THE Royal Voyage. OR THE IRISH EXPEDITION: A Tragicomedy, Acted in the Years 1689 and 90.  
— Regis ad Exemplum  Claud. 
LONDON; Printed for Richard Baldwin, in the Old-Baley, A. D. 1690.   

TO THE READER.  
NOT to cheat thee with a Preface instead of a Book, nor make this Brat of my own Brain such a Rickety Creature, as to have its Head bigger than all the rest of the Body, both middle and t'other end; I'll only dispatch a little necessary business, and then Gentlemen step in and take your Places: Or to be a little more Heroical, the Music has played the last time, the Candles are all Snuffed, and the Curtain is just about to be drawn up.— Know ye, first and foremost, that the Name of this following Play relates to another part yet to come, which will more signally fill the Title; though this has enough of the Royal Voyage in it to make that good and proper in this, as well as the other. The Conquest of Granada is only begun in the first part, nay, no more than the Siege on't, yet the propriety of the Title none ever questioned to that part as well as the other.  
The next thing I'm to do you, to wit, is, that the End of this Play is chief to expose the Perfidious, Base, Cowardly, Bloody Nature of the Irish, both in this and all past Ages, especially to give as lively a Scheme as will consist with what's past, so far of the worse than Heathenish Barbarities committed by them on their Peaceable British Neighbours, in that Bloody and Detestable Massacre and Rebellion of Forty One, which will make the Nation stink as long as there's one Bog or Bog-trotter left in it.  
Wherein, though every one knows this way of Writing allows great Liberty; I protest 'twas impossible to invent more dreadful things than I found ready to my Hand; nay scarce could a single circumstance be any where added to set their Murders in a better Light,— the Instances themselves, as History gives 'em, being such glaring ones, that Hellfire itself could scarce make 'em brighter. Nor even here have I taken any thing for granted, though there's so much abundant Evidence of the truth of all here asserted, even from the acknowledgement of some more ingenuous among 'em, Beling, Walsh, etc. of their own Writers, and from the Pride and glory which others of them take in relating what then happened, instead of those few Hundred Thousands Murdered, only wishing that All had gone the same way; but dropping that advantage, have confined myself even to the Chasteness of an Historian, examining as the Reader will find, all the material Objections those wicked People can make to our Accusations, and all those thin Excuses wherewith they generally impose upon the Ignorant, and in vain endeavour to palliate their unheard of Inhumanities'. I am confident I have herein done 'em Justice, and urged their Arguments as far and as home, perhaps closer, than any of them could have done for themselves. And if I have made one Exception from the general Rule, and introduced one Irishman amongst 'em all, brave and honest (as far as his Cause would let him be,) to foil the rest; if I have gone a little beyond the Pale, and left Truth behind me, 'tis a pardonable fault, and the more easily, because perhaps it mayn't be so common to err on the side of Good-nature. In his Character it's indeed designed to show that there may possibly be some Individuals among 'em better than the rest of the Nation.— In that of all the rest, that if such a thing happens, 'tis but a chance, and won't often be brought into Example by the others. After all, let any Man take the pains but to read the Irish Histories, Foreigners as well as others, nay their own too, if he has any patience, into the bargain, and if he does not confess that I have not, nay cannot misrepresent the Irish, when I speak any thing ill of 'em, I'll be content to be sent over into that blessed Island, and live there till I've forgot my Mother Tongue, and grow as Irish as O Hanlan's, &c) as their mannerly Proverb has it.)  
Tho on t'other side, so far is this piece from any Reflection on the British there, that one main end thereof is to give 'em their due Encomiums, and just Honour.  
In order whereunto, the principal brave Actions performed by them at the wonder of the World, and confusion of their Enemies, under all apparent disadvantages imaginable, Treachery of some, Cowardice of others, want of Necessaries, a numerous well-provided Army pressing against 'em, are not (as many as could be handsomely brought in here) neglected, tho' the Historical order, unnecessary here, perhaps not observed.  
For the manner in which those actions are introduced, 'tis done the most inoffensively that could be possibly contrived;— 'tis out of choice that I have named no Persons, unless of the Enemy's side.— As all shared in the Danger, so let 'em all in the Glory,— whatever parties there might then be, or are since, there shall be none in this Play, but English and Irish.  
That the desirable work of their entire Conquest may soon be accomplished, which all Europe as well as England groans for, the Second part of this Drama really acted, and our glorious King William there conquering all our Enemies, I am sure every honest Man wishes as hearty as I do;— for those who hope the contrary, tho' their own Countries, Europe's, and Religion's implacable Enemies, I'd wish 'em no greater plague, than possessed with all the Rage, Malice, and defeated desperate Wickedness of an Irishman, to stand by and see our great victorious Prince enter Triumphantly into his Royal City of Dublin,— which a few Weeks may in all fair probability produce, and a few more the Second Part of the Royal Voyage, or Irish Expedition.   

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.  

Tyrconnel,  
Primate,  
Archbishop of Cashel,  
Nugent,  
Neagle,  
Irish Lords,  
Hamilton,  
Macarty,  
Talbot,  
Butler,  
Clancarty,  
Macdonald,  
Irish Soldiers, Messengers, Officers, etc.   

Governor of Inniskilling,  
Colonels, Soldiers, etc.  
Governor of Derry,  
Colonels, Soldiers,  
English Captains with Relief to Derry,  
English General,  
Soldiers, Officers, etc.    

THE ROYAL VOYAGE: OR, THE Irish Expedition.  


ACT I. SCENE I. DUBLIN- Castle.  [Enter Tyrconnel, Nugent, Neagle, Mac-carty, Hamilton, the titula Archbishop of Cashell, and Primate; Irish Lords. Tyrcon. 
THus far the CAUSE has with Success been crowned;  
And Great St. Patrick blest his sacred Ground;  
Has been his own loved Country-men's Defence,  
And chased the English Toads and Serpents hence.  
Again shall Ireland her old Name renew;  
'Tis now a Land of Saints and Heroes too;  
Th' Asylum long before designed for those  
Sent into Exile by their faithless Foes;  
That safe, that happy Sanctuary, where  
By our great Faith's Defenders pious Care,  
The Church itself can now glad Refuge find,  
Leaving her cheated desperate Foes behind.  
Cash Like Arethusas' Stream, her Fountain clear  
Dives under Earth, and Sea, and rises here:  
But never shall we her fair Spring restore,  
As pure and limpid as it was before,  
Unless we hollow the polluted Flood,  
And purge out Heretick-Stains with Heretics Blood.  Prim. 
The very thought does my i'll Age renew,  
And almost make Armagh a Soldier too.  
O Portendown! that happy Day is past;  
Grief stays too long, and Pleasure runs too fast:  
I saw, and 'twas a wished, a welcome sight  
As e'er was shown: By Heaven's bright burning Light,  
I saw the wand'ring Flood new-blackened over,  
And shoals of Bodies washed down the shore,  
Whilst fresh Supplies still o'er the Breach were thrown,  
Till there at last was hardly room to drown.  Macar. 
And thinks your Grace this was a sight so proper,  
For one whose Character should be Compassion,  
Pity, and Love, all like our mighty Maker?  
I, though long steeled in Camps, and drenched in War,  
To Execution used, and Blood, and Carnage,  
(Fatal Effects of necessary Cruelty)  
I rather should have wished to have given the Lives  
To all those Wretches, though at the expense  
Even of my own.  Prim. 
— Are you a Catholic?  Maccar. 
Yes, and will die one.— But could I believe  
That my Religion taught the same that you do,  
I rather would turn Heretic, Turk, or Pagan,  
Than be so one hour longer.  Prim. 
Scarce can the stupid Ignorance excuse you;  
A Heretic himself could say no more.  
Hath not the sacred Lateran Council made it  
An Article as needful to Salvation,  
As any of the Creed, That this cursed Fry,  
Rebels to Holy Church, should be destroyed  
By Fire and Sword, or any other way,  
Wheree'er they're found, like other Beasts of Prey?  
While that of Constance makes this other easy,  
And bids us keep no Faith with those that have none:  
A pious, necessary, useful, comfortable Doctrine!  
You are a Soldier— 'Tis a Stratagem:  
Those still in War are lawful— And I'll tell you  
Once more, If this you know not, Sir, you're guilty  
Of Ignorance inexcusable—. Why 'tis  
The very Cement of the CAUSE, the Blood, the Life  
Of Holy Mother: (Yet you are to learn  
Your Catechise.)— 'Tis what her eldest Son  
Has practised many Years. See how he's blest,  
How all succeeds. and he speaks Fate in Europe.  
If this you know, as how can you be ignorant  
Of what each Catholic, especially  
Each Irishman sucks with his first-drawn Milk.  
(Whoever here of all your Countrymen,  
Besides that false Apostate Wretch Clanrickard,  
Was guilty known, of such an easy Meanness)  
Repent, or else expect the Church's CURSE.  
The heavy Doom that waits; for by her Laws  
Your ipso facto Excommunicate.  Tyrcon. 
My Lord, 'tis not a time for these Discourses:  
Though his weak Conscience cannot yet digest  
Such manly Food, we know he's firm to th' Cause;  
Brave! and would freely lose a Life i'th' Quarrel:  
Rather let's think, and, with united Counsels,  
Consider what 've done, and where we are.  Nug. 
Think? What have we to think of? First let's act;  
'Tis time enough to think when that is done:  
'Tis a plain Imposition on our Natives.  
To fall on such unnecessary Work:  
We have an Hundred Thousand Men in Arms;  
None but the wretched Relies of Rebellion,  
That dare withstand us here: Let's o'er to England,  
That golden Land, where Palms and Laurels wait us,  
Delicious Murders, and sweet Massacres:  
Hang, Drown, Stab, Burn, Broil, Eat, Damn our proud Conquerors.  Neag. 
That will do well; 'tis excellently motioned;  
What brave Milesan would not stake his Soul  
On the Design? But first let's clear our own,  
Ere we attempt on others Lands. Those Relies  
You talk of, are like Viper's Spawn, if not  
Crushed speedily, in time they'll grow too sturdy,  
And send their Venom hissing o'er the Island:  
First send fair Words, good Terms, sweet-honied Proffers,  
(Which we know how to keep) clear once the North,  
Derry, and Inniskilling, all's our own:  
Give 'em what Articles they please themselves,  
Promises cost not much; they may believe;  
The English all are kind-believing FOOLS,  
Or now had been our Masters: If this takes,  
We have our Men, and vain Expense of Blood,  
For better Purposes.  1. Irish Lord. 
Would that were over;  
I'd be content, could we secure our own;  
Nor ever much ambitioned Foreign Conquests:  
The English sooner Cheated are, than Beaten;  
We must expect a formidable Army  
Shortly in our Bowels: Though their Hands  
Are raising long, they generally fall heavy.  2. Lord. 
My Lord, I must entirely join with you;  
We own our Safety to their Easiness:  
Had they not kindly thought we would come over,  
And yield the Sword, entreating they'd accept  
That, and our Lives; we scarec had now been talking  
How we should conquer them: And, to say truth,  
That was a Masterpiece of Irish Cunning,  
To drill 'em on with Promises and Oaths  
Of free submission, when they'd please to take it,  
Till we were able to laugh at 'em, and  
Despise their Threaten. I own 'twas justly managed,  
And very pleasantly was that fine Fool  
Entrapped, who promised England such Success,  
Such Mountains of Foreign Hopes from Secret Treaties,  
The end too crowned the Work: When he perceived  
We were not quite so good to keep our Words  
The Generous Fool dispatched himself for Shame,  
To be out-witted by an Irish Man:  
And hearty I wish, as any here,  
The Frolic would go round, till we possessed  
Their Vacant Hives, without the toil of Firing  
The Drones away; (tho' then we lost the Pleasure  
Of Killing, and the Lechery of Murder;)  
But Since they won't go on in a good Work,  
We must take Care to keep secure, by force,  
What we by Art have won; First, clear those Garrisons;  
(Talked of, perhaps, more easily then done;)  
Secure the Country next from Rapparees,  
Who else will soon destroy the breed of Cattle,  
And bring a Famine, spite of all our plenty,  
That done, a Magazeen of Arms sufficient,  
Provision too, against what casually  
May happen, and that certain Desolation  
Armies and War bring with 'em; then we may  
Think on the other Projects.  Prim. 
A Curse on this Lukewarmness, in the Cause,  
It ruins all; Was't not these Noble Lords,  
These Valiant Heroes, who (in Council) pressed  
To have the Prince Proclaimed?  1st. L. 
Yes, and we judged,  
We then had Reason; had not first the King  
Both quitted England, and obliged his Subjects,  
Armies, Commanders, Officers and Garrisons,  
To yield to Orange? Did not a sure Friend  
(As some we still have there) send us a Packet,  
Advising this, and his departure following,  
We knew not where? Should all have been exposed  
To a Headstrong, Wild, Ungovernable Rabble?  Tyrc. 
No more my Lords, the Case is altered since,  
And we have Arms from France, whose generous Prince,  
Delight of all Mankind, with pious Care,  
Our Royal Refuge has welcomed there:  
Strong Succours thence we wait, nor shall we fail,  
The Catholic Cause, with them, must needs prevail;  
The while, my Lords, we all must rest content,  
The Fate of War there's nothing can prevent;  
Disorders make the Soldiers brave and bold,  
You break him if too close the Reins you hold;  
Besides, our Troops on nothing else can live;  
But what our vanquished Slaves Estates can give;  
When they are humbled, and their stock brought low;  
For theirs, we need not doubt, the first will go,  
'Twill then, be time, my Lords! to think on you.  
Be you, and your Estates, our chiefest Care,  
On pain of Death they shall your Fields forbear;  
But first, the Northern Rebels let's subdue,  
At Derry, and at Inniskilling too;  
The First your Lot [to Hamilt.] The Second fall to you, [to Mac.]  Hamilt. 
My Lord I doubt not, speedily to give  
A better Account of them, then ere to England  
Of my Wise Errand hither; nor was aught  
Lost, by my not returning, but my Word,  
A few lose Vows, perhaps an Oath or Two,  
And Airy Honour pawned; let 'em make much on't,  
And seize those precious Pledges for my stay,  
While with this Sword, I th'Obligation pay;  
And hasten to my welcome Charge, away.  Exit Hamilton. Mac. 
I cannot promise much, our Troops are raw,  
Have seen no Enemy, if Disciplined  
For a few Months, yet grown by their late Freedom  
Glaggard and Wild, Unruly, Careless, Vain;  
The Enemy Desperate, Numerous, Firm and Hearty,  
But what I can perform, in Act or Council,  
Whether by Expedition or Surprise,  
If they too heedless, as they often are;  
Or by fair fight, if they stand the Field;  
Or formal Siege, if they still keep the Town,  
I will attempt, and do, if Fate play fair,  
Or leave my Life behind.  Tyrcon. 
We know you Sir,  
Your Courage and your Conduct, take the best  
Of all our Troops; proceed, success attend you,  
While we go order your Dispatch, and send  
Once more to th' Rebels, if fair means avail,  
And save our Troubles, and their own Destruction.  Exeunt Omnes.  

ACT. I. SCENE. II.  [Enter Irish Rabble, Men, Woman and Children; the Men with Swords and Clubs, the Women with Skins, the Children with wooden Swords and Knives. A Piper before 'em (as was their usual Custom) with a Prey of Black and small Cattle, which they had rob the English of.) [1st o'th' Rabble.] 
Rare times, by Saint Patrick; the best that Ireland ever saw, by my Soul Joy; why who would be at the Trouble to raise and breed Cattle of their own, when the Heretic Dogs can do't to our Hands, without any pain?  2.— 
Right Neighbour Teague; and besides they are all our Tenants, not we Theirs; for I heard Father Dominick, our Priest, make a Swear, that this was all our Country, Five Thousand Years before the New-Moon was made, and the English Thiefs never came hither to rob us of our own till the next Year after the Flood was over.  3.— 
Well, See what 'tis to have Learning; they must talk what they will, but if I know any thing, there's ne'er a Clergy, in Christendom to compare with the Irish; only the Truth is, they do lead a stray a Cheese, or a Flitch of Bacon, now and then; and sometimes the Bottle of Vsquebagh straggles after it. But all that's as easily forgiven as they do us, since they have so kindly proved the Lawfulness and Necessity of our plundering the English, their Snacks always reserved and reason good.  4.— 
But to see how stubborn and impudent some of these Protestant Devils are; I went to one of 'em that had been once my Master, (tho' now the Case is altered), and bid him give me a Cow; the impudent Pascal denied it to my Face, which so much provoked me, as well it might, I had stuck my Skene in his Guts, had not some other of his Crew hindered me. who are all since fled together, to the Northern Rebels, where I hope, shortly, to have the hanging of Two or Three Dozen of 'em.  1.— 
They are e'en too kindly used, that makes 'em so malapert, what would they be Angels? Would they have more than their Lives? Unconscionable Dogs; their Brains deserved to be knocked out if 'twere for no other Reason.  2— 
Ay, That's the only way, after all. Ah Neighbours! had you seen, but what I ha' seen; we have made some sport on't formerly, but now this Foolish pity spoils all. If you had but heard how the Heretics yelped, when we burned a Hundred of them in a House together. Oh! I could have humoured it to the Life then; but now I grow hoarse, and have almost forgot it; I remember there was one sprawling Brat, of a Year or Two Old, that the Mother on't, or some body, had thrust out to save its Life; but how we all laughed when one of our Company stuck it a top of his Pike, to see the little Bastard sprawl about with his Legs and Arms, till he pitched it over again into the Fire, and made an end on't.  3.— 
What's that to the Invention of my Old Grandmother, rest her Soul, though her Body was hanged for't: My Father had ripped up Two or Three fat Persons Bellies, and the good saving Creature, finding they tallowed well, took out their Grease, and made Candles of it: But never was a pleasanter sight, than to see how it dripped in the Candlestiks, as if they had been sweeting at it in their Pulpit again.  5— 
That was nothing neither, to what work we made with one of 'em; we ripped up his Belly, and tied one end of his small Guts to a Tree, driving him round till he had pulled 'em all out, and then knocked him o'th' Head, and with our common Farewell, tho' to good for 'em, sent his Soul to the Devil.  2.— 
Ha', ha', ha'! That was pretty well; but I think our Town was even with you; we had killed about Twenty, or some such small Business, of English Whores, and afterwards finding one of their Brats, in a Cradle, bawling for Meat, took it out, and put it to the Breast of the dead Jade his Mother, bidding the young Bastard suck if't had any mind to't, and there left it for the Dogs to eat them together.  4.— 
All in good time, we may yet serve 'em the same sauce. In the mean while, let's be revenged on any thing that belongs to their Country. Their Lubberly Breed of Black-cattles here, what shall we do with 'em all? We'll find some way or other to torment, as well as get rid of 'em, and they'll have little Cause to complain, that are used as well as their Masters.  2.— 
Let's serve 'em as we did the Fellow, I told you of, Tie 'em to a Stake, and cut off pieces of their Flesh alive; by this we shall have the double Pleasure of tormenting 'em, and seeing how finely they'll dance and roar to make us Music.  1.— 
By Saint Pautrick, but that be a very good way, Joy! Agreed; all Hands to work here. What, Do these hang an Arse, and pretend to be Refractory, as well as their Masters? There,— this is fast enough: Come,— First let's have a Song, and then fall on, at the Word of Gommand.  [They Sing an Irish Song, Dancing round a fat English Ox, tied to a Stake; and as soon as that was over, fall all together upon it, cutting out pieces of them alive, and broiling it upon the Coals. In the mean while, a small Party of English, surprise, and fall upon 'em; on which, all the Rabble set up the Irish yell, and run away without striking a stroke.] 1. Englishman. 
A Soul-less heap of Animals! that Nobler Beast  
They here torment, has infinite more Valour,  
Than all their Rascal Nation, piled together.  2.— 
Are these the Champions, these the Stil-Cow Heroes,  
Must Conquer England? Sure 'twould be a Problem  
Well worth resolving; How many of 'em  
Must go to killing one of us: I should  
Be flattered to esteem myself immortal,  
Had I a Lease of Life, till they could take it.  3.— 
Slaves! long-worn Slaves, and Ten times baffled Rebels,  
Were one poor Englishman (designed by Fate,  
By Courage, Earth, and Heaven itself their Master)  
Tied to a Post, as this poor Beast before us,  
Among a Thousand of those Cutthroat Monsters  
Were but his Face uncovered, could they see him  
See but their Master, sure they scarce dared stab him.  
I questioned if the Cowards would not tremble,  
Until their bloody Baggonets forsook  
Their Guilty Hands.  4.— 
No Sir, you are mistaken,  
Then is their very time; or then or never;  
Unless, when loaded with base Multitude;  
And rather pressed to Death, than fairly killed.  
They can't so much as Murder one of ours.  
O they are bold as Lions, rather Wolves,  
When they on helpless Women light, or Children,  
Or Men unarmed, helpless, and weak, as they.  2.— 
But lest we meet, the Fate which oft has happened  
To our brave Countrymen, and fall a Prey,  
Born down and trodden with inglorious Numbers;  
Let's cut our way to Derry, for this part  
O'th' Country's all their own; but there 'tis said  
They stem the Fide, already shut the Gate  
Against their Troops.  1.— 
Fair Fortune still attend 'em,  
And Crown their Courage with well purchased Laurels,  
Whilst to their Succour, and our own we fly,  
And bravely conquer, or as bravely die.  [Exeunt Omnes.]  

ACT I. SCENE III.  Enter Tyrconnel, the Primate, Cashel, Nugent, Neagle. Neag. 
How tame the harmless Sheep conveyed himself  
To a safe Prison! O 'twas a wise Message,  
To ask leave to bestow so large a Kingdom,  
Almost for less than ask. Thoughtless Mountjoy,  
Whose Embassy, no doubt, is kindly taken;  
Thyself for more Magnificence and Grandeur,  
In highest State art lodged at the Bastile.  Tyrc. 
Chief to you we own that piece of Policy,  
Nor shall it fail Reward: He need not fear  
A kind Reception, when so true a Friend  
As Rice goes with him; but we must have News,  
The Wind stands fair from Breast, and they must needs  
Be long ere this arrived.  Cash. 
Sure the very Thoughts of our admired, adored, true Cath. K.  
Thus honouring this loved Country, with his Presence,  
Will make us all invincible.  Prim. 
Then shall the Rebels know what 'tis to affront him;  
'Tis their turn now. The English are the Rebels,  
And we their Rightful, Loyal, conquering Masters.  Tyrc. 
And have a Title that's uncontroverted,  
A Hundred Thousand Men besides the King;  
And who dares call him Rebel that has either  
Of these Two Glorious Helpers to his Cause?  Cash. 
The very Name of one so much beloved,  
So long desired by all our Countrymen,  
And justly, for as much he honours them  
With his kind Thoughts,— his single Name would do,  
Without an Army, and inspire new Courage  
If any wanted it— 'twas he alone,  
Who through the last false dangerous Trimming Reign,  
Screened off the fury of the Rebels from us;  
Got that proud Heretic, imperious Ormond,  
Oftener than once removed. 'Twas he who found  
The Treacherous Essex, who buoyed up the English,  
And their decaying Interests against us.  
He found him out at last, spite of his Policy,  
And did reward him in due time and place.  
— But when kind Fate, or of her own accord;  
Or jogged by some Officious Catholic Hand,  
Broke Charles his Linsy-Woolsey Line of Life,  
When our bright Star ascended his Meridian,  
And shot his Beams from London to our Isle,  
What Loyal Face was seen without a smile?  
Scarce will our Joy, or Juster, be or more,  
When with his Royal Feet, he treads our Shore.  Tyrc. 
Be it our Care, the while t' amuse the People,  
Persuade 'em he's arrived already her;  
This will affright the English, if they'd stir,  
And raise the Courage of our Countrymen.  
Were we not Politicians, things exempt  
From the dull common road of Just and Right,  
In which the World drudge on; yet our Religion  
Permits, nay, does encourage such a Lie  
As serves the Church, and that no doubts wrapped up  
Together, with our Cause, and stands or falls,  
As we do here.  [Enter Servants.] A Courier wants Admittance to your Excellency. Tyrcon. 
Go fetch him in.  Courier. 
These from Versailles, my Lord, some few days since.  [Delivers Letters.] From the King's Royal Hand I did receive 'em. Tyrcon. 
Say, How was his Reception and Attendance  
In that great Court?  Cour. 
Magnificent and Royal;  
Should he return a Conqueror to London,  
Scarce could the Pomp be greater. Guards were sent  
To attend him on the Road; a fair Retinue  
Of young Nobility soon found to wait him:  
And when he came, we scarce knew which was King.  Cash. 
were any Preparations going forward  
For his appearing here?  Cour. 
All that was possible;  
And the Great LEWIS swore to all his Court,  
If any would almost Oblige their Prince,  
'Twould be by waiting on the ROYAL EXILE,  
Venturing their Lives on one joint Stock with HIS.  
A Squadron was equipped at Breast, as I  
Came through the Harbour, all prepared, and ready  
To attend him thither.  Tyrcon. 
His Letter speaks as much; Having read the Pacqu 〈…〉  
Ere this time he's embarked, the Wind stands fair;  
And large Supplies of Money, and of Men,  
Will with him soon be here, (if it were possible)  
To inspire more Life into our vigorous Cause.  Nug. 
And shall we be too merciful and tender,  
And ruin all again, as once before?  Prim. 
Then we deserve to fall unpitied too,  
Pointed and laughed by each zealous Catholic,  
The Scorn of every Heretic in Europe:  
No; had good Counsel been but followed, when  
We last appeared for the same noble Cause.  
Had those who safely then advised Kill All.  
Been harkened to, we'd long ere this been Masters,  
And Ireland full as Catholic as Spain.  
But O this easy, foolish, cruel Pity!  
This Ague of Mankind, far worse than Fear!  
This Palsy of the Soul, which makes it tremble,  
When ought thats Daring calls it out to act!  
Others there were, forsooth, for gentler Methods  
For Speeding; none but such as die resist:  
And thus the Matter hung, till 'twas resolved  
All should be left at liberty; Or kill,  
Or save alive, as Bravery or Weakness  
Should prompt 'em; and we since have felt the Event;  
We did Our Business by not doing Theirs:  
The safer wiser, much more Catholic Way,  
Had been on highest pain of Church's Thunder,  
Incurring greater Excommunication  
As after; though too late we did at James-Town,  
And soon blew Mighty Ormond from the Kingdom;  
Nor valued his Commission from his Master,  
Since both were Heretics: On all the Pains  
Of this and t'other World, (for both do well together)  
To have forbid all Quarter; Children, Women,  
And all their cursed Brood one Sacrifice.  
We now have one Throw more; if that we lose,  
Farewell for ever.  Neag. 
Stay for the Bear's Skin;  
Secure the Dam, or we ne'er get the Cubs:  
Derry and Inniskilling once our own,  
All is so; then we may have all our Wishes.  
(Enter Courier.) Here comes a Face of News; let's have it speedily.  Cour. 
The King is safely landed at Kingsale,  
And comes directly hither: All the Country  
Roll after him: We ne'er could want Arms,  
Had we none Listed.  Tyrcon. 
Ring the Bells; let Bonfires,  
Illuminations, all the Expressions possible  
Of Joy be made; the Conduit fill with Claret,  
(Another Liquor, though of the same Colour  
Much nobler were) Draw up the the Guards in readiness;  
Let th' Aldermen be ready in their Robes.  Cour. 
'Tis done already; all is freely done,  
And more, as I came by and told the News:  
For very Joy, the English Dogs are plundered  
Of all they have; their Houses Bonfires made;  
Well if they 'scape Themselves.  Prim. 
'Tis rarely well— O this dear pious Rabble!  
Honest  People! How I love 'em!  
My very Soul seems of a piece with theirs:  
Here's no Dissimulation; that I hate;  
No mincing o'er the Business; but plaindealing,  
Without the cursed Disguise of Policy,  
The odious lukewarm Temper dresses in.  Cour. 
As he in highest Pomp passed through Killkenny,  
The Elegant Recorder made a Speech,  
Which Tully could not mend; scarce equal it:  
I have a Copy here.  Cash. 
Let's see it immediately.  Cashel Reads. 
May it please Your most sacred Majesty,  
If ever Rain was welcome to the thirsty Earth, the Sun to frozen Greenland, or Bonny-clabber to the gaping Jaws of an hungry Irishman, your Majesty is welcome, trebly welcome, to this your LOYAL Kingdom. 'Twould be time vainly spent, to inform a Person so well read, so deeply skilled in Books and History, as your Majesty, how many thousand thousand Years your Majesty's Royal Ancestors have Swayed the Sceptre of this Blessed Island. In the thirty three thousandth Year, it was precisely of Plato's great Circle, when your Progenitors first landed here, as we find attested in the most Authentic Chronicles of this our ancient Nation: Nor was it many Thousands after, ere we made a Descent into Scotland, routed the heretical Kirk there, planted by Cain's great Grandson, and established the primitive Catholic Religion, which has remained unto this day, among the civil Highlanders there, as well as in this your no less Accomplished Kingdom. We must take leave to protest, We can hardly be sorry that the rebellious Heretics of your Neighbour-Nation, have given us so splendid an occasion of letting your Majesty see our Loyalty, and they feel our our Valour. Now is the time, or very near is it approaching, when your rebellious Exeter, your fanatical Bristol, your treacherous York, and your ungrateful London, and all the other little Hamlets there, shall fly before the conquering Arms of your Loyal Dublin, and ever-renowned Kilkenny, when in the midst of the loud Acclamations of the heroical Irish, and Curses of your groveling Rebels, we re-seat you in the ancient Throne, with as much Glory as ever you left it.  Dixi. Prim. 
Who now dares say our Countrymen are Blockheads?  
Here is a Speech almost worth Paradise.  Turning to Nugent. 
Scace that, my Lord, you spoke at Council- Table,  
When one of our Ambassadors at London,  
So highly admired, that as I oft have heard,  
The very Boys, though Spawn of Heretics,  
Ran by your Coach, and clapped you as you went;  
Scarce that could this exceed.  Nugent. 
My Lord I own it:  
And more, he has himself outdone, as well  
As we; and were it possible, done right  
Unto the great Occasion.  Tyrcon. 
've now to time to spend in such Discourses;  
The King himself in a few hours sees Dublin:  
Each moment I expect a Post from the North;  
And could we but present him with the News,  
As I much hope, that those two stubborn Towns,  
Are in our hands, 'twould be a grateful Welcome.  Nug. 
More grateful News that Messenger would tell,  
Who brought Advice,  
That they and all within 'em sunk to Hell.    


ACT II. SCENE I. INNISKILLING.  Enter the Governor, two Colonels, Captains, etc. Governor. 
NOw for our Honour, Country, and our Lives,  
And more than all, the Protestant Religion.  
All beckon out the brave— this World and tother,  
Courage and Nature, all that's dear and sacred,  
Both warrant and oblige Resistance here.  
Be Slaves to th' Irish, such as have been ours,  
Almost beyond the reach of Chronicle;  
So long till 'tis at last as much their Nature,  
As Falsehood, Cowardice and Cruelty!  
So long, they dare not sure be otherwise;  
And 'twas indeed their choice, their backs were made for't,  
Their Souls just of a size and bore that spoke 'em  
What they have spoke themselves— yet when we found 'em,  
(Called over by themselves under our Henry)  
Bruitishly base as Nature made or Hell  
Reformed 'em, sunk in sins too black to name,  
Murders as common as Adulteries,  
Incests or Rapes— no sense of just or right,  
No Law, no Faith, no Truth, no Manners left.  
When thus we found 'em, only at first content  
With some few Castles there, we those relieved,  
Who begged our aid, and peaceably still lived,  
Till what so fair we bought they'd have retain:  
With Treachery, Perjury, Bloodshed, they began,  
Nor have degenerated— when our own Defence  
Forced us to Arms, when Strong bow, Courcy, Lacie,  
(Only two mighty Names) i'th' Chance of War,  
Obtained whole Counties from 'em, or indeed  
From Wolves and Bogs, and Fastnesses and Woods;  
And our great Henry with a Royal Army  
The Conquest perfected— we found 'em savage,  
But left 'em Men— or would at least have done it,  
Had they consented, as they feigned to do.  
They flunk and ran, and truckled to their conqueror,  
They kneeled, and crouched, and fawned, and licked his Feet.  
He gave 'em Life, and more, he gave 'em Laws,  
Redeemed 'em from themselves and one another,  
Whose only rule before was Brutal Force,  
And when they all had sworn perpetual Fealty,  
Restored their Country better than before.  1. Coll. 
Oft have we read the Story, oft have wondered  
At this repeated Treachery and Blood;  
Until so oft repeated, 'twas no wonder  
They never injured us, but when we trusted  
To their good Nature, Vows, or slight-spun Oaths,  
Snapped easily as weak Arachne's thread.  2. Coll. 
'Tis hard that these at last must be our Masters—  
Nor shall they be, while we have Hands or Swords,  
Nay, Teeth or Nails— (weapons to fight with Beasts)  
O 'tis transporting Pleasure thus to die,  
Rather than live Slaves to the insulting Irish.  Governor. 
Live Slaves to th' Irish! if some Angel bid us,  
I should make bold to question his Commission;  
Whom by so many hundred Skirmishes,  
So many Battles and almost new Conquests,  
After their vain, their fruitless kind Rebellions,  
By which their Title they so justly lost  
To what remained— whom we so oft have broke,  
And trod their stubborn necks so oft in dust  
At vast expense of English Coin and Blood,  
Infinitely more than e'er the Island's worth,  
— Yet still our fatal Goodness ruin'd all,  
Forgiving faster than they could offend,  
Till now we feel our Kindness and their Gratitude,  
Almost too late—  1 Coll. 
And yet 'tis not so strange for Brutes to act  
As Nature prompts 'em, by't, and snarl, and struggle,  
And gnaw their Chain— but that a humane Creature,  
A Man should brutify so much,  
To learn their Manners, eat and drink like they,  
And yell, and rove, and sport, nay couple with 'em,  
Till they descend, and creep in the same manner;  
'Tis strange indeed— Yet thus and worse do those  
Who have so long been conversant among 'em,  
Till what by Meetings, Intermarriages  
And Gossip, they grow as errand Irish,  
Stark brutish, mad, wild things as ever howled  
O'er a dead Carcase— For the Wolves and they  
With the same Order, selfsame Ceremony  
And Note, and Tune, over the Dead lament.  Governor. 
What Death, what Punishment is equal to  
This Sin, this Crime, this worse than bestiality?  
— But 'tis too soon or late for such a Question,  
This one effort they make, and have pushed home,  
To clear the land of their not wished Instructors,  
And be as barbarous as they were before.  
If this they gain not, they are lost for ever,  
If this we gain, henceforth 'tis ours for ever.  
'Tis true, there's little left, but that's worth keeping.  
England is still our own, and that brave Prince  
Who holds the Crown with strong and rightful hand,  
Will not forsake our Interest and his own.  
Then happy they who bravely stem the Wave,  
Till he holds out his Hand our sinking Bark to save.  2. Coll. 
We shall have Storms— the Sea works hard and loud,  
The gathering Floods look big, and scowl along  
Rolling far off— from all hands 've advice  
Macarty with the Flower of all their Forces  
Approaches hither, and has vowed to lay  
His Bones here, or subdue us.  Governor. 
That may be—  
For he has Honour, and 'tis not unlikely,  
He will do one or t'other— which o'th' two  
Lies yet in Fates dark womb— Do Heaven its pleasure;  
Let's act like Men, and either live or die so.  2. Coll. 
They say indeed that Gentleman you named  
Is a mere Prodigy of an Irish man,  
A stranger thing than Toad or Serpent were,  
That he's both brave and honest in despite  
Of his cursed Country, and as cursed Religion.  
And his good natural temper has worked out  
The Venom of 'em both— In brief he wants  
Only a better Cause and better Master:  
Grant him but that and better Soldiers too,  
I'd not desire a braver Enemy.  
Captain. What e'er he is, you'll have him quickly here,  
As o'er the Neighbouring Hills I scoured this Morn,  
We saw some Troops, which sure could be no other  
Than advanced Guards to his Army.  Governor. 
When he please—  
We would not willingly be unprepared  
Of kind reception for so great a Stranger.  
— Go draw your Forces up under the Walls,  
We'll meet, not wait 'em— Captain! be't your care  
With a smart flying Party to discover  
Once more what Face they bear, and of what number;  
(Tho' that's the least, we'll fight 'em, though a Million)  
Beware of Ambushes, the Graves o'th' English,  
Which there have buried ten times more than e'er  
They in fair Battle lost.— Each Man to his Charge.  Exeunt Omnes  

ACT II. SCENE II. MACARTY's Camp.  Enter Macarty, Officers, Soldiers,— Exercising. Macarty. 
ARe these the Men designed to conquer Kingdoms?  
The miserable Props of bleeding Ireland:  
Simplicity and Cowardice mixed in  
Such just proportion, none knows which surpasses.  
Why must I blame my Countrymen, yet why  
Do they deserve ' t?— Were any Cause besides  
My King's concerned, I'd never trust myself  
At the Head of 'em— These the best, culled Men!  
Sure they ne'er handled Musket, Pike or Sword  
Before this Expedition— Let's however  
See what we must expect— Sergeant, draw out  
A File or two, and exercise 'em here.  The Officer draws 'em out, and after the other usual words of Command, bids 'em 
Face to the Right!  They all fall into Confusion, some facing one way, some tother. Macarty. 
O stupid, worse than Beasts— I'll teach my Horse  
What is too high for them!  Officer sets 'em in order again, and then Commands. 
To the left!  They fall into the same Confusion they were in before. Macarty. 
I never knew 'em constant but in Mischief,  
And there they never fail—  Once more they are reduced, and the Word given. 
To the left about!  They all throw down their Arms and run quite away. Macarty. 
There only did they not at all deceive  
My Expectations— Shall I rave or pity 'em?  
Are these fit men to face well-ordered Troops,  
Fleshed with Success and a long Train of Victories?  
Well Gentlemen,— We must be Sacrificed,  
And that's the worst— We die for a good Master,  
For such we ever ought to think our King;  
But yet I can't without regret resign  
A Life which might with yours have done some Service,  
If not Encumbered with a useless Rabble  
Miscall'd an Army.  1. Officer. 
'twas perhaps chance,  
Those Raw, Rude-Fellows lately were drawn out,  
The others sure are better,— 'Tis impossible  
They should be all so.  Macarty. 
One and all I fear,  
However, order forth another Party,  
And see what they'll do.  The Officer draws out others— Gives the words— They do all well enough till he bids 'em Fire,— one half never does it at all, the other one after another, and most of them wink, and shoot just in one another's Faces,— at which concluding themselves killed, one part drops down, and t'other runs away. Macarty. 
The very Emblem of a Battle this!  
And this I expect— they ne'er shall cheat me more.  2. Officer. 
Tho' they are somewhat inexpert, my Lord,  
They may be brave and faithful when they meet  
The Enemy— whom yet they never saw.  
There stands a little Castle not far off,  
Man'd by some fifty Foot— 'tis Old and Weak,  
've little Ammunition— If on this  
We fleshed 'em, 'twouldwou'd do well, they'd rouse their Courage,  
Which yet has drowsy lain for want of Action.  Macarty. 
Tho' but too easily I guess th' Event,  
I'll not forebode— and seeing fight we must,  
As good begin— Detach 500 Foot,  
A Company of Granadeer may join 'em;  
Sure those will carry't, or the Army won't.  
Mean time the rest to Council to resolve,  
How we must manage this unlucky business,  
And where to most advantage aly our Bones.  Exeunt Omnes  

ACT II. SCENE III.  Enter 3 or 4 Soldiers— Mac-Shane, O Donnel, Teigue, etc. Teigue. 
BY my Shoul now if ever poor Teigue saw the like in my Life. Why my Gossip tied a Red Ribon about my left hand that I might be sure to know it from my right,— and the Ugly-Dog Rogue of an English Sergeant bid me turn to the Right, and put me quite out.  Mac-Shane. 
But was ned mine Stranger than that too?— may they maak hang upon my Mother's Son if I did did not turn the same way both times, and yet the Churl said I was right the first, and wrong the second time.  O Donnel. 
And when he bid us Face about, I thought t'had been to charge the Enemy— so daring not be out of my Ranks at such a dangerous time, ran back again to the main Body whence I was drawn.  Teigue. 
Upon my Shaulvaashion but so did we too— but had the Rebels been coming in earnest— we'd have cut the pitiful Rascals all to pieces.— So, so,— Teigue would have ripped up the Guts of the Heretics.—  Pulls out his Sword and Fences in the Air. 
So he would have out his Head off.— and just so,—  Clubs his Musket. 
Just so when he cry for mercy— No English Dog you— I'll knock out your Brains.  While they are Vaporing and Laughing, Enter the Detachment that went to Storm the Castle, beat in by the English, who Sallied upon 'em.] Officer. 
They Fought like Devils, and Ours not like men;  
Like Women, nay a Child, an English Boy  
Might kill 'em had he but the strength, for they  
Make no resistance— once more if you're men  
Stand and save all— do but look back and see  
Your Enemy.—  [The English Enter. The Officer and several Soldiers fall. O Donnel tumbles among the Slain, and pretends himself Dead. Mac Shane creeps into a Bush, and Teigue being the nimblest Footman, runs away (the English following the Chase,) and Reenters breathless at the Generals Tent. Enter Macarty, Officers, Teigue looking fearfully over his Shoulder.— Teigue. 
O Sir— my Lord— we're lost— St. Patrick save us!  
The Army— oh— the English Army.  Macarty. 
What of them Coward? are they more than men?  Teigue. 
Than men Sir— O yes Sir— They have every one of 'em Eyes as big as Saucers, and spit Fire like Dragons— twenty thousand, O they're here just at the Door, and I'm Dead.  Macarty. 
What are they come Incognito?— We must have seen or heard some News what ever ' 'tis.  Captain. 
Go bid my Regiment advance.  Captain. 
They're here— and even just there's the Enemy.  Enter the English, beating in the Irish— Macarty. 
Is this the dreadful Army? one poor Company!  
Well-charge 'em— See if they are all immortal.  They Charge the English, who still Fight retreat in good Order, till they regain their Fort. Macarty. 
Farewell Temper! 'Tis beyond the Patience  
Not only of a Soldier but a Saint  
Patrick himself, of whom our holy Friars  
Tell us such holy Lies, would swear to see it;  
This half a-handfull to outbrave our Army!  
Come on, go off, beat, kill, do what they please!—  
O Fate— thou'st cheated me— sure I was mouldy,  
To lead such men as those who Conquer mine,  
Yes rather had I head one single Troop  
Of such as they, than all this Soulless rout!  
This Pageant of a War— this Pasteboard Army,  
Scarce those in musty Arras wove look worse,  
Or stand more patiented to be cut in pieces:  
No, there I wronged 'em first— they will not stand,  
So fast they run, that Death can scarce o'ertake 'em,  
Almost outstrip a Bullet in his March,  
With Fate and Vengeance winged and red Destruction.  
Why must I bear so many thousand Deaths,  
Before the last kind true one gives me Ease,  
And sends this rage and shame a passage hence,  
Quite crusted round my heart— I'll stay no longer,  
If there's a Purgatory sure 'tis here,  
Quick, quick, I'll through it all and reach my Heaven,  To the Officers. 
Go bid the Army March, if they'll obey you,  
Mistake not wilfully and run away,  
I'll be for Inniskilling or my Tomb;  
— Here call a Drummer,— Speed him quickly thither,  
Carry this Summons to the Governor,  
Were not my Sovereign's Honour in't concerned,  
Shame would not let me make a proposition  
To such as those, to yield to such as ours.  
This will, unless I much mistake his temper,  
Quickly bring him, and Victory or Death,  
Either of which would be so welcome now,  
I scarce know which to choose.  As the Drummer is going out, Enter one from the Outguards. Soldier. 
My Lord, we saw the Enemy advancing  
On yonder Hill,— and move so fast they must  
Be very soon upon us.  Macarty. 
Labour saved—  
I see there's men of Honour and Civility.  
've yet as much advantage as we'd wish for,  
There's not a better spot of Ground in Europe  
To cool their Courage,— On this little rise  
We'll place our Canon, and our last Reserve.  (Speaks to an Officer.) 
You Colonel, Take the Horse, and keep the Causeway,  
Between the Bogs— And you the Foot dispose  (Speaks to another.) 
On either Wing,— Thus planted if they will  
But hold their Swords before 'em, 'tis impossible  
To lose at least:— And when their Troops are tired,  
We may at pleasure fall upon and break 'em,  
And once bid fair for Fame.—  [Exeunt Officers.] 
Tho' yet I hope not—  
Not hope it,— Yes, the man who bravely dies,  
In the discharge of whatsoever Post  
He's fixed at, Fames his everlasting portion  
What e'er he lose, then let's be all— Macarty.  
— My Soul my thinks expands its self, and greatens  
With prospect of near Immortality.  
Look down you Holy Forms! who reign above  
Where no Contentions dwell, but those of Love.  
You Saints, you Heroes all, of whom we're told  
You flourished here,— And might perhaps of old!  
If 'ere Macarty did an act was base,  
Dart all your Thunders in his perjured Face;  
But if he Virtue and fair Fame pursued,  
And Ill ne'er chose, unless i'th' shape of Good:  
If ne'er, unless deceived, his Sword was known  
To own a Cause which you would blush to own;  
Then either aid him with success to day,  
Or take at once his Shame and Life away.  
His Soul, a Stranger there, a place provide  
Among those shining few who bravely died;  
Open the Gates, and your kind arms prepare,  
They come, they come, you soon will find him there.  Exit to the Battle.  

ACT II. SCENE IU.  Both Armies, the Irish as before, the English advancing up to the Causeway— the Canon's play, Trumpets, Drums, Fifes sounding. Governor. 
THere's the Enemy!—  Colonel. 
Enough— there needs no Word—  The English fall on desperately at the Causeway— the Irish receive 'em, and a warm dispute follows. 
Macarty from the Hill.  
They stand! they stand!— Nor yet— nay then I'll hope—  
And if they run not, now e'en beg their Pardon,  
And give myself the Lie— There is no way for Foot,  
Those Bogs are inaccessible— Let's bring  
The Canon once to bear, the Day's our own.  
Governor to his Soldiers.  
How Gentlemen— not Conquer? These are Irish,  
All errand Irish— whom as oft 've baffled  
As seen— I know you'll beat, but what's the Reason  
You stay so long?— Charge home with the Pikes,  
Now— Now or Never—  The Foot receive all the Enemy's Fire, and pass the Bogs to meet 'em, who on the Inniskilling men's first Fire retreat in Disorder. Governor. 
St. George! 've passed the Bogs— they run, they run,  
And these too bend—  Macarty. 
A whole half-hour— 'tis fair,  
And more than I in Conscience could expect.  Colonel. 
I'll charge myself— the Battle totters,  
These may restored—  To a Colonel and Officers about him. Coll. 
We wait you with our Lives— if not too late,  
For the Horse break— and see my Lord— the Devils  
Come rolling on in Smoak, and Fire, and Blood,  
We yet may fly—  Macarty. 
When dead if I get off  
That's soon enough— come follow you that Love  
Your King or me—  They endeavour to rally the broken Army, the English come on, take the Cannon, and turn it on the Irish; some throw themselves into the Bogg, and are knocked on the Head there; others ask Quarter, and throw down their Arms, etc. Macarty. 
Rally behind me— once— stand once— but till  
I've met the Torrent— and then run to Perdition—  Coll. 
'Tis vain— they are as deaf as fight Winds,  
A Drove of Sheep as soon will stop their running,  
When one leaps first— The Torrent bears us down,  
And hurrys us too with 'em to the Wood  
All's lost— yet will your Lordship save yourself?  Macarty. 
For what— or where— this Army was my Life,  
My Spirits— my Blood— 'tis lost, and I'm dead with it,  
Let's turn and fall like what 've lived.  Coll. 
We cannot,—  
Unless we over them or under pass;  
And see— already to the Wood we're born,  
Driven with the edge of the Multitude  
Out of the Tide of Death—  Macarty. 
Then let's return to't,  
Now 'tis worth stemming— I have lived too long  
By half an hour.  Officers. 
We'll follow and die with you.  They make up to a Party of the Inniskilling- men, at whom Macarty discharges his Pistol, at which they all fire at him, and shoot him down; a Soldier comes up, and Clubs his Musket to knock out his Brains. Macarty. 
They have done kindly, but thou'lt yet do better,  
Quick— kill me Villain— or I'll rise and kill thee.  Irish Officers. 
Macarty!  English Capt. 
Spare his Life! and 'tis a noble Prisoner!  
Give him fair usage, though you keep him safe.  Macarty. 
O cruel Wretches— now I'll call you base  
Cowards— to take a shot and not return it.  
Lose my Arm— yet— you shall have t'other— No  
I need you not—  Drops into a swound with his Wounds, they carry him off, and the Scene closes.   


ACT III. SCENE III. .  Enter Governor, three Colonels, Captains, etc. Governor. 
'TWas a bold Act, but just and necessary,  
Which made us Masters of our Lives and Derry.  
'Tis now too late to shrink, and who would do't,  
Tho' 'ttwere not so? We yet are strong enough,  
Althô almost on every side betrayed,  
Bandon, Dungannon, quitted all and lost,  
Our Passes forced merely for want of fight,  
Relief refused, when half within our Walls.  
The English Troops, Provision, Ammunition,  
And all our most experienced Officers,  
All gone, and little left but Walls and Hearts,  
Yet hold they fast, and favour us kind Heaven,  
We need not yet despair— A happy riddance  
Of some 've made, whose Presence if still with us  
Had done more harm than good: We have Provisions,  
And while the country's clear may yet bring more;  
A Garrison, strong, numerous, and vigorous;  
've newly sent again for aid to England,  
If we succeed, History will record  
Our Actions louder than Ostend or Troy;  
And if we fall, never a braver Cause,  
Nor can it more be worth the while to die.  1. Colonel. 
The Enemy apace are drawing hither,  
Headed by Hamilton, who falsified  
His Word and Trust with England— they are numerous,  
But yet all Irish, save some Officers  
Sent o'er from France, both Nations we have conquered,  
And may again— unless by Famine pressed,  
More than the Enemy— which, to avoid,  
'tTwere necessary every private House  
Were searched immediately, and all things brought  
To th' general Magazine, thence given out  
By just proportion as our number is.  Governor. 
You Counsel well— about it instantly;  
But what's of more concern, if possible,  
Than that itself,— Let's all promote a Union  
In different Parties here— if that once break,  
We're lost inevitably, and become  
The scorn and triumph of our Enemies.  
What was't destroyed the famed Jerusalem,  
But Faction within, more deadly and more fatal  
Than all the Roman Army at the Gates?  
And battered down their Walls with more success  
Within, than did the Engines from abroad.  2. Coll. 
So well I hope our Interest is seen,  
That though their Heads being gone, most left behind  
Seem little better than a Rabble now;  
Yet even they can Feel as well as others,  
Tho' not much used to think— Besides 've Officers  
Remaining still behind, as brave as those  
Who quitted Derry, and as signalised  
In bold Defence o'th' English Interest here;  
These have the Hearts of all the common sort,  
And both would rather Die, nay, Starve, than yield;  
They'd make it Death to think as well as speak on't,  
Could one as well as t'other be discovered.  3. Coll. 
Already their Fidelity 've tried,  
And quickly shall their Valour, though oppressed  
With numbers at the Fords, and wanting all  
Was necessary for their own Defence:  
But now they're satisfied their Leaders are  
Firm as themselves, ready to share their danger.  
In a few hours we easily shall guests  
Their future Carriage, for the Enemy  
Comes on a pace, already part encamped  
Upon the neighbouring Hills— the whole consists  
Of twenty-thousand men effectively;  
The best of bad, culled out of all the rest,  
Canon they have, and Bombs and Engineers,  
We must expect smart Entertainment with 'em.  Governor. 
Let's to the Walls, and see what Face they bear,  
Tho' probaby we shortly may meet nearer.  Exeunt omnes.  

SCENE II. The Irish CAMP,— and General's Tent.  Hamilton, Mamow, Pusignan, Clancarty, Butler, Fitzgerald, and other Officers. Hamilton. 
WHat mean these sturdy Rebels, that they yet  
Delay surrendering? Can they think to stand  
Our Royal Army? will those ragged Walls  
Which scarce will bear the shock of their own Canon,  
How then of ours, secure 'em from our Arms?  Mamow. 
Begar me vill batter 'em down with 1, 2, 3, Potgun.  
Vat the Diable do they mean? do they not know  
My great Maistre send his Lieutenant General Mamow  
To pull down all de Walls, and burn, kill, kill,  
De Man, Woman, and shucking Shield dat fight vid his  
Brother King of England?  Fitzgerald. 
They only kindly stay till we attack 'em,  
That we may have the pleasure  
Of Military Execution on 'em;  
For 'tis impossible they should sustain  
The least assault of such a puissant Army.  Butler. 
Perhaps they question if we're yet in earnest;  
Were but a Battery raised, and some few Bombs  
Thrown in, 'twould make 'em tremble and submit,  
If not infatuated.  Hamilton. 
The Experiment is quickly tried upon 'em:  
Call th' Engineers, and let some shot be played  
Against the Market-house— perhaps 'twill stagger 'em,  
To see the Stones rattle about their Ears.  Clancarty. 
A tedious way— and were't not far more brave  
To scale it instantly, and put to th' Sword  
whoever resist? I'd be the first should lead 'em.  Hamilton. 
My Lord, none e'er could doubt Clancarty's Valour,  
But the King's Subjects must not be exposed  
To causeless hazards— time enough for that  
If this succeed not— as I'd hope it may;  
— For see— already they set open the Gates,  
And hurry in disorder hitherward;  
Their wisest way, to yield upon Discretion.  Butler. 
They rather seem to bear the face of Men  
Desperately bend to ruin— see already  
They charge our careless Outguards, and have beat 'em  
Home to the Trenches.  Hamilton. 
They are Impudent—  
But shall be cooler— To your Charges straight;  
Draw out a Party of Horse and face the Rebels;  
Remember 'tis the first Attempt, on that  
May very much of our Success depend.  Fitz-girald. 
've taken a long Sally from their Town,  
Nor shall return in haste—  Exeunt omnes. Enter a Party of the Derry men. Colonels, Captains, etc. Colonel. 
So— we begin to rouse 'em— who would think  
To see how briskly they at first advance;  
They were resolved to play an Irish-trick,  
And run away; but that 'tis the Beast's Nature,  
Since one o'th' two must run, he'll be so civil  
To save the other side the Labour.  Enter Irish, Mamow, Fitz girald, etc. Fitz-girald. 
Yield Rebels!  Colonel. 
Yes!—  Shoots him dead, the Parties join, the English beat the Irish off, and fight behind the Scenes.  

SCENE III. Derry.  Enter Governor; to him a Captain from the Field. Captain, 
'Twas a tough bout—, the Irish cheated us  
And fought awhile like men.  Governor. 
We from the Walls  
Could not distinctly see what happened there.  Captain. 
From the brave Colonel I'm sent on purpose,  
Who charged i'th' head o'th' Horse to give account  
Of this days action—, who is now retired  
Under the Walls where still he'll face the Enemy.  Governor. 
Cure my impatience quick, and let me hear't.  Captain. 
He in two Squadrons first the Horse divides  
The Enemy did the same; they met us briskly,  
And head to head we fought, and breast to breast;  
No way appeared but through, or o'er each other  
Each close t'his Friend, as close t'his Enemy,  
Two Iron Bodies hacking one another  
As Smiths on Anvils beat— while smoke and Fire  
And sparks as thick as theirs flew from each Helmet,  
Long thus we tugged till our impatient Colonel  
Grown angry beyond sufferance when they grew  
Unconscionably tedious  they ran,  
With his broad Sword clove one o'th' foremost down  
Almost to th' Girdle-sted, then should'ring in  
Charged through the whole Brigade—, we followed him  
And gleaned the Deaths behind him. Twice he met  
And hand to hand grappled their bold Commander  
The French Mamau, who fought and cursed as hearty  
As possible—, as oft again was sundered  
By droves of either Party rushing in  
Betwixt their lifted Swords— the third wished time  
They met, and Monsieur at the first Encounter  
Fell dead, blaspheming on the dusty plain  
And dying bit the ground—. His Brother came  
Madder than he and swore a quick Revenge  
Or else to follow him—, he had the last  
From the same hand, who sent him grovelling after  
On the same spot, so soon, their Souls and blood  
Met as they parted, these upon the Sand,  
And those i'th' airy regions—. All the rest  
Were fairly following them—, till a new party  
Came from the Camp, who with their very weight  
Forced a Retreat—, they eagerly pressed on  
And met their Fate behind, our Foot stood ready  
Who all the Ditches lined, and gave 'em such  
Warm Entertainment very few returned  
To tell the News—. At least two hundred left  
Upon the spot, their Standard we have won  
And store of spoil, nor lost above some Ten  
In all the Action.  Governor. 
Like true Britain's done  
— And see they here return loaden with spoils  
And fairly purchase Laurels—.— Welcome here  Enter from the Walls, the Colonel, Officers, Soldiers, etc. 
Thrice welcome to my Breast! dread Sons of War  
My Heart beats quick, and something feels abroad  
Kin to its own—, 'twould fain get out and meet it  
O how I envy you so great an Action  
(Or were you any else should envy you)  
've let 'em know what they must look for from Derry  
What Edge your Courages and Swords do bear.  [Embraces the Colonel, &c] Colonel. 
've bid them welcome— somewhat hearty  
And as they like it, let 'em come again  
Tho' they'll perhaps be wiser—.  Governor. 
No they will not  
We certainly shall have 'em quickly with us  
Rashness and Cowardice make up their Nature,  
Prompt to attempt, mad, eager on destruction  
Like other Beasts they'll run on Sword and Fire.  
The Boars will stake themselves, hold but the Spear  
Direct against 'em—, but when once they feel  
The warm blood trickle down and slain the Earth  
Unlike a generous Beast, like Curs they whine  
Clap up their Tails and run, nor will they stop  
Till death reach them, or they some place of safety.  
— Howe'er we are prepared—, fresh men to th' Walls  
I'll speed away, and others to the works:  
While all your honourable wounds are dressed,  
And you from your long Toil and Labours rest.  Exeunt omnes.  

SCENE IU. The Irish Camp.  Enter Hamilton, Butler, Clancarty, Talbot, Nettervile, etc. Hamilton. 
Well—, 'tis the chance of War— always unequal,  
Sometimes they must suffer—, but Revenge  
Sweet dear Revenge will soon set all things right  
And almost make 'em live again— we must  
Repay their visit, home and speedily.  Col. Talbot. 
If there be God or Devil, let both stand Neuter  
Or side with Rebels now as oft before  
'Tis the same thing—, I neither fear their Anger  
Nor hope their Aid—, this sword and Arm's my God  
I have and do Decree to Conquer them.  Hamilton. 
Still wicked Will! But yet he's resolute  
And firm to th' Cause—, small faults are soon passed over.  
But 've no room for talk—, swift action calls  
The English will be here with strong Relief  
Unless we're speedy—, Let's with Expedition  
The Life of every noble Enterprise.  
Begin th' attaque upon their Lines, Works, Town.  
Last time they met you unprovided, now  
Prepared you come they ne'er can think to stand.  Butler, 
What men can do, resolved to beat or die  
What Loyal Subjects against hated Rebels,  
And Catholics against a faithless Crew  
Of cursed Heretical Dogs, we promise, swear,  
And Vow, ne'er to return unless with Conquest.  Hamilton, 
Success attend you, equal to your valour.  Exeunt Omnes.  

SCENE. V Derry. The Walls.  Governor, Several Captains, Officers, etc. Govern. 
I find I took 'em right, the Camps in motion  
And some great thing in hand, see, there they come  
And swarm along as if they'd cover us,  
Three parties Horse, two other Foot appear.  
Captain; I need not order you to your charges  
Who are already eager to be there.  1 Capt. 
The Feasts so good there needs small invitation.  
Wer'e gone—  Exeunt Omnes. Manent Governor and a Colonel. Govern. 
Hark— from the Irish Camp a dismal yell  
Loud as the Midnight Wolves when met in Troops  
To assault the Folds, their parties are come up,  
The Horse have topped our Line, with loud Huzza's  
And Faggots all before 'em.  Col. 
Trust their welcome.  
See, are our men behind hand in returns  
They scorn to keep the Forts, but meet them fairly  
Tho' theirs the disadvantage, on the Strand.  
See how they mow 'em! Sure they are grown hoarse  
We here no more Huzzahs. Pikes, Muskets, Scytheses  
Have spoiled their Music.— Into th● Lough they run,  
And by one Death another vainly shun.  Governor. 
Who should that be that fights when all the rest  
Are broke and shattered—; I could wish his Life  
He is so brave  Colonel. 
Unless my Eyes mistake  
As easily they may at such a distance  
'Tis young Montgarret—, see— his Horse is killed  
And he takes Quarter—, all his Party routed.  Gou. 
'Tis well—, where are the rest—? ha'— at what distance,  
How reverendly the Cowards gaze upon  
Their Fellows Fate—, the other two bold Squadrons  
Who with thick bellow lately tore the Air  
Stand still as Statues.  Colonel. 
But their Foot come on  
And warmly too—, those Granadeer fight well  
Ours bend a little—  Gou. 
Haste your Regiment  
To their Relief.  Colonel. 
The work is done without it  
've beat 'em off—, and fire still on their Rear.  
— Ha! are they immortal— that none drop,  
With all our Shot?  Gou. 
O! Pleasant Cowards—, see how witty Fear is!  
As they go off they bear the dead behind 'em  
Who do more service now than while alive  
And guard the rest from all our shot secure.  
— But ours return, and almost every man  
His Prisoner brings.  Enter the Derry Men, with Talbot, Nettervile, Butler, etc. Prisoners. Governor. 
To the Prisoners.  
Gentlemen— 'tis the Fate of War—, we use not  
What  your Countrymen return us for it,  
To violate our Word and Quarter given.  
— To the Captains,  
See they are lodged as handsomely as our  
Convenience and Security permits 'em.  Exeunt omnes.  

SCENE. VI The Irish Camp.  Enter An Irish Funeral, of one of their Commanders killed in the last Action. Tapers, Crosses, Dirges. Two fat Friars singing—, and praying for his Soul. 

Song by the Priests.  

1.  
REst thy Soul in Bliss dear Friend!  
Now beginning, ne'er to end:  
At Purgatory be not scared  
Its Flame shall never sing thy Beard.  
Mount to rights to Heaven, nor stay  
To call at the Half-way-house by th'way.   

2.  
On thy Soul, while here below,  
If some little spots did grow:  
Murder, Perjury, or Rape  
Or some such other small Escape:  
By thy meritorious Fall  
Thou hast o'er atoned 'em all.   

3.  
Innocent as Child unborn  
On the golden wings of morn  
Mount to bliss, and pray for those  
Struggling with their faithless Foes:  
Aid thy Friends who thee adore  
As thou other Saints before.   
[They put him into the Grave, and the Irish kneel down by him, tear their Hair, throw up the Dirt, and lament his death with unsufferable Howl, as their manner is, singing this Song over his Grave.]   

Irish SONG.  

AH Brother Teague! Why didst thou go?  
Whillilla lilla lilla lilla lilla lilla loo!  
And leave thy Friends in grief and woe,  
Aboo aboo aboo aboo aboo aboo aboo!   

Hadst thou not store of Householdstuff  
Whillilla etc.  
Potatoes and Usquebagh enough  
Aboo etc.   

Three Sheep, one Garroon, and a Cow  
Whillilla etc.  
A Garden, Cabin and a Plough  
Aboo etc.   

Hadst thou not Bonny-clabbar store  
Whillilla etc.  
If not enough we'd given thee more.  
Aboo etc.   

Why wouldst thou Teague! Ah tell me why  
Whillilla etc.  
Thus play the Fool and maake a die  
Aboo etc.   

Why didst thou touch the fatal shore  
Whillilla etc.  
Where we shall never see thee more  
Aboo aboo aboo aboo aboo aboo aboo!   
[While they are in the midst of their Harmony comes a Shot from the Town, and kills the two Friars and several others—, all the rest start up and run away.]    

SCENE VII. Derry.  The Walls—, Captains, Soldiers, etc. 1 Sol. 
've spoiled their howling, why 'twas more unsufferable  
Than all their Canon—, there was a yell  
Fearful enough to've frighted him almost  
From his long sleep again.  2 Sol. 
But Oh! those holy Cheats—, those goodly Friars  
How they both capered when the Chain-shot came  
And Circumcised 'em just i'th' middle!  
By this time if their Souls are not so gross  
Pursy and unwieldy as their Carcases,  
They may have reached their Friend who went before 'em.  1. Capt. 
Never insult over an Enemy  
Conquered or slain—, if either, that's enough  
The rest is base—, 'Tis true o'er you they would  
But even there o'ercome 'em as in Battle.  
— Come Captain—, Let's to our Charge— the Irish Prisoners  
See how they brook confinement here.  2. Capt. 
Agreed—  [They open a Door, and the Prisoners come forth—, Talbot, Macdonald, etc. discontented and gloomy.] 1. Capt. 
to Talbot. You're Melancholy Colonel—, we are come  
To give you some diversion— not insult you  
What's now your Fate, to morrow may be ours.  Talbot. 
Such Rebels merit not so good—.  2. Capt. 
We Scorn  
The name and thing—, nor would, nor ever did  
Yet take it in the Field—.  Macdonald. 
Can you deny it?  
To reason calmly—, took you not up Arms  
Against your King's Lieutenant here at first,  
And since even he himself in Person's come  
Continue in your stubborn disobedience?  1. Capt. 
For our first taking Arms, 'twas on advice  
Of Massacres intended—, and as some  
Of you acknowledge, actually proposed  
To th' Deputy—. Those barbarous attempts  
All Nations own 'tis lawful to repel  
With utmost Force, since that's the only Law  
Can either authorise or from 'em shield.  
The last is not forgot—. For our remaining  
In such a posture, 'tis for England's King  
And Ireland's too we fight—. This ever was  
Since Conquered, a Dependant held inseparable  
From th' English Crown, when quitted, thrown away  
And slighted by that Bigot Prince who wore it  
Placed on two Royal Heads, the next in blood  
And brightest pair in Europe—, those we own  
Our rightful King and Queen, and you no better  
Than that foul name with which 've branded us.  Talbot. 
The Massacre you talk of with such dread  
Was no more real than that common place  
Of cruelty—, the bloody Forty one—  
When, after infinite insufferable  
And odious provocations the poor Natives  
Took for themselves and their Religion both  
Just necessary Arms, Commissioned by  
The King himself—. The Murders buzzed so loud  
Were Executions which in War will ever  
Be more or less—, and those you first begun  
How many Thousands in the Isle Magee;  
Before a stroke was struck by ours— and then  
We offered Murderers on either side  
Should have fair Trial—, this you ne'er accepted  
Because you dared not.  2. Capt. 
Only there you're right.  
We dared not be indeed such hardy Fools  
To trust our Lives with Irish Consciences  
Judges and Jury all your Countrymen  
Who do notorious Justice when they meet us,  
And before such you did propose a Trial  
Of which there was no need, for all the Irish  
Had been acquitted, all the English guilty.  
That of Magee was a full year at least  
After your horrid Massacre begun,  
And only warm revenge for many Murders.  
Which you began ere any provocation  
The hour, the day prefixed all o'er the Kingdom  
Own'd by your own, and not by you denied;  
Who only say you were provoked to what  
You did— but how— had you not your Estates,  
Liberties, Lives, although a conquered Nation;  
Were not your Lawyers, nay some Judges Irish,  
Was it Religion then? But was not that  
Which you call so, allowed more bare than ever,  
Convents and Nunneries every where connived at,  
No man molested, Mass in public said  
All o'er the Kingdom, spite of all the Laws  
Point-blank against it— as for your Commissions  
Your great Oneal himself, and Lord Mac-guire  
owned at their death 'twas all a Forgery.  Butler, 
Well Gentlemen, which ever part went wrong  
Or this or that can never now recall it.  
But one things certain, and 've treated us  
So generously we cannot but in kindness  
Advise you on't— You see no succours yet  
From England come, or if they are in vain  
Kilmore is ours, and we a Boom have fastened  
Across the Lough that 'tis impossible  
By that way to relieve you;— your Provisions  
I see come short, you may have yet fair Terms;  
If you stand out there's not a man escapes,  
Yield then and let not such brave men be ruined.  1 Capt. 
Captain we thank you for your kind advice  
But should the Soldiers hear you'd not be safe  
From worrying, nor should we propose it.  
We're one and all— There's not a private Centinel  
But willingly would eat the Flesh from one arm  
And fight with t'other, ere they would surrender,  
— Besides for yet a while we're richly stored  
Tallow and Starch,— why 'tis luxurious diet.  
And when that fails, and all besides, the Garrison  
Sir, we have heard 'em swear't, and do believe it  
Will first eat you, and then themselves,  yield.  
Tho' every hour we expect relief  
And know the English are i'th' Lough already.  
And will be here—  (A shout without) But we must to our Charges. 
For business calls, we wish you well to bear  
What can't he mended.  Exeunt Omnes.  

SCENE VIII. Derry-Walls  Enter Governor, Colonels, Captains. Govern. 
Too well appears the reason of that shout  
I'th' Irish Camp— See in the Lough below  
The English Ships attempting our relief,  
The first is stranded, while the barbarous Enemy,  
Runs down in Shoals to Fire, or kill, or take 'em,  
While with insulting Flouts they call t'our Guards,  
And bid us send our Carpenters to help 'em.  1 Col. 
Some of their mirth is spoiled with that broadside,  
Full in the midst o'th' Rabble— nay the shock  
Unless— I see as many, what they wish.  
Has floated her again.  2 Col. 
IT has done it really  
Not only in your fancy, now Salvation!  
The Boom is broke, with Wind and Tide they come,  
And scatter storms of Fire and Death about 'em  
Till Kilmore rattles, and the bloody strand  
Lies spread with Carcases, and Legs and Arms,  
Bodies and Heads and Men alive and dead,  
Fly every where so fast as if they strove  
Which should outrun the other.  Gou. 
They have reached the Key, relief & life comes with 'em.  Enter English Captains. Govern. 
Brave Countrymen there's little need to tell you,  
You're welcome here, for all that's left of Derry  
Confesses it, those living Carcases  
You see remaining fain would smile, had they  
But flesh enough to do it, not great Orange,  
Our now great King was with more joy received,  
In gasping England when he came to save it  
From the same Enemy, than you are here.  Engl. 
C. Nor with less Joy we bring you this relief  
Then we'd ourselves receive it, but what news  
From th' Enemy's Camp, must we go visit them,  
Or won't they be so civil to attend us.  Govern. 
They do what they were born to run away.  
Fire all their very Tents and Huts, and worse,  
The Country too lest we should make advantage.  
Whole waggon-loads of Arms thrown into th' River.  
Bursting their largest Guns, as too unweieldy  
For their light March, O had we but some Horse  
To give 'em one kind Farewell, 'tis so strange  
For those who have been Neighbours now so long  
To part abruptly.  Engl. 
Capt. We again shall find 'em,  
For Schombergh speedily is here designed  
With twenty thousand men to march for Dublin.  
And end the War.  Governor, 
Impatiently we wait,  
Till that wish day when we again may meet,  
Those who so often grovelled at our Feet. Ex. Omn.    


ACT. iv SCENE. First. Dublin.  Tyrconnel, Rice, Nugent, etc. Neagle. Tyrc. 
Derry relieved, and Inniskilling lost,  
Sure destiny mistakes, or we do so.  
Macarty Prisoner, Hamilton baffled, English landed  
And more still coming! What will next be done.  
Were all my Goods aboard, as once before  
And I there too, I scarcely should look back  
To be Lieutenant, Or indeed a something  
Which bears some lesser name, (the King's scarce more  Aside. Nug. 
The glorious Cause we now are all embarked in  
Is firm enough to stand in spite of all  
Th'attempts against it of weak Heretics,  
What are two Towns? they yet have won no more  
Nay only kept 'em, and for the disgrace  
Incurred by missing them, there are excuses  
Sound plausibly enough, which we'll transmit  
To our Friends in England, as ourselves we'll use 'em.  
— Alas, 'twas place, a little mean  
And worthless Town, we only lay before it  
For Recreation, might have taken it  
When e'er we pleased, at an hours warning had we  
But strained our Forees there, 'tis true we'd some,  
Some few perhaps of note who died in th' Army,  
But there are many ways of death besides  
The Sword and Cannon, several brought Diseases  
That left 'em there, tho' lives and all went with 'em.  
The usual chance of War, not to be avoided.  
— For what's to come 've still a numerous Army,  
A noble body of Horse as are in Europe,  
Ten Thousand with the least— with these we'll tug.  
At least this Summer over, the fickle English  
By then perhaps will tired and weary grow  
Of their new King, or France will be at leisure  
To give their Arms a powerful diversion  
And us assistance here. His Privateers  
Will scour our Seas, and pick each Vessel up  
That peeps abroad, this will breed Discontents  
In those enough inclined to't without Cause,  
Besides we still have a strong party there  
Desperate and Resolute—, they may produce  
Something themselves that's not contemptible,  
But come the worst, 'tis but to Fire the Country,  
Kill all the Heretics, and run away  
By th' Light their Houses make.  Neagle, 
But still for Money  
The Life o'th' cause—, That must be got or all  
Yet done or counselled will be lost and nothing.  Rice, 
We shall have shortly large supplies from France  
Some we already have.  Neagle, 
All far too little  
But our Invention must supply what's wanting,  
Money there is i'th' Kingdom, and good store  
This i'll contrive, and speciously, to bring  
Each Cob into th' Exchequer.  Tyrconnel, 
That would half  
Restore my hopes, but 'tis impossible.  Neagle, 
First hear it. I propose new pieces should  
Be Coined, of Copper, or some pretty metal  
That may look well, their value as we please  
Let all be obliged to take this Royal money,  
From Soldiers or the King; but when they pay  
Custom or Subsidy, or aught beside  
Be that in the old Coin—  Rice, 
The only fear  
Is least they murmur at the imposition.  Tyrcon. 
How, murmur at their Prince, d'ye think they're Rebels  
If he demands their their Throats, are they not his,  
Their heads, all at his service, and should tumble  
Themselves o'th' floor for him to tread and spurn 'em,  Neagle, 
Not yet so high to run the supposition  
The Natives never were much used to Money  
To them 'tis all the same— alas they're scarce  
So subtle to distinguish one and tother  
And they're i'th' right on't, every thing is worth  
Its settled value, if this buys a Cow  
And Silver did no more, 'tis the same thing.  Tyrconnel. 
To say but truth, the less we are engaged  
To insulting France the better, they begin  
To scorn, affront, abuse the Native Irish  
Which we sure cannot bear.  Neagle, 
Nor need we long—  
When once they'v done their business that they came for  
We easily can turn 'em home again.  
Mean while all may be fair, dissemble what  
We can't digest, nor can we ere be greater  
The King, good man, is old, and minds his Beads,  
His Priests and Hounds share all his time between 'em.  
Sometimes we'll bring him out, and let him walk  
A turn or two, as the Chinese their Emperors,  
To let the people know he's still alive.  
And make all preparation necessary  
To oppose the English, if they should descend  
On any part o'th' Island.  Enter Messenger with a Rope about his neck. Mess. 
Post from the North I bear the dreadful news  
The Sea's all covered with the English Fleet,  
A thousand Sail I think, for there's no end,  
And bore directly in for Bangor Bay.  Tyrc. 
— 'Tis well enough, I doubted they would bid  
For Dublin, we have time and ground and men,  
Sufficient for 'em, come they when they will.  Enter another Messenger as the former. Messenger, 
The Enemies landed all in Bangor Bay.  
Belfast already's yielded, Carrickfergus  
Invested round, and gone by this, the Country  
Roll in amain, the English drive along  
And none or can or dare resist the Torrent.  Nugent, 
Time enough yet, they will be out of breath  
And 'twill be our turns then to march and meet 'em.  
Already we are rendevouzed betwixt  
Dundalk and famed Tredagh, when they come thither  
(But first they have the Newry to get through,  
A Pass that none can force but bulls or Devils)  
We may speak with 'em.  Tyrcon. 
When we know their numbers,  
For Fame still greatens as it farther goes.  
Till then let's take what measures now are needful,  
've all the Arms already of the Heretics.  
If there are any persons yet whose power  
May injure us, let them too be secured,  
And to amuse the people, set the Priests  
To Prayer for good success.  Rice, 
If this blow over,  
Or we but keep 'em there at a due distance  
we'll have a Parliament to attaint the Estates  
Of all that join the English, or absent,  
And tore in pieces those faint Nun-spun Acts,  
Made to the prejudice o'th' Loyal Irish,  
Unsettle and unhinge their Settlements,  
Law or the Sword would do it, best by both;  
Dominion to our Country we'll restore,  
And to proud Conquerors be Slaves no more.  Exeunt Omnes.  

Scene II. The Newry. schomberg's Army. The Inniskilling Men, etc.  General. 
Thus far 've only marched, not fought our way.  
Here will be occasion for your Valour, if  
've but a spark of Courage, and tough work  
Must needs ensue. The Pass is strong, but must  
Be won, or we stay here.  Captain. 
No, rather in our Graves; we only wait  
Orders to charge, as they our doing that,  
Unless they're strangely changed, to run away.  General. 
Go take a Party then and try th' event.  The Irish appear posted advantageously. The English throw themselves upon 'em, who after two or three Fires, fling their Arms into the River, and shift for themselves. General. 
Both sides I see are very expeditious.  Captain. 
Next for Dundalk.  Exeunt.  

Scene III. Dublin.  Tyrconnel, Nugent, Neagle, Irish Lords. To 'em a Messenger. Mess. 
The Newry's lost; and on the Plain before  
Dundalk I saw the English Troops advance  
Ere I came thence. By this they must be there.  Tyrcon. 
Sure they fly.  Nug. 
I doubt 'tis ours do so. But are our Army  
Ready to meet 'em there?  Tyrcon. 
They're all prepared.  
We know their formidable Numbers too;  
Some twenty thousand only at the most:  
We thrice outnumber 'em; and when they know  
Our force, will sure retire faster than they  
Marched forward— but my Lords, I'll to the Army,  
The King will do no hurt, what's yet left of him:  
If he's there too, perhaps some of the Rebels  
Will yield at his approach. Besides already  
've many Friends in Schomberg's Camp, from whence  
We ne'er shall want intelligence at least,  
Perhaps do something more.  Neag. 
Success attend your Excellency thither.   

Scene iv Dundalk.  English Army, General, Council of War, Officers, etc. General. 
I know the English Genius and their Fire,  
My Countrymen have oft felt 'em both.  
And now, 'tis granted they'll but fight their Slaves.  
— But then the disproportion is so huge,  
Our Horse so few and weak, their's strong and numerous,  
Their Foot four times at least more than the English,  
'Twould be too great hazard to attempt;  
Too great a price, even Victory to gain  
By breaking all our Army, ere more Force  
Arrive to join us, or advantage offers.  
've here firm footing, whence they ne'er can beat us;  
If they attempt, they fight at disadvantage;  
And only come to meet prepared Destruction.  Officer. 
We must submit, though 'tis a thing looks strange  
To Englishmen thus cooped, to wait the Enemy,  
Who always used to seek 'em, and die here  
By sickness, closeness, and thick foggy Air,  
Who bravely might for a good purchase sell  
Our Lives, and get eternal Fame by losing 'em.  General. 
Which ever way they're lost; if in defence  
'tis of your Country, and obedience to  
So good a King, you never could fall braver.  
— But to that reason I before advance  
Against Engagement, there's perhaps a greater,  
A secret kept till now— I have Intelligence  
There's a design formed to betray the Camp  
To th' Enemy— We shall hear more on't speedily;  
The Guards are doubled, and I wait each minute  
Some false Deserters making to the Enemy,  
Who are so strictly watched they can't escape.  
And here they come—  Enter Soldiers, with a Deserter, his Hands tied, etc. Deserter. 
Mercy, my Lord, and I'll discover all.  Officer. 
've seized his Papers which have done't already,  
A draught of all the Camp, and each weak place  
Described that's in it— A List of several Officers  
And Soldiers, who design to join the Enemy,  
When we engage; or when they're on the Guard:  
Deliver up the Gates.  General. 
Now Gentlemen,  
You see my Reason— Go and hang him instantly,  
As soon as his Confederates are seized:  
Proclaim immediate Death to every Papist,  
Who owns not his Religion publicly.  
Guard well the Avenues. To night myself  
I'll walk the Rounds to see you do your Duties,  
And shall severely punish negligence.  Exeunt Omnes.  

Scene V Irish Camp.  Enter Tyrconel, Hamilton, Clancarty, Monsieur de , etc. Tyrcon. 
Tho' our designs are on their Camp discovered,  
And that sly Fox their General, posts himself,  
Where none can touch him— 'tis full out as well;  
Distempers will their business do, and save  
Our Swords the Labour— They already drop,  
Provision comes but slowly, our thick Fogs  
Please not their queasy Stomaches; they'll begin  
To wish for home. What if our own fall with 'em,  
As hundreds do each week?— 'Tis a fair change  
And we can spare 'em. What's a Subject's Life,  
A hundreds, thousands, or a millions to  
A great man's Interest?— The next News we hear,  
They leave Dundalk, and then— beware their Rear.  Exeunt Omnes.  

Scene VI Dundalk, as before.  Most of the Soldiers sick, many dead, the rest pining. Enter a Colonel and two Captains. 1. Capt. 
Ah Colonel!— Was't for this we hither came,  
To lay our bones in this accursed Country  
Without a blow— The Land of Want and Famine,  
Sickness and Misery, and Grief and Death.—  2. Capt. 
Death Captain! and d'ye reckon that among the Grievances  
And could you have the Conscience to ask more?  
Had we but that, and honestly and fairly  
Had these two Arms been torn with Chain-shot from me,  
Not pined away with dull dull lingering torments  
Twoved ne'er have made me sigh.  Collon. 
I own 'tis hard.  
Nor have you only suffered,— None can blame  
Our prudent General, who moved at last,  
With the Condition of this Skeleton,  
Of what was once an Army, has gi'en Orders.  
To quit this fatal place, and march again  
Beyond the Newry, there to quarter till  
Recruits and better Seasons call for Action.  Capt. 
Nay, then there's hope we yet may pay our Landlords;  
And thank them for their courteous Entertainment.  
Dundalk adieu: Had but the Traitor's doom  
Been changed, we died, they guarded in our Room,  
They'd had the worse, we the far better choice,  
And should at such a wished exchange rejoice.  
V●lleys of Curses be thy last Farewell,  
Thou Map of Ireland, and thou Map of Hell.  Exeunt Omnes.   

ACT. V.  

Scene I. Irish Army at Dundalk.  Tyrconnel, Lazune, Hamilton, Clancarty, etc. Tyrcon. 
ONce more we're here again— 'tis a kind Omen,  
May all the rest return as does Dundalk.  
Quick— after with the Horse, cut off their Rear,  
And drive the Rebels back into the Sea.  
— Nor shall that save 'em, thither and beyond  
We'll follow—  Hamil. 
First discover in what order  
They march, and where they stand— 'tis probable  
They'll keep the Newry-Pass and in that Country  
Endeavour to secure their Winter Quarters.  Clanc. 
Then we must force it instantly, nor suffer  
Their harbouring there— They're on the run already,  
And soon will quit it when our Troops approach,  
Who so much Valour have already shown  Tyre. 
Let it be done, and Ireland's all our own.  Exeunt Omnes.  

Scene II. The Newry.  A Party of Irish— Officers, Soldiers, etc. Offic. 
March quick and close— They take not yet th' Alarm.  
The Town's already ours— The Prisoner whom  
We lately took, informs there's scrarce a hundred  
Yet left alive, and those half sick and languishing;  
The rest or careless are or desperate,  
Nor dream of that warm visit we shall make 'em.  The Sentry discovers 'em, and fires three times, retiring. Officer. 
Discovered— But too late for their prevention;  
In— and we're Conquerors—  They enter the Town— Several Officers come out in their shirts, and are knocked o'th' head. A Drummer beats an Alarm, and a few of the English gather in the Streets. Eng. Offic. 
Ha'— are you come so far to hinder us  
From dying now in quiet— Fellow Soldiers,  
You see 'em— Rally here behind this Cart,  
And give one Charge— if they march not back  
At their accustomed pace— I'll e'en run for 'em.  [The English charge— The Irish run] Enter several English Soldiers crawling upon their Hands and Feet with their Muskets in their Hands. Officer. 
Poor Wretches— What d'ye mean— You're fitter for  
Your Beds or th' Hospital, than War and Action.  1 Sould. 
Noble Captain— Let me have but shot at 'em,  
And then I'll die contented.  2. Sould. 
Now we're their Matches, 'twere not fair to fight 'em,  
If strong and well as they.  They both get up to a Bank, fire their Pieces at the Irish, and fall dead themselves. Offic. 
'Twas done like Englishmen— Their Courage did  
Almost outlast their Breath— but were too weak  
To follow these— who, lest again they rally  
And come more numerous— Soldiers, post away  
For speedy Succour.  Exeunt Omnes.  

Scene III. Belfast.  General, Several Officers. Gener. 
Heaven smiles again— The Sun has dressed the Air  
With fragrant blooms— nor is the Earth less fair,  
Supplies from England every day appear  
And more— the King himself will soon be here.  
Who would not fight when such a General leads  
Who in the Steps of Ancient Heroes treads,  
Despises Danger, and himself can meet,  
What would make meaner Souls dissolve to feeed?  
Each hour we him expect, and when he comes;  
Then for the Field and Fame, for Palms or Tombs.  Exeunt.  

Scene IU. The Royal Fleet at the Bay of Bangor— The Mary Yacht with the Standard— All the Shore enlightened with Bonfires. Belfast.  The General, Officers, Messenger. Messeng. 
From Carick-sergus Garrison I bring  
News of the safe Arrival of the King.  
Five hundred Sail attend him— such a sight  
As glads the Shore more than each Festal Light  
Kindled at his approach.  General. 
A joyful sound!  
Go fire the Train, and send the News around:  
Let all our Quarters the blessed Tidings hear,  
And all the Bogs in Ireland quake for fear.  
Their Fate is come— The Pageant King must run;  
And once again fly from the conscious Sun.  
And in some Monastery hid his Head  
Midst lonely Tombs, and the polluted Dead.  
While that bright Hero who supplies his place,  
Sways his strong Sceptre with so great a Grace:  
In trembling France shall give new wonders Birth,  
And rend the withered Lilies from the Earth.  Exeunt.   
The end of the First Part.