Spite of Dutch friends and English foes,
Poor Britain shall have peace at last:
Holland got towns, and we got blows; But Dunkirk's ours, we'll hold it fast. We have got it in a string, And the Whigs may all go swing,
For among good friends I love to be plain; All their false deluded hopes Will, or ought to end in ropes;"But the Queen shall enjoy her own again."Sunderland's run out of his wits, And Dismal double Dismal looks;
Wharton can only swear by fits, And strutting Hal is off the hooks; Old Godolphin, full of spleen, Made false moves, and lost his Queen:
Harry look'd fierce, and shook his ragged mane: But a Prince of high renown Swore he'd rather lose a crown,"Than the Queen should enjoy her own again."Our merchant-ships may cut the line, And not be snapt by privateers.
And commoners who love good wine Will drink it now as well as peers: Landed men shall have their rent, Yet our stocks rise cent, per cent.
The Dutch from hence shall no more millions drain: We'll bring on us no more debts, Nor with bankrupts fill gazettes;"And the Queen shall enjoy her own again."The towns we took ne'er did us good: What signified the French to beat?
We spent our money and our blood, To make the Dutchmen proud and great: But the Lord of Oxford swears, Dunkirk never shall be theirs.
The Dutch-hearted Whigs may rail and complain; But true Englishmen may fill A good health to General Hill:"For the Queen now enjoys her own again."
