The Patowmac Guardian, And Berkeley Advertiser

SEAT OF THE MUSES.

FROM A LONDON PAPER.

THE IRISH SONG,

Sung by Capt. Morris, with so much applause, at the festival of the anniversary of Mr Fox's election; contains so much truth, spirit and wit, that we shall receive the thanks of our readers for giving them a correct copy, which we prophecy will be, in the present disastrous moment, a seasonable and admonitory reflection to every social circle.

Tune, "O Lord what can the matter be!"

Be easy with war! here's a fine piece of bother on't
Faith I can't make neither one thing nor t'other on't
Devil may burn both the father and mother on't.
Billy's undone us by war! ! !
O Lord! what can the damage be, &c.

Pat can you tell us what the Devil he's driving at ;
What is't we're fighting for, what is't he's striving at?
A foul bit of work the d--n'd tory's coming at!
Billy's undone us by war, &c.

For the poor out of breed, what a fine consolation too,
Winter at hand, and all trade in Stagnation too;
Nothing to Swallow but lumps of taxation too.
Billy's undone us by war, &c.

Then what are our gains, for the million he quanders now?
Plentiful loss of brave troops and commanders now
Rotting like there, in the big bogs of Flanders now !
Billy's undone us by war, &c.

We're murder'd by thousands, and pay for the slaughter too,
Nothing to drink, to the arse up in water too;
Dutch running off, and ourselves marching after too.
Billy's undone us by war, &c.

Our fleets and our gun boats won't answer their uses too,
Horse of no Service for ditches and sluices too;
Cannon too late, and all left as the duce is too.
Billy's undone us by war, &c.

We're flux'd, till our life streams away from our bowels too,
Drench'd so with rain, ye may scrape us with trowels too ;
Cattle all gander'd, and all full of rowels too.
Billy's undone us by war, &c.

Tents we have few, since we left 'em behind us too,
Dogs wouldn't lie on the wet straw they find us too;
All sorts of death, by my soul they've consign'd us too!
Billy's undone us by war, &c.

Then faith with mistrust, we're a little dejected too,
Prussians withdrawn, and the Dutch disaffected too ;
Troops that we've hir'd not too much respected too,
Billy's undone us by war, &c.

By my soul it's a sin, that we e'er should want harmony,
When we all fight for the Emperor of Germany.
And John Bull has promis'd to pay all the war money.
Billy's undone us by war, &c.

Then you bitch'd us at home, and your word didn't keep my dears,
Leaving brave lads to be cut up like sheep my dears,
So by sham fighting, and Ch--m asleep, my dears.
Billy's undone us by war, &c.

By my troth there's a damnable sin and omission here,
Though its hush'd up, it must rise in revision here ;
Murder cries out for a state inquisition here
Billy's undone us by war, &c.

Then your cabinet call this a war of existence now,
That's in plain Irish, to die at a distance now,
And help the work forward, by backward assistance now.
Billy's undone us by war, &c.

Troth you've purchas'd at Toulon a slippery station too,
Laid out our cash in a wild speculation too,
And united all France in a d--n'd indignation too.
Billy's undone us by war, &c.

A vile figure we make to be starv'd to help slavery.
Fighting for others with profitless bravery.

Ever safe be his throne ! may no traitors endeavour
Loyalty's cause from fair freedom dissever now ;
Here's Fox and the Whig Constitution for ever now.
Billy's undone us by war, &c.