Peace And Dunkirk

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."