A New SONG Lately come from IRELAND.  
To the Tune of, Cabaleiro-man.  

I.  
THere was an Irish Army brave,  
That a Popish Prince of Wales would have;  
An Hen-peckt King, and a Priestridden Queen,  
They gallantly fought for on the Green,  
they gallantly, etc.   

II.  
They fought with many a bloody Curse,  
But few of their Enemies were the worse;  
They charged when they could see no Foes,  
For they love to fight, but hate the blows,  
for they, etc.   

III.  
The Valiant General Tyrconnel,  
Mac Guire, mac Carty and mac Donnel;  
Mac Pope, mac Devil, and all were along,  
With an Army Threescore Thousand strong,  
with an Army, etc.   

IV.  
They plagued and plundered Protestants well,  
And spansil Thiefs good pen-worths did sell;  
They took the Garrisons every where,  
Because no Enemy did appear,  
because no, etc.   

V.  
They charged their Guns with Powder & Ball,  
And primed their Noses with sneezing all;  
Then 
1 your Souls to the Devil  Hannum-an-Diowl you figs they cry,  
St. Patrick now for Ireland hay,  
St. Patrick now, etc.   

VI  
At last they heard an English-Drum,  

2 beware the Englishman  Huggut a Sasanagh yonder they come;  
Then away they throw both Pike and Gun,  
And Shan't, and Teige, and Dermot, do run,  
and Shane, and Teige, etc.   

VII.  
Stay a while Teige, arroo 
3 stay, stay, stay,  furry, furry, furry,  
No be me shoul, a wirry, wirry, wirry;  
By the Virgin Mary we are all undone,  
For Shane, and Teige, and Dermot do run,  
for Shane, etc.   

VIII.  
Arroo shoulder your Pike, 
4 put your Pike on your back.  cur a Peek er da wholen,  
Or else we must pay for the Cows we have stolen;  

5 the Devil take your head.  Fogrim damn shian, arroo fire your Gun,  
No be me shoul to de Bogg I will run,  
no be me shoul, etc.   

IX.  
Now the devil take all our Priests & our Friars,  

6 by my shoul  Der diegh they have left us fast in the briars;  

7 by my Gosips' hand  Lawmaharrus-Chreist we are all undone,  
For Shane, and Teige, and Dermot do run,  
for Shane, etc.   

X.  
We have lost both Purgat'ry and our Estate,  
Both the Field & the Bench we bragged of late;  
For now the good Catholic days are done,  
Since Shane, and Teige, and Dermot do run,  
since Shane, etc.   

XI.  
Dear joys give us leave to return to our brogues,  
We'll burn our Paddreens and leave off to be Rogues;  
To serve K. William or any that come,  
Poor Shane, and Teige, and Dermot will run,  
poor Shane, etc.   

XII.  
Our Popish Queen and Catholic Cause,  
We'll quite forsake and yield to the Laws:  
We'll grant our Prince of Wales is beshit,  
And own him to be but a counterfeit Chit,  
and own him to be, etc.   

XIII.  

8 my dear joy.  A-gra-ma-chree, come do what you will,  
Henceforth we will be for the Protestants still;  
In paying you Rend, and kissing your bum,  
Poor Shane, and Teige, and Dermot will run,  
poor Shane, etc.    

This may be Printed, J. F.  
FINIS.