%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> The Low=Country Soldier: / OR, / His Humble Petition at his Return into England, after his / Bold Adventures in Bloody Battels. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1683-1683 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 03/07/2012 31884

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

R233282 GOod your Worship cast an Eye / Upon a Soldier's Misery; Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 162 The Low=Country Soldier: / OR, / His Humble Petition at his Return into England, after his / Bold Adventures in Bloody Battels. The Low=Country Soldier: OR, His Humble Petition at his Return into England, after his Bold Adventures in Bloody Battels. The Low-Country Soldier: OR, His Humble Petition at his Return into England, after his Bold Adventures in Bloody Battles. 1683-1683 C. Bates

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 3/7/2012 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America affliction/ health country/ nation military/ war travel Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 3/7/2012 10:54:52 AM XBallad Martino, Alexandra Created XML Version of Ballad 3/7/2012 10:54:52 AM Transcription Supervisor Murphy, Jessica Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/7/2012 10:54:52 AM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Jiminez-Justiniano, Jose Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/7/2012 10:54:52 AM Transcriptionist Two Naler, Erin Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/7/2012 10:54:52 AM Transcriptionist One Andrews, B. Sharkey Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/7/2011 Checker Dominique Moomaw Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 3/29/2011 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 2/3/2011 Bibliographer Shannon Meyer Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
<seg n="1" rend="left">Low-Country Soldier:</seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">OR,</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">His Humble Petition at his Return into <hi rend="bold">England</hi>, after his</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Bold Adventures in Bloody Battels.</hi></seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To an excellent new Tune.</hi> Licensed according to Order.</seg>
GOod your Worship cast an Eye Upon a Soldiers Misery; Let not these lean Cheeks, I pray, Your Worships Bounty from me stay; But like a Noble Friend, Some Silver lend, And Jove shall pay you in the end, And I will pray that Fate, May make you Fortunate, In Heaven, or in some Earthly State. To Beg, I neer was bred, kind Sir, Which makes me blush to keep this stir; Nor do I rove from Place to Place, For to make known my woful Case: For I am none of those
That a Roving goes, And in rambling show their drunken blows; For all that they have got, Is by banging of the Pot, In wrangling who should pay their shot. Olympick Games I oft have seen, And in brave Battels have I been; The Cannons there aloud did Roar, My proffer high was evermore: For, out of a Bravado, When in a Barricado, By tossing of a Hand-Granado, Death then then was very near, When it took away this Ear; But yet, thank God, Im here, Im here,
And at the Siege of Buda there, I was blown up into the Air, From whence I tumbled down again, And lay a while among the slain; Yet rather than be beat, I got upon my Feet, And made the Enemy retreat; My self and seven more We fought Eleven score; The Rogues were neer so thrashd before. I have, at least, a dozen times, Been blown up by these Roguish Mines, Twice through the Skull have I been shot, That my Brains do boil like any Pot: Such Dangers have I past, At first and at last, As would make your Worship sore aghast. And there I lay for dead Till the Enemy was fled, And then they carried me home to Bed. At push of Pike I lost this Eye, And at Birgam Siege I broke this Thigh; At Ostend, like a Warlike Lad, I laid about as I were mad; But little would you think, That eer I had been Such a good Old Soldier of the Queen. But if Sir Francis Vere Were living now, and here, He would tell you how I slashd em there. The Hollanders my Fury know For oft with them Ive dealt a Blow: Then did I take a Warlike Dance, Quite through Spain, and into France; And there I spent a Flood Of very Noble Blood, Yet all would do but little good; For now I home am come, With my Rags upon my Bum, And crave of your Worship one small Summ.
And now my Case you understand, Pray lend to me your helping hand; A little thing would pleasure me, To keep in mind your Charity: It is not Bread and Cheese, Nor Barley Lees, Or any such like Scraps as these; But what I beg of you, Is a Shilling one or two, Kind Sir, your Purse-string pray undo. EPILOGUE. HAve I spent all my days in Bloody Wars, Thus slashd, cabonadod, & cut out in scars, Have I dancd oer the Ice, marchd thro the Dirt Without either Hat, Hose, Shoe, or Shirt? And must I now beg, bow, troop, trudge and trot, To every Pagan, and poor Peasant Sot? No, by this Hand and Sword not I, That Mans not fit to Live that fears to Die: Ill Purse it then, the High-way is my Hope; His Hearts not big, that fears a little Rope, ------ Stand, and Deliver, Sir ------ Here Boy take my Horse, walk him if thourt able, Lead him a turn or two, & put him into th Stable, As for you Mrs. Minks, dont at me Jeer, To Night for Supper let me have good Cheer; My Pheasant, my Fowls, and choice of other Birds, Ill not be fed with Apple-pye, Cheese, and Curds: As for your Swines Flesh, Ill eat none, Unless it be a Roast Pig, and then I may pick a bone. The rest my Boy shall Transport into his Snap- sack, and so we are prepared for the next Rendezvous.
FINIS. Printed for C. Bates at the Sun and Bible in Pye-corner.