Just as we all were fit to fall on, In came the Dutch with fury and speed; And amongst them there was not a man, But what was rarely mounted indeed; And rid up as fierce as tygers, 45 Knitting their brows, they on us did frown; Not one of them idle, their teeth held their bridle, By Chreest and St. Patrick, we were run down.
They never stood to use many words, But in all haste up to us they flocked, 50 In their right hands their flourishing swords, And their left carbines ready cock'd. We were forced to fly before them, Thorow the lanes and streets of the town; While they pursued after, and threaten'd a slaughter, 55 By Chreest and St. Patrick, we were run down.
Then being fairly put to the rout, Hunted and drove before 'um like dogs, Our captain bid us then face about, But we wisht for our Irish bogs. 60 Having no great mind for fighting, The Dutch did drive us thorow the town; Our foreheads we crossed, yet still was unhorsed, By Chreest and St. Patrick, we're all run down.
We threw away our swords and carbines, 65 Pistols and cloaks lay strow'd on the lands; Cutting off boots for running, uds-doyns, One pair of heels was worth two pair of hands. Then we called on sweet St. Coleman,[L69] Hoping he might our victory crown; 70 But Dutchmen pursuing poor Teagues to our ruin, By Chreest and St. Patrick, we're all run down.
Never was Teagues in so much distress, As the whole world may well understand; When we came here, we thought to possess 75 Worthy estates of houses and land: But we find 'tis all a story, Fortune is pleased on us to frown: Instead of our riches, we stink in our breeches, By Chreest and St. Patrick, we're all run down. 80
They call a thing a three-legged mare, Where they will fit each neck with a nooze, Then with our beads to say our last prayer, After all this to die in our shoes. Thence we pack to purgatory; 85 For us let all the Jesuits pray; Farewell, Father Peters, here's some of your creatures Would have you to follow the self-same way.
69, Edward Coleman, hanged at Tyburn in 1678, for his participation in the Popish Plot.--CROKER.
The story of the siege of Londonderry, "the most memorable in the annals of the British isles," is eloquently told in the twelfth chapter of Macaulay's _History of England_. It lasted one hundred and five days, from the middle of April to the first of August (1689). During that time the garrison had been reduced from about seven thousand men to about three thousand. Famine and pestilence slew more than the fire of the enemy. In the last month of the siege, there was scarcely any thing left to eat in the city but salted hides and tallow. The price of a dog's paw was five shillings and sixpence, and rats that had fed on the bodies of the dead were eagerly hunted and slain. The courage and self-devotion of the defenders, animated by a lofty public spirit and sustained by religious zeal, were at last rewarded by a glorious triumph, and will never cease to be celebrated with pride and enthusiasm by the Protestants of Ireland.