A Song, Made on the happy Occasion of our late Forcing the French Lines. The Words made to a pretty new Minuet.
GRand Louis falls head-long down,
Since Luxemburg's Death, the Witchcraft is gone;
No Planet durst for him appear,
At Helisheim now, nor Blenheim last Year:
Th' Arm's shouting,
Bavaria's routing,
Shews just Fate too, that Rebel resigns,
Once more flying,
Hark how he's crying,
Jernie bleau, they have forc'd our strong Lines.
Sing Muses, the General's praise,
Baulk'd at the Mosselle, but not at the Maes;
Whilst Volumns with scandal are full,
On Lewis the Craz'd, and Lewis the Dull:
One oppressing,
Feigning redressing,
Seises Crowns without Title or Law;
T'other marches,
Very rarely charges,
Witness late, the long Siege at Landau.
Crown bowls then each Brittish brave Son,
Let Bourbon dispair, and Baden doze on,
Tell all who proud France dare defend;
What Brabant begins all Flanders shall end,
Antwerp surrender,
What can defend her,
Millian yield too, to Glorious Eugene;
When that's gone too,
Vendosme, Vendosme too,
Hey, for Paris next Summer's Campaign.
