Jockeys Lamentation, Whose seditious work was the loss of his Country, and his KIRK.  
To a stately new Scottish Tune.  
 

WHen first the Scottish wars began  
The English man did lead the van,  
with musket and pike  
The bonny blithe and cunning Scot  
Had laid a plot, but we could not  
smell out the like,  
Although he could neither write read,  
Yet General Lashly past the Tweed  
With his gay gang of blew-caps tall,  
Along we marched with our General,  
Newcastle we took all in a trice,  
And thought for to make it our Paradise  
And then we were gallant and gay  
For why we took the pillage away.   

Then straight to plundering we did fall,  
Of great and small, for we were all  
most valiant that day.  
And Jenny in her silken gown,  
The best in Town from foot to Crown  
was bonny and gay;  
Our suits and our silks did make such a smother  
That hardly next day we know one another;  
For Jockey, he was wondrous fine,  
And Jenny in her silks did shine  
For there ice did get me a Beaver then  
But now it is beat to a cap again;  
For a Red coat took every rag  
What Jockey now and Jenny must bag.   

The English raised an Army straight  
With much state, and we did wait  
to charge them all,  
Then every valiant musket-man  
Put fire in pan, that we began  
apace to fall:  
For when that the powder was touched by the cols  
Then every man did pay for his pole  
For the Red-coat the battle won,  
And Jockey fast to Scotland did run,  
And at Dunbar-fight, a well an aneer,  
For there we were put into much fear;  
They took our guns and silver all,  
And hung our silks in Westminster-hall.   

Full well I wots in Lancashire  
Our brethren dear, did plunder there  
both rich and poor,  
Which caused the fury of the North  
When we set forth, to be in wroth,  
and vex us sore,  
For when that the Red-coats had knocked us down  
Did beat Jockey over the face  
And was not this a pitiful case?  
They bid us remember our plundering tricks,  
And thumped us and bumpt us with cudgels and sticks  
But the Deel burst my body and wem  
If ever Ice gang to England again   
 
 

PRince Rupert he at Marston-moor  
In time of yore, did bang us sore  
being forced to fly  
Had not it been, for English men  
To charge again the battle then  
and victory,  
Was bravely gained by our General,  
But Lashly did run with his blew-caps all;  
At Horthams' Town appeared a spirit,  
For Jockey had rather eat than fight  
Their legs they were weary with running so last  
And yet the bold Caveys were routed at last;  
And Jockey never so frighted had been  
Who thought it secure to keep a whole skin,   

The godly Presbyterian  
That holy man a war began,  
in Scotland there,  
Then Jockey gay, both Laird and Lad  
Like people mad, were very glad  
in arms to appear;  
They made a new Covenant for to pull down  
The Crosses that stood in every Town  
And the Rochet that the Bishop did bear  
And the white smock his Chaplin did wear,  
But now the good Covenant's gone to rack,  
And quite out of date like an old Almanac,  
And all the Crosses are our own loss  
For Jocky's gone home by weeping-cross.   

The Red-coats all came over Fife,  
With much strife, and ventured life  
our bloods to tame  
Brunt-Island we were forced to yield  
For in the field great store were killed  
as Ice can name,  
At least five hundred Scots were slain  
Besides two thousand were prisoners ta'en,  
Which made the gay Girls sigh and cry  
To see their sweetheart's lying by;  
The High-Landers having so much a reach  
Did find that the pellets did light in their bréech  
For the Red-coats did often let fly  
And Jockey for quarter did presently cry.   

Our enemies to Starling-brig  
(Like a whirligig did dance a Jig)  
to fight our men  
To England straight, with much pride  
We cross the Tweed, and were agreed  
to charge again;  
At Worster our Kirk and our King went to rack  
And he that run foremost durst never look back  
Our much army had the rout  
And there we were forced to wheel about,  
The silver before which from England we took  
Is now their own money Ice swear on a book  
But since that England and Scotland were foes  
They keep up their silver, and pay us with blows.   

The Lowlands all, and Highlands too  
And bonnet blew Ice yield to you,  
to be your own  
For Red coats they with gun and sword  
Makes every Lord with one accord  
to cry, O hone.  
Our lives and our wives, our goods and lands  
For Jockey must a servant be,  
And Jenny live as poor as he  
Our horses, cattle, sheep and cows,  
Our carts and harrows, teams and blows,,  
We may not challenge for our own,  
For Jockey hath little, and Jenny hath none.   

I must confess this holy firk.  
Did only work upon our Kirk,  
for silver and meat  
Which made us come and bring our broods  
Venture our bloods for your own goods  
which proved a cheat  
But see what covetousness doth bring  
We have lost our Kirk, and every thing,  
Then alack sir, and well we may cry  
Our back sir and belly must die,  
We fought for treasure, and not for glory  
And there's an end of a Scottish story,  
Despised of all for silver and gold,  
Oh the worst tale that ever was told,   
S. S.  
Finis.   

London, Printed for Francis Grove on Snow-hill▪   

Entered according to Order▪