
And 'cause he left no Foes to kill  
Wept out like Alexander.   

34.  
Yet when he ceased to sob and frown,  
Quoth he, What though the Kerns are slain?  
To save my Honour and Renown  
I'll kill them o'er again.   

35.  
With that his Punnyard forth he draws,  
(Thus Death himself proved mortal too)  
For napping in a dead man's Jaws  
He ran him through and through.   

36.  
This was his Zeal and Loyalty,  
And fear of being Credit-shammed,  
He garred each Treacherous Scot twice d'ye▪  
In hopes he might be double damned.   

37.  
Thus too St. George he has o'ercome,  
And stabbed the mighty Hero's Fame,  
Honour he leaves him not a Crum,  
All's due to— 's Name.   

38.  
He now as England's Champion reigns;  
'Tis he alone is born to rule,  
To bind the Qarrelsome in Chains,  
And call a Giant Fool.   
FINIS.   

LONDON, Printed for T. B. 1679.