







 
   
     
       
         A choice collection of 120 loyal songs, all of them written since the two late plots, (viz.) the horrid Salamanca Plot in 1678, and the fanatical conspiracy in 1683. Intermixt with some new love songs with a table to find every song to which is added, an anagram, and an accrostick on the Salamanca doctor
         Thompson, Nathaniel, d. 1687.
      
       
         
           1684
        
      
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             A choice collection of 120 loyal songs, all of them written since the two late plots, (viz.) the horrid Salamanca Plot in 1678, and the fanatical conspiracy in 1683. Intermixt with some new love songs with a table to find every song to which is added, an anagram, and an accrostick on the Salamanca doctor
             Thompson, Nathaniel, d. 1687.
          
           [12], 264 p.
           
             Printed by N.T. at the entrance into the Old Spring Garden near Charing-Cross,
             London :
             1684.
          
           
             Preface signed: N. T., i.e. Nathaniel Thompson.
             With two preliminary contents leaves and a preliminary advertisement leaf.
             Stained, torn and cropped, with some loss of print.
             Reproduction of the original in the Bodleian Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Political ballads and songs -- England -- Early works to 1800.
           Popish Plot, 1678 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800.
           Rye House Plot, 1683 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800.
           Great Britain -- History -- Stuarts, 1603-1714 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800.
        
      
    
     
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           A
           Choice
           Collection
           OF
           120
           Loyal
           Songs
           ,
           All
           of
           them
           written
           since
           the
           Two
           late
           PLOTS
           ,
           (
           VIZ.
           )
           The
           Horrid
           
             Salamanca
             Plot
          
           in
           1678.
           
           AND
           THE
           
             Fanatical
             Conspiracy
          
           in
           1683.
           
        
         
           Intermixt
           with
           some
           New
           Love
           SONGS
           With
           a
           Table
           to
           find
           every
           Song
           To
           which
           is
           added
           ,
           An
           Anagram
           ,
           and
           an
           Accrostick
           ON
           THE
           Salamanca
           DOCTOR
           .
        
         
           LONDON
           ,
           Printed
           by
           
             N.
             T.
          
           at
           the
           entrance
           into
           the
           
             Old
             Spring
             Garden
          
           near
           
             Charing
             Cross
          
           .
           1684.
           
        
      
       
         
         
         
           To
           the
           Reader
           .
        
         
           AMongst
           the
           several
           means
           that
           have
           been
           of
           late
           years
           to
           reduce
           the
           deluded
           Multitude
           to
           their
           just
           Allegiance
           ,
           this
           of
           BALLADS
           and
           
             LOYAL
             SONGS
          
           has
           not
           been
           of
           the
           least
           influence
           .
           While
           the
           Fergusons
           ,
           and
           Heads
           of
           the
           Factions
           were
           blowing
           up
           Sedition
           in
           every
           corner
           of
           the
           Countrey
           ,
           these
           flying
           Choristers
           were
           asserting
           the
           
             Rights
             of
             Monarchy
          
           ,
           and
           proclaiming
           Loyalty
           in
           every
           street
           .
           The
           
             mis-inform'd
             Rabble
          
           began
           to
           listen
           ;
           they
           began
           to
           hear
           to
           Truth
           in
           a
           SONG
           ,
           in
           time
           found
           their
           Errors
           ,
           and
           were
           charm'd
           into
           Obedience
           .
           Those
           that
           despise
           the
           
             Reverend
             Prelate
          
           in
           the
           Pulpit
           ,
           and
           the
           
             Grave
             Judge
          
           on
           the
           Bench
           ;
           that
           will
           neither
           submit
           to
           the
           Laws
           of
           God
           or
           Man
           ,
           will
           yet
           lend
           an
           itching
           Ear
           to
           a
           
             New
             
             SONG
          
           ,
           nay
           ,
           and
           often
           become
           a
           Convert
           by
           It
           ,
           when
           all
           other
           means
           prove
           ineffectual
           .
           Divine
           Herbert
           has
           it
           excellently
           exprest
           ,
           where
           he
           says
           ,
           
             
               A
               Verse
               may
               find
               him
               who
               a
               Sermon
               flies
               ,
            
             
               And
               turn
               Delight
               into
               a
               Sacrifice
               .
            
          
           It
           cannot
           be
           imagin'd
           how
           many
           scatter'd
           Flocks
           this
           
             melodious
             Tingling
          
           hath
           reduced
           to
           their
           Princely
           Hives
           ,
           who
           otherwise
           had
           never
           been
           brought
           under
           the
           Discipline
           of
           Obedience
           or
           Government
           .
        
         
           And
           ,
           without
           ostentation
           ,
           I
           may
           say
           ,
           I
           printed
           my
           News-Papers
           (
           that
           always
           ▪
           vindicated
           the
           King
           and
           Government
           )
           to
           undeceive
           the
           People
           ,
           who
           were
           daily
           impos'd
           upon
           by
           
             Curtis
             ,
             Smith
             ,
             Harris
             ,
             Care
             ,
             Vile
             ,
             Baldwin
             ,
             Janeway
             ,
          
           &c.
           when
           no
           body
           else
           would
           or
           durst
           .
           For
           This
           the
           malice
           of
           the
           
             Factious
             Party
          
           swell'd
           so
           high
           against
           me
           ,
           that
           They
           ,
           
           with
           the
           assistance
           of
           a
           certain
           Instrument
           ,
           (
           who
           swore
           through
           two
           Brick-walls
           before
           Oates
           appear'd
           )
           caused
           me
           to
           be
           imprison'd
           six
           times
           ,
           so
           that
           for
           near
           five
           years
           I
           was
           never
           free
           from
           Trouble
           ,
           having
           seldom
           less
           than
           3
           ,
           or
           4
           Indictments
           at
           a
           Sessions
           against
           Me
           ;
           at
           other
           times
           Information
           upon
           Information
           in
           the
           Crown-Office
           ,
           which
           villainous
           contrivances
           of
           their
           Agents
           ,
           cost
           Me
           at
           last
           
             500
             l.
          
           in
           Money
           ,
           besides
           the
           loss
           of
           My
           Trade
           and
           Reputation
           ;
           The
           principal
           Crimes
           they
           alledged
           against
           Me
           ,
           were
           ,
           Let
           Oliver
           
             now
             be
             forgotten
          
           ▪
           a
           Song
           ;
           
             A
             Hue
             and
             Cry
          
           after
           
             T.
             O.
          
           when
           turn'd
           from
           White-Hall
           ;
           The
           
             Character
             of
             an
             Ignoramus
             Doctor
             ;
             A
             Dialogue
             between
             the
             Devil
             and
             the
             Doctor
          
           ;
           The
           
             Prisoners
             Lamentation
             for
             the
             loss
             of
             Sheriff
          
           Bethel
           ;
           And
           at
           last
           for
           
             Oates's
             Manifesto
          
           ▪
           All
           which
           Phamphlets
           tended
           to
           no
           other
           evil
           than
           the
           laying
           open
           the
           
           Villanies
           of
           Oates
           and
           the
           rest
           of
           his
           Perjur'd
           Disciples
           :
           But
           (
           thanks
           be
           to
           God
           )
           
             Tempora
             mutantur
          
           ,
           &c.
           and
           Truth
           daily
           shines
           more
           &
           more
           .
        
         
           These
           Collections
           (
           being
           of
           so
           much
           use
           to
           detect
           the
           
             Scandalous
             Lies
          
           and
           Falshoods
           of
           the
           Factious
           ,
           and
           to
           keep
           the
           strong-headed
           Beast
           within
           the
           Reins
           of
           Obedience
           )
           I
           thought
           fit
           to
           publish
           ,
           that
           the
           World
           may
           see
           
             I
             have
             not
             been
             idle
             in
             the
             worst
             of
             times
             ,
          
           but
           have
           done
           my
           endeavour
           (
           to
           the
           utmost
           of
           my
           Talent
           )
           for
           the
           Interest
           of
           the
           KING
           and
           Government
           ;
           which
           ,
           
             That
             they
             may
             flourish
             in
             spight
             of
             all
             his
             Adversaries
             ,
          
           ●s
           the
           hearty
           prayer
           of
        
         
           
             Your
             most
             Humble
             Servant
             ,
             N.
             T.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           A
           Table
           of
           all
           the
           new
           Songs
           contained
           in
           this
           Book
           .
        
         
           
             LEt
             Oliver
             now
             be
             forgotten
             .
             
               Page
               1.
            
             
          
           
             Now
             ,
             now
             ,
             the
             Tories
             all
             shall
             stoop
             3.
             
          
           
             Let
             us
             advance
             the
             
               Good
               Old
               Cause
               .
               6.
            
             
          
           
             Now
             ,
             now
             ,
             the
             Zealots
             all
             must
             droop
             .
             8.
             
          
           
             Now
             at
             last
             the
             Riddle
             is
             expounded
             .
             10.
             
          
           
             Since
             Reformation
             with
             Whigs
             in
             fashion
             ▪
             13.
             
          
           
             Rouse
             up
             great
             Genius
             of
             this
             potent
             Land.
             16.
             
          
           
             Since
             Plotting's
             a
             Trade
             .
             19.
             
          
           
             Bread
             a
             Geud
             I
             think
             the
             Nation
             's
             mad
             .
             22.
             
          
           
             From
             over
             the
             Seas
             not
             long
             since
             there
             came
             .
             26.
             
          
           
             Hail
             to
             the
             Knight
             of
             the
             Post.
             28.
             
          
           
             Once
             on
             a
             time
             the
             Doctor
             did
             Swear
             .
             31.
             
          
           
             What
             still
             ye
             Whigs
             uneasy
             .
             33.
             
          
           
             Listen
             a
             while
             and
             I
             'll
             tell
             you
             a
             Tale.
             36.
             
          
           
             Did
             you
             not
             hear
             of
             a
             Peer
             that
             was
             Try'd
             .
             39.
             
          
           
             Tony
             was
             small
             but
             of
             Noble
             Race
             .
             42.
             
          
           
             Old
             Jemmy
             is
             a
             Lad
             ,
             
               &c.
               
               44.
            
             
          
           
             The
             Commons
             now
             are
             at
             a
             stand
             .
             47.
             
          
           
             Now
             the
             Tories
             that
             Glories
             .
             48.
             
          
           
             Rouse
             up
             the
             Tories
             of
             this
             Factious
             Land.
             51.
             
          
           
             Room
             ,
             Room
             for
             Cavaliers
             ,
             
               &c.
               
               53.
            
             
          
           
             Have
             you
             not
             lately
             heard
             ,
             
               &c.
               
               56.
            
             
          
           
             Good
             people
             of
             England
             I
             hope
             you
             have
             had
             59.
             
          
           
             Come
             now
             let
             's
             rejoyce
             ,
             and
             the
             City
             Bells
             Ring
             .
             63.
             
          
           
             Now
             at
             l●st
             the
             matter
             is
             decided
             .
             65.
             
          
           
             Fill
             up
             the
             Bowl
             and
             set
             it
             round
             ,
             
               &c.
               
               67.
            
             
          
           
             Let
             the
             Whigs
             repine
             ,
             and
             Tories
             smile
             .
             70.
             
          
           
             Rouse
             up
             Great
             Monarch
             in
             the
             Royal
             Cause
             .
             73.
             
          
           
             You
             Free-men
             and
             Masters
             and
             Prentices
             mourn
             76.
             
          
           
             
             The
             Delights
             of
             the
             Bottle
             are
             turn'd
             out
             of
             Doors
             .
             78.
             
          
           
             
               O
               Poland
            
             Monster
             of
             our
             Isle
             .
             82.
             
          
           
             Hay
             Joller
             Ringwood
             and
             Towzer
             .
             
               84
               ▪
            
          
           
             Ah
             cruel
             Bloudy
             Fate
             ,
             86.
             
          
           
             Hail
             to
             London
             fair
             Town
             .
             89.
             
          
           
             Prince
             George
             at
             last
             is
             come
             .
             91.
             
          
           
             A
             Tory
             came
             late
             through
             
             Westminster-hall
             .
             94
          
           
             The
             Golden
             Age
             is
             come
             .
             96.
             
          
           
             Now
             ,
             now
             ,
             the
             Plot
             is
             all
             come
             out
             .
             99.
             
          
           
             Let
             Pickering
             now
             be
             forgotten
             .
             101.
             
          
           
             Oh
             the
             mighty
             Innocence
             ,
             
               &c.
               103.
            
             
          
           
             Bee
             my
             Shoul
             and
             Shoulwation
             .
             106.
             
          
           
             Whigs
             are
             now
             such
             precious
             things
             .
             109.
             
          
           
             The
             Plot
             God
             w●t
             is
             all
             broke
             out
             .
             111.
             
          
           
             Beloved
             hearken
             all
             ,
             
               O
               Hone.
               113.
            
             
          
           
             Wealth
             breeds
             Care
             ,
             Love
             Hope
             and
             Fear
             .
             115.
             
          
           
             Hark
             the
             Thundring
             Cannons
             Roar.
             117.
             
          
           
             Let
             the
             Moors
             repine
             their
             hopes
             resign
             .
             119.
             
          
           
             You
             Calvinists
             of
             
               England
               .
               121.
            
             
          
           
             Ye
             Whigs
             and
             Dissenters
             ,
             I
             charge
             you
             attend
             .
             125
          
           
             There
             was
             a
             Monstrous
             Doctor
             .
             127.
             
          
           
             I
             hil
             tell
             thee
             Tom
             the
             strangest
             Story
             .
             130.
             
          
           
             Twa
             bony
             Lads
             were
             Sawny
             and
             
               Jocky
               .
               134
               ▪
            
          
           
             At
             Winchester
             was
             a
             Wedding
             ▪
             136.
             
          
           
             When
             Traytors
             did
             at
             Popery
             rail
             .
             139.
             
          
           
             Let
             Wine
             turn
             a
             Spark
             and
             Ale
             huff
             like
             a
             Hector
             .
             142
          
           
             Hark
             ,
             how
             Noll
             and
             
             Bradshaw's
             heads
             ,
             
               &c.
               
               145.
            
             
          
           
             Good
             People
             I
             Pray
             give
             ear
             unto
             me
             ,
             
               &c.
               
               148.
            
             
          
           
             The
             Second
             Part
             ,
             
               Ibid.
               151.
            
             
          
           
             Rebellion
             hath
             broken
             up
             house
             .
             155.
             
          
           
             Remember
             y●
             Whigs
             what
             was
             formerly
             done
             .
             158
          
           
             Come
             listen
             a
             while
             tho
             the
             weather
             be
             cold
             .
             160.
             
          
           
             I
             'll
             t●ll
             you
             a
             Tale
             tho
             before
             't
             was
             in
             Print
             .
             162
          
           
             
             When
             the
             Plot
             I
             first
             invented
             .
             165.
             
          
           
             I
             'm
             glad
             to
             hear
             the
             Cannons
             roar
             .
             167.
             
          
           
             Alas
             what
             is
             like
             to
             become
             of
             the
             Plot.
             170.
             
          
           
             Hells
             restless
             Factious
             Agents
             still
             Plot
             on
             .
             172.
             
          
           
             No●
             Loyal
             Tories
             may
             Tryumph
             in
             Glories
             .
             173.
             
          
           
             〈◊〉
             and
             Ambition
             alas
             will
             deceive
             you
             .
             176.
             
          
           
             〈◊〉
             for
             great
             
               Algernoon
               .
               177.
            
             
          
           
             Joy
             to
             Great
             Caesar
             ,
             &c.
             
             179.
             
          
           
             You
             London
             Lads
             rejoyce
             ,
             
               &c.
               
               181.
            
             
          
           
             Hark
             the
             Fatal
             day
             is
             come
             ,
             
               &c.
               
               185.
            
             
          
           
             Hail
             to
             the
             Prince
             of
             the
             Plot.
             187.
             
          
           
             Have
             you
             heard
             of
             Forty
             one
             Sir.
             189.
             
          
           
             My
             Bony
             dear
             Sh●ny
             ,
             my
             Crony
             ,
             my
             Hony.
             191.
             
          
           
             From
             the
             Tap
             in
             the
             Guts
             of
             the
             Honourable
             stump
             .
             193.
             
          
           
             Defend
             us
             from
             all
             
               Popish
               Plots
               .
               195.
            
             
          
           
             From
             Councel
             of
             6
             where
             Treason
             prevails
             .
             196.
             
          
           
             Ye
             London
             Lads
             be
             sorry
             .
             198.
             
          
           
             You
             Loyal
             Lads
             be
             merry
             ,
             
               &c.
               
               200.
            
             
          
           
             Who
             would
             not
             be
             a
             
               Tory.
               202·
            
          
           
             Let
             the
             Whigs
             repine
             and
             all
             combine
             .
             205.
             
          
           
             Now
             the
             Antichristian
             crew
             ,
             
               &c.
               207.
            
             
          
           
             Now
             ,
             now
             ,
             the
             bad
             
               Old
               Cause
            
             is
             tapt
             .
             209.
             
          
           
             I
             Hang
             and
             behead
             until
             you
             be
             dead
             .
             212.
             
          
           
             Come
             all
             you
             Caballers
             and
             Parliament
             Votes
             .
             213.
             
          
           
             'T
             was
             a
             foolish
             fancy
             
               Jemmy
               .
               215.
            
             
          
           
             Rouse
             ,
             Rouse
             my
             laisy
             
               Myrmidons
               .
               217.
            
             
          
           
             Faction
             and
             Folly
             alas
             will
             deceive
             you
             .
             219.
             
          
           
             Let
             Canons
             roar
             from
             Sea
             to
             Shore
             .
             221.
             
          
           
             Have
             you
             heard
             of
             a
             Festival
             Convent
             .
             222.
             
          
           
             Ods
             hearty
             Wounds
             I
             se
             not
             to
             Plowing
             .
             225.
             
          
           
             Now
             by
             my
             Love
             the
             greatest
             Oaths
             ,
             
               &c.
               
               226.
            
             
          
           
             O
             the
             Plot
             Discoverers
             .
             227.
             
          
           
             Drown
             Melancholy
             in
             a
             Glass
             of
             Wine
             .
             228.
             
          
           
             Make
             room
             for
             an
             honest
             
               Red-Coat
               .
               231.
            
             
          
           
             
             Our
             Oates
             ,
             last
             week
             not
             worth
             a
             Gr●at
             .
             234.
             
          
           
             Some
             say
             ,
             the
             Papists
             had
             a
             
               Plot.
               437.
            
             
          
           
             Now
             Innocent
             Blood
             's
             almost
             forgot
             .
             236.
             
          
           
             There
             is
             an
             old
             story
             .
             241.
             
          
           
             Come
             ,
             cut
             again
             ;
             the
             Game
             's
             not
             done
             .
             243.
             
          
           
             Informing
             of
             late's
             a
             notable
             Trade
             .
             246.
             
          
           
             Since
             counterfeit
             Plots
             have
             affected
             this
             Age.
             248.
             
          
           
             The
             Deel
             assist
             the
             
               Plotting
               Whigs
               .
               251.
            
             
          
           
             Jack
             Presbyter's
             up
             ,
             and
             hopes
             at
             one
             swoop
             .
             253.
             
          
           
             This
             is
             the
             Cabal
             of
             some
             Protestant
             Lords
             .
             255.
             
          
           
             Come
             make
             a
             good
             Toast
             .
             257.
             
          
           
             Ah!
             Cruel
             bloody
             
               Tom.
               260.
            
             
          
           
             Tell
             me
             no
             more
             there
             must
             be
             something
             in
             't
             .
             263.
             
          
           
             Anagram
             and
             Acrostick
             on
             the
             Salamanca
             Sizer
             .
             264.
             
          
        
      
       
         
           THese
           Songs
           you
           may
           have
           in
           a
           large
           Collection
           ,
           with
           the
           Notes
           .
           Together
           with
           several
           
             Loyal
             Poems
             ,
             Prints
          
           ,
           and
           Papers
           upon
           several
           occasions
           ,
           at
           the
           Entrance
           into
           the
           Old-Spring-Garden
           near
           Charing-Cross
           ;
           Also
           any
           Musick-Books
           or
           Songs
           may
           be
           there
           Printed
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           Books
           Printed
           and
           Sold
           by
           
             Nath.
             Thompson
          
           ▪
           at
           the
           Entrance
           into
           the
           Old-Spring-Garden
           near
           Charing-Cross
           .
        
         
           A
           Narrative
           of
           the
           
             Phanatical
             Plot
          
           ,
           setting
           forth
           the
           Treasonable
           and
           Wicked
           Designs
           which
           they
           have
           been
           carrying
           on
           against
           the
           King
           and
           Government
           ever
           since
           the
           last
           Westminster
           Parliament
           .
           With
           an
           account
           of
           their
           Treacherous
           contrivances
           against
           several
           worthy
           persons
           ,
           and
           the
           Measures
           which
           was
           used
           to
           take
           off
           the
           Evidence
           by
           Subornation
           .
           To
           which
           is
           added
           a
           Relation
           of
           the
           evil
           practices
           of
           
             John
             Rouse
          
           (
           who
           was
           lately
           executed
           at
           
             Tyburn
             )
             Will.
             Lewis
          
           (
           who
           stands
           convicted
           )
           and
           others
           .
           By
           
             John
             Zeal
          
           Gent.
           
             Price
             1
             s.
          
           
        
         
           A
           Vindication
           of
           the
           Lord
           Russels
           Speech
           and
           Innocence
           ;
           in
           a
           Dialogue
           betwixt
           Whig
           and
           Tory
           :
           Being
           the
           same
           that
           was
           promised
           to
           the
           Observator
           in
           a
           
             Penny-Post
             Letter
             .
             Price
             4
             d.
             
          
        
         
           Staffords
           Memoirs
           :
           or
           ,
           a
           Brief
           and
           Impartial
           account
           of
           the
           Birth
           and
           Quality
           ,
           Imprisonment
           ,
           Tryal
           and
           Principles
           ,
           Declaration
           ,
           Comportment
           ,
           Devotion
           ,
           Last
           Speech
           and
           Final
           end
           of
           William
           late
           Lord
           Viscount
           Stafford
           ,
           beheaded
           on
           
             Tower-Hill
             Wednesday
          
           the
           29th
           .
           of
           
             December
             ,
             1680.
          
           
           Whereunto
           is
           annexed
           a
           short
           Appendix
           concerning
           some
           passages
           in
           
             Stephen
             Colledges
          
           Tryal
           at
           
             Oxford
             .
             Price
             1
             s.
             6
             d.
             
          
        
         
           The
           Lawyer
           Out-law'd
           ;
           or
           ,
           a
           Brief
           Answer
           to
           Mr.
           
           Hunt's
           defence
           of
           the
           Charter
           .
           With
           some
           useful
           Remarks
           on
           the
           Commons
           proceedings
           in
           the
           last
           Parliament
           at
           Westminster
           ,
           in
           a
           Letter
           to
           a
           friend
           .
           
             Price
             6
             d.
          
           
        
         
           A
           Dialoge
           between
           the
           Devil
           &
           the
           Salamanca
           Dr.
           
        
         
           A
           Letter
           to
           Mr.
           
             Elkana
             Settle
          
           ,
           occasioned
           upon
           his
           Famous
           Recanting
           and
           Plot-Ridiculing
           Narrative
           .
           
             Price
             4.
             d
          
        
         
         
           Some
           Brief
           Remarks
           on
           the
           Debates
           of
           the
           House
           of
           Commons
           in
           the
           last
           Parliament
           at
           Oxford
           ,
           &c.
           
             Price
             6
             d.
          
           
        
         
           Oates's
           Manifesto
           ,
           or
           the
           complaint
           of
           
             Titus
             Oates
          
           against
           the
           Dr.
           of
           Salamanca
           :
           And
           the
           same
           Dr.
           against
           
             Titus
             Oates
          
           ,
           occasioned
           by
           some
           inconsistent
           Evidence
           given
           about
           the
           damnable
           
             Popish
             Plot.
             Price
             6
             d.
          
           
        
         
           The
           Arraignment
           of
           Co-Ordinate-Power
           ;
           wherein
           all
           Arbitrary-proceedings
           are
           laid
           open
           to
           all
           Abhorrers
           and
           Addressers
           :
           With
           a
           touch
           at
           the
           
             London
             Petition
          
           and
           
             Charter
             ,
             &c.
          
           very
           useful
           for
           all
           Lawyers
           and
           Gentlemen
           ▪
           
             price
             1
             s.
          
           
        
         
           The
           Genealogies
           of
           the
           High-born
           Prince
           and
           Princess
           ,
           George
           ▪
           and
           Anne
           ,
           of
           
             Denmark
             ,
             &c.
          
           shewing
           the
           Lineal
           Descent
           of
           these
           two
           Noble
           and
           Illustrious
           Families
           :
           with
           their
           
             Matches
             ,
             Issues
             ,
             Times
          
           of
           
             Death
             ,
             Place
          
           of
           
             Sepulcher
             ,
             Impresses
             ,
             Devices
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           From
           the
           year
           of
           Grace
           M.
           to
           this
           present
           year
           1684.
           extracted
           from
           the
           most
           Auth●ntick
           Testimonies
           of
           the
           best
           Hystorians
           and
           Antiquaries
           of
           their
           times
           .
           
             Price
             bound
             1
             s.
          
           
        
         
           
             Janu●
             Scientiarum
          
           :
           Or
           ,
           a
           Compendious
           Introduction
           to
           
             Geography
             ,
             Chronology
             ,
             Government
             ▪
             Hystory
             ,
             Phylosophy
          
           ;
           And
           all
           Gentile
           sorts
           of
           
             Literature
             .
             price
             Bound
             6
             d.
             
          
        
         
           
             Anima
             Mundi
          
           ;
           Or
           ,
           an
           Hystorical
           Narration
           of
           the
           Opinions
           of
           the
           Ancients
           concerning
           Man's
           Soul
           after
           this
           Life
           ;
           according
           to
           un-enlightened
           Nature
           .
        
         
           Great
           i●
           Diana
           of
           the
           Ephesians
           ;
           Or
           ,
           the
           Original
           of
           Idolatry
           ;
           Together
           with
           the
           Politick
           Institution
           of
           the
           Gentiles
           Sacrifices
           .
           Both
           Bound
           together
           ,
           price
           
             1
             s.
             6
             d.
          
           All
           three
           written
           by
           
             Charles
             Blount
          
           Gent.
           
        
         
           The
           Compleat
           Swearing-Master
           ,
           &c.
           
        
         
           The
           Character
           of
           an
           Ignoramus
           Doctor
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
           A
           Collection
           of
           New
           Loyal
           SONGS
           ,
           Made
           since
           the
           beginning
           of
           the
           PLOT
           .
        
         
           
             
               The
               Tune
            
             ,
             How
             Vnhappy
             is
             Phillis
             in
             Love.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               LEt
               Oliver
               now
               be
               forgotten
               ,
            
             
               His
               Policy
               's
               quite
               out
               of
               Dores
               ,
            
             
               Let
               Bradshaw
               and
               Hewson
               lie
               rotten
               ,
            
             
               Like
               Sons
               of
               
                 Phanatical
                 Whores
              
               :
            
             
               For
               
               Tony's
               grown
               a
               Patrician
               ,
            
             
               By
               Voting
               damn'd
               Sedition
               ,
            
             
               For
               many
               years
               ,
            
             
               Fam'd
               Politician
               ,
            
             
               The
               Mouth
               of
               all
               Presbyter
               Peers
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Old
               Tony
               a
               Turn-coat
               at
               Worster
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               swore
               he
               'd
               maintain
               the
               King
               's
               Right
               ;
            
             
               But
               Tony
               did
               Swagger
               and
               Bluster
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               never
               drew
               Sword
               on
               his
               side
               .
            
             
               For
               Tony
               is
               like
               an
               old
               Stallion
               ,
            
             
               He
               has
               still
               the
               Pox
               of
               Rebellion
               ,
            
             
               And
               never
               was
               sound
               ;
            
             
               Like
               the
               Camelion
               ,
            
             
               Still
               changing
               his
               Shape
               and
               his
               Ground
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Old
               
               Rowley's
               return'd
               (
               Heavens
               bless
               Him
               )
            
             
               From
               Exile
               and
               Danger
               set
               free
               ;
            
             
               Old
               Tony
               made
               hast
               to
               Address
               him
               ,
            
             
               And
               swore
               none
               more
               Loyal
               than
               he
            
             
               The
               King
               ,
               who
               knew
               him
               a
               Traytor
               ,
            
             
               And
               saw
               him
               squint
               like
               a
               Satyr
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               through
               his
               Grace
            
             
               Pardon'd
               the
               Matter
               ,
            
             
               And
               gave
               him
               since
               the
               Purse
               and
               the
               Mace.
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               And
               now
               little
               Chancellour
               Tony
               ,
            
             
               With
               Honour
               had
               Feather'd
               his
               Wing
               ,
            
             
               And
               carefully
               pick'd
               up
               the
               Money
               ,
            
             
               But
               never
               a
               Groat
               for
               the
               King
               :
            
             
               But
               
               Tony's
               Luck
               was
               confounded
               ;
            
             
               The
               Duke
               who
               smoak'd
               him
               a
               Round-head
               ;
            
             
               From
               Head
               to
               Heel
            
             
               Tony
               was
               sounded
               ,
            
             
               Great
               York
               soon
               put
               a
               spoke
               in
               his
               Wheel
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               But
               now
               little
               Tony
               in
               Passion
               ,
            
             
               Like
               Boy
               that
               had
               nettl'd
               his
               Breech
               ,
            
             
               Maliciously
               took
               an
               occasion
               ,
            
             
               To
               make
               a
               most
               delicate
               Speech
               ;
            
             
               He
               told
               the
               King
               like
               a
               Croney
               ;
            
             
               If
               e're
               he
               hop'd
               to
               have
               Money
               ,
            
             
               He
               must
               be
               Rul'd
               :
            
             
               Oh
               fine
               Tony
               !
            
             
               Was
               ever
               Potent
               Monarch
               so
               school'd
               ?
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               The
               King
               issues
               out
               a
               Proclamation
               ,
            
             
               By
               Learned
               and
               Loyal
               Advice
               ;
            
             
               But
               Tony
               possesses
               the
               Nation
            
             
               The
               Councel
               will
               never
               be
               wise
               :
            
             
             
               For
               Tony
               is
               madder
               and
               madder
               ,
            
             
               And
               
               Monmouth's
               blown
               like
               a
               Bladder
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 L
                 —
                 e
              
               too
               ,
            
             
               Who
               grows
               gladder
               ,
            
             
               That
               they
               Great
               York
               are
               like
               to
               subdue
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               But
               Destiny
               shortly
               will
               cross
               it
               ,
            
             
               For
               
               Tony's
               grown
               Gouty
               and
               Sick
               ,
            
             
               In
               spight
               of
               his
               Spiggot
               and
               Fawcet
            
             
               The
               States-man
               must
               go
               to
               Old
               Nick
               :
            
             
               For
               Tony
               rails
               at
               the
               Papists
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               he
               himself
               is
               an
               Atheist
               ;
            
             
               Though
               so
               precise
               ,
            
             
               Foolish
               and
               Apish
               ,
            
             
               Like
               holy
               Quack
               or
               Priest
               in
               Disguise
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               But
               now
               let
               this
               Rump
               of
               the
               Law
               see
               ,
            
             
               A
               Maxim
               as
               Learned
               in
               part
               ;
            
             
               Who
               e're
               with
               his
               Prince
               is
               too
               sawcy
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               fear'd
               he
               's
               a
               Traytor
               in
               's
               heart
               ,
            
             
               Then
               Tony
               cease
               to
               be
               witty
               ,
            
             
               By
               buzzing
               Treason
               i'
               th'
               City
               ;
            
             
               And
               love
               the
               King
               ,
            
             
               So
               ends
               my
               Ditty
               ,
            
             
               Or
               else
               let
               him
               die
               like
               a
               Dog
               in
               a
               string
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Whigs
             Exaltation
             ,
             a
             Pleasant
             New
             Song
             ,
          
           
             to
             an
             Old
             Tune
             of
             
               Forty
               One.
            
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               NOw
               ,
               now
               the
               Tories
               all
               shall
               stoop
               .
            
             
               Religion
               and
               the
               Laws
               ,
            
             
               And
               Whigs
               on
               Commonwealth
               get
               up
            
             
               To
               ●a●
               the
               
                 Good
                 Old
                 Cause
              
               ;
            
             
             
               Tantivy-Boys
               shall
               all
               go
               down
               ,
            
             
               And
               Haughty
               Monarchy
               ,
            
             
               The
               ●eathern-Cap
               shall
               brave
               the
               Throne
               ;
            
             
               
                 Then
                 Hey
                 Boys
                 up
                 go
                 we
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               When
               once
               that
               Antichristian
               Crew
            
             
               Are
               crush'd
               ,
               and
               overthrown
               ,
            
             
               We
               'l
               teach
               the
               Nobles
               how
               to
               bow
               ,
            
             
               And
               keep
               their
               Gentry
               down
               ,
            
             
               Good
               manners
               has
               a
               bad
               repute
               ,
            
             
               And
               tends
               to
               Pride
               we
               see
               ;
            
             
               We
               'l
               therefore
               cry
               all
               Breeding
               down
            
             
               
                 And
                 Hey
                 Boys
                 up
                 go
                 we
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               3
            
             
               The
               Name
               of
               Lord
               shall
               be
               abhorr'd
               ,
            
             
               For
               ev'ry
               mans
               a
               Brother
               ;
            
             
               What
               reason
               's
               then
               in
               Church
               or
               State
            
             
               One
               man
               should
               Rule
               another
               ?
            
             
               Thus
               having
               Peel'd
               and
               Plunder'd
               all
               ,
            
             
               And
               level'd
               each
               Degree
               ,
            
             
               We
               'l
               make
               their
               plump
               young
               Daughters
               fall
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 Hey
                 Boys
                 up
                 go
                 we
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               What
               though
               the
               KING
               and
               Parliament
            
             
               Cannot
               accord
               together
               ,
            
             
               We
               have
               good
               Cause
               to
               be
               content
               ,
            
             
               This
               is
               our
               Sun-shine
               weather
               ;
            
             
               For
               if
               good
               Reason
               should
               take
               place
               ,
            
             
               And
               they
               should
               both
               agree
               ,
            
             
               D'zounds
               who
               wou'd
               be
               in
               a
               Round-heads
               case
               ?
            
             
               
                 For
                 Hey
                 then
                 up
                 go
                 we
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               We
               'l
               down
               with
               all
               the
               
                 '
                 Versities
              
            
             
               Where
               Learning
               is
               profes●
               :
            
             
             
               For
               they
               still
               Practice
               ,
               and
               Maintain
            
             
               The
               
                 Language
                 of
                 the
                 Beast
              
               ;
            
             
               We
               'l
               Exercise
               in
               every
               Grove
               ,
            
             
               And
               Preach
               beneath
               a
               Tree
               ;
            
             
               We
               'l
               make
               a
               Pulpit
               of
               a
               Tub
               ,
            
             
               
                 Then
                 Hey
                 Boys
                 up
                 go
                 we
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               The
               Whigs
               shall
               Rule
               Committee-Chair
               ,
            
             
               Who
               will
               such
               Laws
               invent
               ,
            
             
               As
               shall
               Exclude
               the
               
                 Lawful
                 Heir
              
            
             
               By
               
                 Act
                 of
                 Parliament
              
               :
            
             
               We
               'l
               cut
               His
               
                 Royal
                 Highness
              
               down
               ,
            
             
               Ev'n
               shorter
               by
               the
               Knee
               ,
            
             
               That
               He
               shall
               never
               reach
               the
               Throne
               ,
            
             
               
                 Then
                 Hey
                 Boys
                 up
                 go
                 we
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               We
               'l
               Smite
               the
               Idol
               in
               Guild-Hall
               ,
            
             
               And
               then
               (
               as
               we
               were
               wont
               ,
               )
            
             
               We
               'l
               cry
               it
               was
               a
               
                 Popish
                 Plot
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               swear
               those
               Rogues
               have
               don
               't
               ;
            
             
               His
               
                 Royal
                 Highness
              
               to
               Un-throne
            
             
               Our
               Interest
               will
               be
               ,
            
             
               For
               if
               He
               e're
               Enjoy
               His
               own
               ,
            
             
               
                 Then
                 Hey
                 Boys
                 up
                 go
                 we
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               We
               'l
               break
               the
               Windows
               which
               the
               Whore
            
             
               Of
               Babylon
               has
               Painted
               ;
            
             
               And
               when
               their
               Bishops
               are
               pull'd
               down
               ,
            
             
               Our
               Elders
               shall
               be
               Sainted
               :
            
             
               Thus
               having
               quite
               Enslav'd
               the
               Throne
               ,
            
             
               Pretending
               to
               set
               free
               ,
            
             
               At
               length
               the
               Gallows
               claims
               its
               own
               ,
            
             
               
                 Then
                 Hey
                 Boys
                 up
                 go
                 we
                 .
              
            
          
        
         
           
           
             An
             Excellent
             New
             Hymn
             ,
             Exalting
             the
             Mobile
             to
             Loyalty
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             To
             the
             Tune
             of
             
               Forty
               One.
            
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               LEt
               Us
               advance
               the
               
                 Good
                 Old
                 Cause
              
               ;
            
             
               Fear
               not
               Tantivitiers
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               Threatnings
               are
               as
               Senseless
               ,
               as
            
             
               Our
               Jealousies
               and
               Fears
               ;
            
             
               'T
               is
               We
               must
               perfect
               this
               great
               work
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               the
               Tories
               slay
               ,
            
             
               And
               make
               the
               King
               a
               Glorious
               Saint
            
             
               
                 The
                 clean
                 contrary
                 way
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               It
               is
               for
               Liberty
               we
               Plot
               ,
            
             
               And
               for
               the
               Publick
               Good
               ,
            
             
               By
               making
               Bishops
               go
               to
               pot
               ,
            
             
               And
               shedding
               Guiltless
               Blood
               ;
            
             
               We
               'l
               Damn
               the
               
                 Orthodoxal
                 Beast
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               their
               Adherents
               slay
               ;
            
             
               When
               these
               are
               down
               ,
               we
               shall
               be
               blest
            
             
               
                 The
                 clean
                 contrary
                 way
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               When
               We
               the
               King
               have
               Bankrupt
               lain
               ,
            
             
               Of
               Power
               and
               Crown
               bereft
               Him
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               his
               
                 Loyal
                 Subjects
              
               slain
               ,
            
             
               And
               none
               but
               Rebels
               left
               him
               ;
            
             
               When
               we
               have
               quite
               undone
               the
               Land
               ,
            
             
               By
               Ignoramus
               sway
            
             
               We
               'l
               settle
               the
               Succession
               ,
               and
            
             
               
                 The
                 clean
                 contrary
                 way
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               'T
               is
               to
               preserve
               His
               Majesty
               ,
            
             
               That
               we
               against
               him
               rise
               ,
            
             
             
               The
               
                 Righteous
                 Cause
              
               can
               never
               die
            
             
               That
               's
               manag'd
               by
               the
               Wise
               ,
            
             
               Th'
               
               Association's
               a
               just
               thing
               ,
            
             
               And
               that
               does
               seem
               to
               say
               ,
            
             
               Who
               fights
               for
               us
               ,
               fights
               for
               the
               King
            
             
               
                 The
                 clean
                 contrary
                 way
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Religion
               still
               must
               be
               th'
               intent
               ,
            
             
               The
               Nations
               Peace
               and
               Good
               ,
            
             
               The
               
                 Privledge
                 of
                 Parliament
              
            
             
               So
               rarely
               Understood
               ;
            
             
               We
               'l
               pull
               the
               Laws
               and
               Reason
               down
               ,
            
             
               And
               teach
               men
               to
               obey
            
             
               Their
               Sovereign
               ,
               and
               the
               
                 Rights
                 o'
                 th'
                 Crown
              
            
             
               
                 The
                 clean
                 contrary
                 way
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Our
               Properties
               we
               'l
               upwards
               set
               ,
            
             
               By
               Imprisonment
               and
               Plunder
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 Needy
                 Whigs
              
               Preferment
               get
               ▪
            
             
               To
               keep
               all
               Tories
               under
               :
            
             
               We
               'l
               keep
               in
               Pension
               Oates
               and
               Prance
               ,
            
             
               To
               Swear
               and
               to
               Betray
            
             
               The
               
                 Int'rest
                 of
                 the
                 King
              
               ,
               t'
               Advance
            
             
               
                 The
                 clean
                 contrary
                 way
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               What
               tho'
               the
               King
               be
               now
               misled
            
             
               By
               the
               
                 Old
                 Popish
                 Crew
              
               ?
            
             
               He
               'l
               find
               our
               Honesty
               has
               sped
               ,
            
             
               And
               give
               us
               all
               our
               due
               ;
            
             
               For
               we
               (
               he
               knows
               )
               do
               Rail
               and
               Plot
               ,
            
             
               Rebellion
               to
               Obey
               ,
            
             
               And
               that
               we
               stand
               for
               Peace
               and
               ▪
               Truth
            
             
               
                 The
                 clean
                 contrary
                 way
              
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               8.
               
            
             
               And
               now
               my
               Noble
               Countrey-men
            
             
               You
               cannot
               doubt
               my
               Zeal
               ,
            
             
               That
               we
               have
               so
               true
               and
               Loyal
               been
            
             
               To
               King
               and
               Commonweal
               ;
            
             
               And
               if
               at
               last
               we
               chance
               to
               Hang
            
             
               For
               what
               we
               do
               or
               say
               ;
            
             
               Our
               comfort
               is
               ,
               to
               Heav'n
               we
               Gang
            
             
               
                 The
                 clean
                 contrary
                 way
              
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             Song
             on
             His
             Royal
             Highness's
             return
             from
             Scotland
             .
          
           
             To
             the
             Tune
             of
             ,
             
               Hey
               Boys
               up
               go
               we
            
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               NOw
               ,
               now
               the
               Zealots
               all
               must
               droop
               ,
            
             
               The
               Synagogues
               shall
               down
               ,
            
             
               And
               Truth
               and
               Loyalty
               get
               up
               ,
            
             
               The
               Pillars
               of
               the
               Throne
               ;
            
             
               The
               Whigs
               (
               who
               Loyalty
               forsook
               )
            
             
               Shall
               with
               one
               Voice
               agree
               ,
            
             
               To
               welcom
               home
               the
               mighty
               Duke
            
             
               Of
               York
               and
               Albany
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Behold
               with
               what
               a
               Glorious
               Train
            
             
               Of
               Noble
               Lords
               and
               Peers
               ,
            
             
               Great
               York
               is
               Guarded
               o're
               the
               Main
               ,
            
             
               In
               spight
               of
               all
               our
               Fears
               ▪
            
             
               Our
               
                 Groundless
                 Doubts
              
               and
               Jealousies
            
             
               Of
               
                 Popish
                 Slavery
              
               .
            
             
               For
               who
               can
               keep
               the
               Crowd
               in
               Peace
               ,
            
             
               But
               York
               and
               Albany
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               3.
               
            
             
               The
               
                 Wandring
                 Dove
              
               that
               was
               sent
               forth
            
             
               To
               find
               some
               Landing
               near
               ,
            
             
               When
               
                 Englands
                 Ark
              
               was
               toss●d
               on
               Floods
            
             
               Of
               Jealousies
               and
               Fears
               ;
            
             
               Returns
               with
               
                 Olive
                 Branch
              
               of
               Joy
               ,
            
             
               To
               set
               the
               Nation
               free
            
             
               From
               
                 Whiggish
                 Rage
              
               ,
               that
               wou'd
               destroy
            
             
               Great
               York
               and
               Albany
               .
            
          
           
             
               4·
            
             
               And
               now
               He
               is
               return'd
               in
               Peace
               ,
            
             
               With
               all
               His
               Pompous
               Train
               ,
            
             
               Whom
               Heav'n
               protected
               o're
               the
               Seas
               ,
            
             
               To
               bless
               this
               Land
               again
               ?
            
             
               Let
               us
               with
               thankful
               Hearts
               comply
               ,
            
             
               And
               Joyful
               Harmony
               ;
            
             
               For
               
                 Scotlands
                 Hope
              
               ,
               and
               
                 Englands
                 Joy
              
               ,
            
             
               Is
               York
               and
               Albany
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Let
               Bumpers
               flow
               ,
               and
               Bonfires
               blaze
               ,
            
             
               And
               every
               Steeple
               Ring
               ,
            
             
               To
               set
               forth
               Royal
               
               Jemmy's
               Praise
               ,
            
             
               The
               Brother
               of
               our
               King
               :
            
             
               Let
               Trumpets
               sound
               ,
               and
               Cannons
               roar
               ,
            
             
               And
               with
               one
               voice
               agree
               ,
            
             
               Since
               Heav'n
               again
               has
               brought
               ashoar
            
             
               Great
               York
               and
               Albany
               .
            
          
           
             
               6
               ,
            
             
               These
               solemn
               Rights
               they
               freely
               gave
            
             
               To
               ev'y
               
                 Factious
                 Brother
              
               ;
            
             
               Who
               thought
               the
               Nation
               to
               Enslave
               ,
            
             
               And
               ruine
               one
               another
               ;
            
             
               To
               Monmouth
               ,
               and
               each
               
                 Factious
                 Lord
              
               ,
            
             
               To
               Oates
               and
               Shaftsbury
               ;
            
             
             
               But
               thought
               it
               Treason
               to
               afford
            
             
               To
               York
               and
               Albany
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Now
               be
               confounded
               ,
               all
               you
               Tribe
            
             
               Of
               Ignoramus
               sway
               ;
            
             
               Who
               by
               
                 Malicious
                 Plots
              
               contriv'd
            
             
               To
               drive
               the
               Heir
               away
               ,
            
             
               (
               As
               you
               did
               once
               before
               to
               France
               )
            
             
               An
               Exile
               o're
               the
               Sea
               ;
            
             
               Who
               (
               to
               your
               grief
               )
               did
               home
               advance
            
             
               Great
               York
               and
               Albany
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               And
               may
               He
               ,
               with
               the
               Joys
               He
               wed
               ,
            
             
               Together
               flourish
               still
               ;
            
             
               And
               live
               to
               crush
               the
               Serpents
               head
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               Sting
               did
               pierce
               his
               heel
               ,
            
             
               Till
               Rebels
               tremble
               at
               his
               Name
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               the
               Land
               agree
               ,
            
             
               The
               just
               Succession
               to
               Procliam
            
             
               Of
               York
               and
               Albany
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Riddle
             of
             the
             Roundhead
             .
          
           
             To
             the
             Tune
             ,
             
               Now
               at
               last
               the
               Riddle
               is
               Expounded
               .
            
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               NOw
               at
               last
               the
               Riddle
               is
               Expounded
               ,
            
             
               Which
               so
               long
               the
               Nation
               has
               confounded
               ,
            
             
               For
               the
               Roundhead
            
             
               Begins
               the
               Game
               again
               ,
            
             
               Which
               so
               well
               they
               play'd
               in
               Forty
               four
               ,
            
             
               Now
               with
               greater
               hope
               ;
            
             
               For
               the
               fine
               Sham-plots
               will
               ne'r
               give
               over
               ,
            
             
               Till
               they
               piously
               have
               routed
               King
               and
               Pope
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Anthony
               that
               worm
               of
               Reformation
               ,
            
             
               Who
               of
               Commonwealth
               has
               laid
               Foundation
               ,
            
             
               Which
               the
               Nation
            
             
               So
               hotly
               does
               pursue
               ;
            
             
               Let
               him
               be
               rewarded
               in
               the
               Tower
               ,
            
             
               For
               his
               Merits
               due
               :
            
             
               By
               that
               busie
               Plotting
               head
               laid
               lower
               ,
            
             
               We
               may
               perhaps
               escape
               what
               might
               ensue
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Perkin
               make
               fine
               legs
               to
               the
               shouting
               Rabble
               ,
            
             
               Who
               to
               make
               him
               King
               he
               thinks
               are
               able
               ;
            
             
               But
               the
               Bauble
            
             
               Is
               only
               shew'd
               for
               use
               :
            
             
               The
               silly
               Idiot
               serves
               but
               for
               a
               Tool
               still
               ,
            
             
               For
               Knaves
               to
               work
               their
               Feats
               ,
            
             
               And
               will
               remain
               but
               a
               dull
               mistaken
               Fool
               still
               ,
            
             
               For
               all
               their
               damn'd
               Cabals
               &
               Wapping
               Treats
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               The
               most
               zealous
               Parliament
               devoted
               ,
            
             
               For
               the
               Publick
               good
               devoutly
               voted
               ,
            
             
               Pray
               note
               it
               ,
            
             
               That
               the
               Duke
               must
               ne'er
               be
               King
               ;
            
             
               And
               like
               honest
               faithfull
               loyal
               Subjects
               ,
            
             
               His
               Majesty
               implore
               ,
            
             
               To
               sign
               their
               Pious
               and
               Religious
               Projects
               ,
            
             
               Or
               else
               the
               threatn'd
               King
               must
               reign
               no
               more
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               The
               renowned
               work
               of
               Reformation
               ,
            
             
               To
               be
               carry'd
               on
               throughout
               the
               Nation
               ,
            
             
               In
               a
               Passion
            
             
               They
               Vote
               the
               Canons
               down
               :
            
             
               Acts
               and
               Statutes
               all
               must
               be
               confounded
               ,
            
             
               Law
               and
               Justice
               too
               ,
            
             
             
               To
               make
               way
               for
               the
               proud
               
                 rebellious
                 roundhead
              
            
             
               That
               they
               once
               more
               the
               Nation
               may
               undo
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Lords
               and
               Bishops
               both
               are
               useless
               Voted
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               factious
               crew
               who
               gravely
               Plotted
               ,
            
             
               Are
               noted
            
             
               For
               Lords
               and
               Commons
               too
               ,
            
             
               Whigs
               and
               Brumighams
               with
               shams
               and
               stories
               ,
            
             
               Are
               
                 True
                 Protestants
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               Protestants
               are
               Masquerates
               and
               Tories
               ,
            
             
               The
               Modern
               Reformation
               of
               the
               Saints
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Old
               Queen
               Bess
               that
               made
               the
               best
               Indentures
               ,
            
             
               Good
               King
               Jemmy
               too
               against
               Dissenters
               ,
            
             
               He
               ventures
               ▪
            
             
               To
               turn
               them
               out
               of
               doors
               ;
            
             
               To
               take
               in
               
                 Quakers
                 Puritans
              
               and
               Ranters
               ,
            
             
               The
               Parliament
               implores
               ,
            
             
               To
               build
               a
               Kirk
               of
               Whigs
               and
               Covenanters
               ,
            
             
               And
               make
               a
               Lawful
               Race
               of
               Sons
               of
               Whores
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Rowley
               now
               with
               Wisdom
               and
               grave
               Reason
               ,
            
             
               To
               prevent
               the
               swift
               approaching
               Treason
               ,
            
             
               In
               season
            
             
               Put
               a
               period
               to
               their
               strife
               ;
            
             
               In
               Oxford
               all
               their
               stratagem●
               confounded
               ,
            
             
               The
               Roguish
               Joyner
               too
               ;
            
             
               And
               may
               no
               better
               Fate
               attend
               the
               Roundhead
               ,
            
             
               That
               wou'd
               the
               Church
               and
               Monarchy
               subdue
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Oxford
               Loyal
               Youths
               who
               scorn
               to
               sham
               us
               ,
            
             
               With
               a
               perjur'd
               Bill
               of
               Ignoramus
               ,
            
             
               Or
               name
               us
            
             
               For
               Loyal
               ,
               Traytors
               known
               ;
            
             
             
               Soon
               found
               a
               flaw
               i'
               th
               bottom
               of
               the
               Joyner
               ,
            
             
               By
               Justice
               and
               the
               Laws
               ,
            
             
               Of
               Church
               and
               Commonwealth
               an
               Underminer
               ,
            
             
               Who
               fell
               a
               Martyr
               in
               the
               
                 Good
                 Old
                 Cause
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               Now
               for
               shame
               ye
               Zealots
               be
               confounded
               ,
            
             
               Boast
               no
               more
               Allegiance
               ,
               since
               a
               Roundhead
            
             
               Is
               grounded
            
             
               Upon
               the
               Holy
               Sham
               :
            
             
               How
               dare
               ye
               talk
               of
               Loyalty
               ,
               a
               Hater
            
             
               Of
               Justice
               ,
               King
               and
               Laws
               ,
            
             
               Since
               the
               Whiggish
               Protestant
               is
               found
               a
               Traytor
               ,
            
             
               And
               dies
               a
               Martyr
               in
               the
               
                 Good
                 Old
                 Cause
              
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Ignoramus
             :
             An
             Excellent
             Song
             .
          
           
             To
             the
             Tune
             of
             ,
             
               Lay
               by
               your
               Pleading
            
          
           
             
               1
            
             
               SInce
               Reformation
            
             
               With
               
               Whig's
               in
               Fashion
               ,
            
             
               There
               's
               neither
               Equity
               nor
               Justice
               in
               the
               Nation
               ,
            
             
               Against
               their
               Furies
               ,
            
             
               There
               no
               such
               Cure
               is
               ,
            
             
               As
               lately
               hath
               been
               wrought
               by
               Ignoramus-Juries
               .
            
             
               Compaction
               of
               Faction
            
             
               That
               breeds
               all
               Distraction
               ,
            
             
               Is
               at
               the
               Zenith
               Point
               ,
               but
               will
               not
               bear
               an
               Action
               .
            
             
               
                 They
                 sham
                 us
                 ,
                 and
                 flam
                 us
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 ram
                 us
                 ,
                 and
                 damn
                 us
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 then
                 in
                 spight
                 of
                 Law
                 ,
                 come
                 off
                 with
              
               Ignoramus
               .
            
          
           
             
               2
            
             
               Oh
               ,
               how
               they
               Plotted
               ,
            
             
               Brimi●hams
               Voted
            
             
             
               And
               all
               the
               Mobile
               the
               Holy
               Cause
               promoted
               ;
            
             
               They
               preach'd
               up
               Treason
               ,
            
             
               At
               ev'ry
               season
               ,
            
             
               And
               taught
               the
               Multitude
               Rebellion
               was
               but
               Reason
               ,
            
             
               With
               Breaches
               ,
               Impeaches
               ,
            
             
               And
               most
               Loyal
               Speeches
               ,
            
             
               With
               Royal
               Bloud
               again
               to
               glut
               the
               thirsty
               Leeches
               .
            
             
               
                 They
                 sham
                 us
                 and
                 flam
                 us
                 ,
              
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               3
            
             
               'T
               is
               such
               a
               Jury
            
             
               Wou'd
               pass
               no
               Tory
               ,
            
             
               Were
               he
               as
               Innocent
               as
               a
               Saint
               in
               Glory
               :
            
             
               But
               let
               a
               Brother
            
             
               Ravish
               his
               Mother
               ,
            
             
               Assassinate
               his
               King
               ,
               he
               wou'd
               find
               no
               other
               .
            
             
               They
               shamed
               ,
               and
               blamed
               ,
            
             
               At
               Loyallists
               aimed
               ;
            
             
               But
               when
               a
               
               Whig's
               repriev'd
               the
               Town
               with
               Beacons
               flamed
            
             
               
                 They
                 sham
                 us
                 and
                 flam
                 us
                 ,
              
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               4
            
             
               This
               Ignoramus
            
             
               With
               which
               they
               sham
               us
               ,
            
             
               Wou'd
               find
               against
               a
               York
               ,
               to
               raise
               a
               
                 M
                 —
                 th-amus
              
            
             
               Who
               clears
               a
               Traytor
               ;
            
             
               And
               a
               King
               Hater
            
             
               Against
               his
               Lawful
               Prince
               wou'd
               find
               sufficient
               matter
            
             
               They
               sought
               it
               ,
               and
               wrought
               it
               ,
            
             
               Like
               Rebels
               they
               fought
               it
               ,
            
             
               And
               with
               the
               price
               of
               Royal
               Martyrs
               blood
               they
               bought
               it
               ▪
            
             
               
                 They
                 sham
                 us
                 ,
                 and
                 flam
                 us
                 ,
              
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               5
            
             
               At
               the
               Old-Baily
               ,
            
             
               Where
               Rogues
               flock
               daily
               ,
            
             
               A
               greater
               Traytor
               far
               then
               
                 Coleman
                 ,
                 White
              
               or
               Staley
            
             
             
               Was
               late
               Indicted
               ,
            
             
               Witnesses
               cited
               ,
            
             
               But
               then
               he
               was
               set
               free
               ;
               so
               the
               King
               was
               righted
            
             
               '
               Gainst
               Princes
               ,
               Offences
            
             
               Prov'd
               in
               all
               senses
               ;
            
             
               But
               '
               gainst
               a
               Whig
               there
               's
               no
               Truth
               in
               Evidences
               ▪
            
             
               
                 They
                 sham
                 us
                 ,
                 and
                 flam
                 us
                 ,
              
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               6
            
             
               But
               wot
               you
               what
               ,
               Sir
               ?
            
             
               They
               found
               it
               not
               ,
               Sir
               ;
            
             
               'T
               was
               ev'ry
               Jurors
               Case
               ,
               and
               there
               lay
               all
               the
               Plot
               ,
               Sir.
            
             
               For
               at
               this
               season
               ,
            
             
               Shou'd
               they
               do
               reason
               ,
            
             
               Which
               of
               themselves
               wou'd
               scape
               ,
               if
               they
               found
               it
               Treason
               ?
            
             
               Compassion
               in
               fashion
               ,
            
             
               The
               Int'rest
               of
               th'
               Nation
            
             
               Oh
               ,
               what
               a
               Godly
               point
               is
               self-preservation
               !
            
             
               
                 They
                 sham
                 us
                 ,
                 and
                 flam
                 us
                 ,
              
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               7
            
             
               'Las
               what
               is
               Conscience
            
             
               In
               
               Baxter's
               own
               sense
               ,
            
             
               When
               Int'rest
               lies
               at
               stake
               ,
               an
               Oath
               and
               Law
               is
               Nonsense
               .
            
             
               Now
               they
               will
               banter
            
             
               Quaker
               and
               Ranter
               ,
            
             
               To
               find
               a
               Loyallist
               ,
               and
               clear
               a
               Covenanter
               .
            
             
               They
               'l
               wrangle
               and
               brangle
               ,
            
             
               The
               Soul
               intangle
               ,
            
             
               To
               save
               the
               Traytors
               Neck
               from
               the
               old
               Triangle
               .
            
             
               
                 They
                 flam
                 us
                 ,
                 and
                 sham
                 us
                 ,
              
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               8
            
             
               Alass
               !
               for
               pitty
            
             
               Of
               this
               good
               City
               ,
            
             
               What
               will
               the
               Tories
               say
               in
               their
               drunken
               Dity
               ?
            
             
               When
               all
               Abettors
               .
            
             
             
               And
               Monarch-haters
               ,
            
             
               The
               Brethren
               damn'd
               their
               Souls
               to
               save
               Malicious
               Traytors
            
             
               But
               mind
               it
               ,
               long
               winded
               ,
            
             
               With
               prejudice
               blinded
               ,
            
             
               Lest
               what
               they
               did
               reject
               ,
               another
               Jury
               find
               it
            
             
               
                 Then
                 sham
                 us
                 ,
                 and
                 flam
                 us
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 ram
                 us
                 ,
                 and
                 damn
                 us
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 When
                 against
                 King
                 and
                 Law
                 you
                 find
                 an
              
               Ignoramus
            
          
        
         
           
             London's
             Loyalty
             ,
          
           
             To
             a
             Pleasant
             New
             Tune
             ,
             Call'd
             Burton-Hall
             .
          
           
             
               1
            
             
               ROwze
               up
               Great
               Genius
            
             
               Of
               this
               Potent
               Land
               ,
            
             
               Lest
               Traytors
               once
               more
            
             
               Get
               the
               upper
               hand
               ;
            
             
               The
               Rebel
               Crowd
               their
            
             
               Former
               Tenents
               own
               ,
            
             
               And
               Treason
               worse
               than
               Plagues
            
             
               Infect
               the
               Town
               :
            
             
               The
               Sneaking
               Mayor
            
             
               And
               his
               two
               Pimping
               Shreeves
               ,
            
             
               Who
               for
               their
               honesty
            
             
               No
               better
               are
               then
               Theeves
               ;
            
             
               Fall
               from
               their
               Sov'raigns
               side
               ,
            
             
               
                 To
                 Court
                 the
                 Mobile
              
               ,
            
             
               Oh!
               
                 London
                 ,
                 London
              
               ,
            
             
               Where
               's
               
                 thy
                 Loyalty
              
               ?
            
          
           
             
               2
            
             
               First
               ,
               
                 Yorkshire
                 Patience
              
            
             
               Twirls
               his
               Copper
               Chain
               ;
            
             
               And
               hopes
               to
               see
               a
            
             
               Commonwealth
               again
               ;
            
             
               The
               Sneaking
               Fool
            
             
             
               Of
               breaking
               is
               affraid
               ▪
            
             
               Dares
               not
               change●
               is
               side
            
             
               For
               fear
               he
               lose
               his
               Trade
               ;
            
             
               Then
               Loyal
               Slingsby
            
             
               Does
               
                 their
                 Fate
                 Divine
              
               —
            
             
               He
               that
               Abjur'd
               the
               King
               ▪
            
             
               Bnd
               all
               his
               Sacred
               Line
               ,
            
             
               And
               is
               suppos'd
               His
               Fathers
            
             
               Murderer
               to
               be
               ;
            
             
               Oh!
               
                 Bethel
                 ,
                 Bethel
              
               ,
            
             
               Where
               's
               thy
               Loyalty
               ?
            
          
           
             
               3
            
             
               A
               most
               
                 Noto●ious
                 Villain
              
            
             
               Late
               was
               caught
               ,
            
             
               And
               after
               to
               the
               Bar
            
             
               Of
               Justice
               brought
               ;
            
             
               But
               ●lingsby
               pack●r
               a
               Jury
            
             
               Of
               his
               own
               ,
            
             
               Of
               worser
               Rogues
               then
               e're
            
             
               Made
               Gallows
               groan●
            
             
               Then
               Dugdales
               Evidence
            
             
               was
               soon
               decry'd
               ,
            
             
               That
               was
               s●
               just
               ,
               and
               honest●
            
             
               When
               Old
               Stafford
               dy'd
               :
            
             
               Now
               was
               a
               perjur'd
               Villain
               ,
            
             
               And
               he
               ly'd
               .
            
             
               Oh!
               Justice
               ,
               Justice
               ,
            
             
               Where
               's
               thy
               Equity
               ?
            
          
           
             
               4
            
             
               Now
               
                 Cl
                 —
                 ton
              
               ,
               murmures
            
             
               Treason
               ,
               unprovok'd
               ,
            
             
               First
               sup'd
               the
               King
               ,
               and
               after
            
             
               Wish'd
               him
               choak't
               ,
            
             
               '
               Cause
               
               Danby's
               Place
               was
            
             
             
               Well
               bestow'd
               before
               ,
            
             
               He
               Rebel
               turns
               ,
               seduc'd
            
             
               By
               Scarlet
               Whore
               ;
            
             
               His
               sawcy
               Pride
               aspires
            
             
               To
               High
               Renown
               ,
            
             
               Leather
               Breeches
               are
               forgot
            
             
               In
               which
               he
               trudg●d
               to
               Town
               ,
            
             
               Nought
               but
               the
               Treasury
            
             
               Can
               please
               the
               scribling
               Clown
            
             
               Oh!
               
                 Robin
                 ,
                 Robin
              
               ,
            
             
               Where●s
               thy
               Modesty
               ?
            
          
           
             
               5
            
             
               
                 Pl
                 —
                 er
              
               now
               grows
               dull
               ,
            
             
               And
               pines
               for
               want
               of
               Whore
               ;
            
             
               Poor
               Creswel
               ,
               she
               can
               take
            
             
               His
               word
               no
               more
               ,
            
             
               Three
               Hundred
               Pounds
               ,
            
             
               Is
               such
               a
               heavy
               yoak
               ,
            
             
               Which
               not
               being
               pay'd
               ,
            
             
               The
               worn
               out
               Bawd
               is
               broak
               ,
            
             
               These
               are
               the
               Instruments
            
             
               By
               Heaven
               sent
               ,
            
             
               These
               are
               the
               Saints
               Petition
            
             
               For
               a
               Parliament
               :
            
             
               That
               would
               for
               Interest
               sake
               ,
            
             
               Destroy
               the
               Monarchy
               :
            
             
               Oh!
               
                 London
                 ,
                 London
              
               ,
            
             
               Where
               's
               thy
               Loyalty
               ?
            
          
           
             
               6
            
             
               Heaven
               Bless
               Fair
               England
               ,
            
             
               And
               i'ts
               Monarch
               here
               ,
            
             
               In
               Scotland
               ,
               Bless
               your
            
             
               High
               Commissioner
               ,
            
             
               Let
               Perkin
               his
               ungracious
            
             
               Error
               see
            
             
             
               And
               Tony
               scape
               no
               more
            
             
               The
               Triple
               Tree
               :
            
             
               Then
               Peace
               and
               plenty
            
             
               Shall
               our
               joyes
               restore
               ,
            
             
               Villains
               and
               Factions
            
             
               Shall
               oppress
               the
               Town
               no
               more
               .
            
             
               But
               every
               Loyal
               Subject
            
             
               Then
               shall
               happy
               be
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               need
               we
               care
            
             
               For
               Londons
               Loyalty
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             
               The
               Loyal
               Health
            
             .
             A
             Court
             Song
             ,
          
           
             to
             a
             Delicate
             new
             Tune
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               SInce
               Plotting's
               a
               Trade
               ,
            
             
               Like
               the
               rest
               of
               the
               Nation
               :
            
             
               Let
               'em
               Lie
               and
               Swear
               on
               ,
            
             
               To
               keep
               up
               the
               Vocation
               ;
            
             
               Let
               Tinkers
               and
               Weavers
               ,
            
             
               And
               Joyners
               agree
               ▪
            
             
               To
               find
               work
               for
               the
               Cooper
               ,
            
             
               They
               'l
               have
               none
               of
               me
               ,
            
             
               Let
               Politick
               Shams
               ,
            
             
               In
               the
               States-men
               abound
               ,
            
             
               While
               we
               quaff
               off
               our
               Bumpers
               ,
            
             
               And
               set
               the
               Glass
               round
               :
            
             
               The
               jolly
               true
               Toper's
            
             
               The
               best
               Subject
               still
               ,
            
             
               Who
               drinks
               off
               his
               Liquor
               ,
            
             
               And
               thinks
               no
               more
               ill
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Then
               let
               us
               stand
               to
               't
               ,
            
             
               And
               like
               honest
               Men
               fall
               ,
            
             
               Who
               love
               King
               and
               Country
               ▪
            
             
               Duke
               ,
               Dutchess
               and
               all
               :
            
             
               Not
               such
               as
               wou'd
               blow
               up
            
             
               The
               Nation
               by
               stealth
               ,
            
             
               And
               out
               of
               the
               flame
            
             
               Raise
               a
               new
               Commonwealth
               :
            
             
               Not
               such
               ,
               who
               against
               Church
            
             
               And
               Bishops
               do
               rage
               ,
            
             
               To
               advance
               old
               
                 Jack
                 Presbyter
              
               ,
            
             
               on
               the
               new
               Stage
               .
            
             
               But
               to
               all
               honest
               Tories
            
             
               who
               'l
               fight
               for
               their
               King
               ,
            
             
               And
               to
               Crown
               the
               brave
               work
               ,
            
             
               With
               the
               Court
               wee
               'l
               begin
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Here
               's
               a
               Health
               to
               the
               King
               ,
            
             
               And
               his
               Lawful
               Successors
            
             
               To
               honest
               Tantivies
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 Loyal
                 Addressors
              
               ;
            
             
               But
               a
               pox
               take
               all
               those
               ,
            
             
               That
               promoted
               Petitions
               ▪
            
             
               To
               Poyson
               the
               Nation
               ,
            
             
               And
               stir
               up
               Seditions
               ▪
            
             
               Here
               's
               a
               Health
               to
               the
               Queen
               ,
            
             
               And
               her
               Ladies
               of
               Honour
               ,
            
             
               And
               a
               pox
               take
               all
               those
               ,
            
             
               that
               put
               Sham
               plots
               upon
               her
               .
            
             
               Here
               's
               a
               Health
               to
               the
               Duke
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               Senate
               of
               Scotland
               ,
            
             
               And
               to
               all
               honest
               Men
               ,
            
             
               That
               from
               Bishops
               ne're
               got-Land
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               4
            
             
               Here
               's
               a
               Health
               to
               L'estrange
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               boon
               Heraclitus
               :
            
             
               And
               true
               Tory
               Thompson
               ,
            
             
               Who
               never
               did
               slight
               us
               ,
            
             
               And
               forgetting
               
                 Broom
                 ,
                 Paulin
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               Alderman
               Wrightus
               ,
            
             
               With
               Tony
               and
               Bethel
               ,
            
             
               Ignoramus
               and
               Titus
               ;
            
             
               Here
               's
               a
               Health
               to
               the
               Church
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               those
               that
               are
               for
               it
               ,
            
             
               Confusion
               to
               Zealots
               ,
            
             
               And
               Whigs
               that
               abhor
               it
               ,
            
             
               May
               it
               ever
               be
               safe
               ,
            
             
               From
               the
               new
               mode
               Refiners
               :
            
             
               And
               may
               Justice
               be
               done
            
             
               Upon
               Coopers
               and
               Joyners
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Here
               's
               a
               Health
               to
               old
               Hall
               —
               ,
            
             
               Who
               our
               joys
               did
               restore
               ;
            
             
               And
               a
               pox
               take
               each
               popular
            
             
               Son
               of
               a
               Whore
               ;
            
             
               To
               the
               Spaniard
               and
               Dane
               ,
            
             
               The
               brave
               Russian
               and
               Moor
               ,
            
             
               Who
               come
               from
               far
               Nations
               ,
            
             
               Our
               King
               to
               adore
               ,
            
             
               To
               all
               that
               do
               Worship
               ,
            
             
               The
               God
               of
               the
               Vine
               ,
            
             
               And
               to
               old
               Jolly
               Bowman
            
             
               Who
               draws
               us
               good
               Wine
               ;
            
             
               And
               as
               for
               all
               Traytors
               ,
            
             
               Whether
               Baptist
               or
               Whig
               ,
            
             
               May
               they
               all
               trot
               to
               Tyburn
               ,
            
             
               To
               dance
               the
               old
               Jig
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               6
            
             
               Here
               's
               a
               Health
               to
               all
               those
               ,
            
             
               Who
               Love
               the
               King
               and
               his
               Laws
               ,
            
             
               And
               may
               they
               near
               Pledge
               it
            
             
               That
               Broach'd
               the
               
                 Old
                 Cause
              
            
             
               Here
               's
               a
               Health
               to
               the
               State
               ,
            
             
               And
               a
               Plague
               on
               the
               Pack
            
             
               Of
               Commonwealth
               Canters
               ▪
            
             
               And
               
                 Presbyrer
                 Jack
              
               ;
            
             
               To
               the
               uppermost
               pendent
            
             
               That
               ever
               did
               play
            
             
               On
               the
               highest
               Top-gallant
            
             
               o
               th'
               Soveraign
               o'
               th'
               Sea
               ;
            
             
               And
               he
               that
               denies
            
             
               To
               the
               Standard
               to
               lore
               ,
            
             
               May
               he
               sink
               in
               the
               Ocean
               ,
            
             
               And
               never
               Drink
               more
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             
               The
               Loyal
            
             Scot
             ;
             
               an
               Excellent
               New
               Song
            
             ,
          
           
             To
             a
             New
             Scotch
             Tune
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               BRed
               of
               Gued
               !
               I
               think
               the
               Nation
               's
               ma●
            
             
               And
               nene
               but
               Knaves
               and
               perjur'd
               Loo●
               do
               rule
               the
               Rost
               ;
            
             
               And
               for
               an
               honest
               Kerl
               ne
               living's
               to
               be
               had
            
             
               Why
               sure
               the
               Deel
               is
               landed
               on
               the
               Engl●
               Coast
               .
            
             
               I
               ha'
               ne'r
               been
               here
               sin
               '
               
                 Forty
                 Three
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               now
               thro'
               Scotland
               gang
               ,
               to'l
               see
               o●
               Gracious
               KING
               ;
            
             
               But
               wunds
               a
               Gued
               !
               instead
               of
               Mirth
               an●
               Mery-glee
               ,
            
             
               I
               find
               and
               s●iv'ling
               Presbyter
               is
               coming
               in
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               2.
               
            
             
               For
               they
               talk
               of
               horrid
               
                 Popish
                 Plots
              
               ,
               and
               Heav'n
               knows
               what
               ,
            
             
               When
               au
               the
               wiser
               World
               knows
               well
               what
               they
               'd
               be
               at
               ;
            
             
               For
               with
               sike
               like
               seeming
               Sanctity
               the
               geudest
               KING
            
             
               They
               did
               to
               Death
               and
               Ruine
               bring
               .
            
          
           
             
               When
               on
               the
               Civil-broils
               they
               first
               did
               enter
               in
               ,
            
             
               (
               As
               well
               ye
               ken
               )
               with
               Popery
               they
               did
               begin
               ▪
            
             
               And
               with
               Liberty
               and
               
                 Publick
                 Geud
              
               was
               muckle
               din
               ,
            
             
               When
               the
               Deel
               a
               bit
               they
               meant
               the
               Thing
               .
            
          
           
             
               3
               ▪
            
             
               That
               Machine
               of
               monstrous
               Policy
               ,
            
             
               I
               se
               mean
               old
               Shaftsbury
               for
               Loyalty
               so
               ●am'd
            
             
               The
               voice
               of
               all
               the
               
                 Geudly
                 Rabble
                 Mobile
              
               ,
            
             
               The
               fausest
               Loon
               that
               ever
               Envy
               destin'd
               Damn'd
            
          
           
             
               Heav'n
               sure
               never
               meant
               so
               fou
               a
               thing
               ,
            
             
               But
               to
               inform
               the
               world
               where
               Villany
               did
               dwell
               :
            
             
               And
               sike
               a
               Traytor
               beath
               to
               Commonwealth
               and
               KING
            
             
               The
               muckle
               Deel
               did
               surely
               never
               hatch
               in
               Hell.
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               For
               ,
               like
               
                 Roman
                 Cataline
              
               ,
               to
               gain
               his
               Pious
               Ends
               ,
            
             
               He
               pimps
               for
               au
               the
               loose
               Rebellious
               Fops
               in
               Toon
               :
            
             
             
               And
               with
               Treats
               and
               Treason
               daily
               crams
               his
               
                 City
                 Friends
              
               ,
            
             
               From
               the
               Link●man
               to
               the
               Scarlet-Goon
               .
            
          
           
             
               And
               with
               high
               Debauchery
               they
               carry
               on
               the
               CAUSE
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 Guedly
                 Reformation
              
               is
               the
               Sham
               pretence
               ▪
            
             
               And
               Religiously
               defie
               Divine
               and
               Humane
               Laws
               ,
            
             
               With
               Obedience
               to
               their
               Rightful
               Prince
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Then
               ,
               as
               SPEAKER
               ,
               to
               this
               Grand
               Cabal
               ,
            
             
               Old
               Envy
               Tony
               ,
               seated
               at
               the
               head
               o●th
               '
               Board
               ,
            
             
               His
               learn'd
               Oration
               for
               Rebellion
               makes
               to
               All
               ,
            
             
               Applauded
               and
               approv'd
               by
               ev'ry
               Factious
               LORD
               .
            
          
           
             
               Cully
               JEMMY
               then
               they
               vote
               for
               KING
               ,
            
             
               Whom
               Curse
               confound
               for
               being
               sike
               a
               senseless
               Loon
            
             
               Can
               they
               who
               did
               their
               Lawful
               Lord
               to
               th'
               Scaffold
               bring
            
             
               Be
               just
               to
               Him
               ,
               that
               has
               no
               Title
               to
               a
               Croon
               ?
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               But
               they
               find
               he
               's
               a
               Blockhead
               fitting
               for
               their
               Use
               ,
            
             
               A
               FOOL
               by
               Nature
               ,
               and
               a
               KNAVE
               by
               Custom
               grown
               .
            
             
               A
               Gay
               Fop-Monarch
               ,
               that
               the
               Rabble
               may
               abuse
            
             
               And
               their
               bus'ness
               done
               ,
               will
               soon
               unthrone
               .
            
          
           
             
               And
               Jemmy
               swears
               and
               vows
               ,
               'gan
               he
               can
               get
               the
               Croon
               ,
            
             
             
               He
               by
               the
               Laws
               of
               
                 Forty
                 Ene
              
               will
               guided
               be
               :
            
             
               And
               Prophane
               Lawn-sleeves
               and
               Surplices
               again
               must
               doon
               ,
            
             
               Then
               hey
               for
               and
               PRESBYTERY
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               
                 B
                 —
                 m
              
               a
               States-man
               would
               be
               thought
               ,
            
             
               And
               reason
               geud
               that
               he
               should
               bear
               that
               rev'rend
               Name
               ,
            
             
               Since
               he
               was
               ene
               of
               them
               that
               first
               began
               the
               PLOT
               ,
            
             
               How
               he
               the
               King
               might
               Banter
               ,
               and
               
                 three
                 Kingdoms
              
               Sham.
               
            
          
           
             
               Au
               the
               Male-Contents
               His
               Noble
               Grace
            
             
               To
               this
               Rehearsal
               did
               invite
               ,
               to
               hear
               and
               see
               :
            
             
               But
               ,
               whilst
               He
               wittily
               contriv'd
               it
               but
               a
               Farce
               ,
            
             
               The
               busier
               Noddles
               turn'd
               it
               into
               Tragedy
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               And
               now
               each
               Actor
               does
               begin
               to
               play
               his
               part
               ,
            
             
               And
               too
               so
               well
               he
               cons
               his
               Geer
               ,
               and
               takes
               his
               Cue
               ,
            
             
               Till
               they
               learn
               to
               play
               the
               Rebel
               so
               by
               rote
               of
               heart
               ,
            
             
               That
               the
               fictitious
               Story
               seems
               most
               True.
               
            
          
           
             
               And
               now
               ,
               without
               controll
               ,
               they
               apprehend
               and
               hang
            
             
               And
               with
               the
               Nation
               au
               is
               Gospel
               that
               they
               swear
               :
            
             
               Then
               ,
               bonny
               Jockey
               ,
               prithee
               back
               to'l
               Scotland
               gang
               ,
            
             
               For
               a
               Loyal
               Lad's
               in
               danger
               here
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             State
             Empirick
             ,
             
               a
               New
               Song
            
             .
          
           
             To
             the
             Tune
             of
             ,
             
               Which
               no
               body
               can
               deny
            
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               FRom
               over
               the
               Seas
               not
               long
               since
               there
               came
               ,
            
             
               A
               Doctor
               of
               most
               
                 Notorious
                 Fame
              
               ,
            
             
               If
               you
               please
               you
               may
               guess
               at
               his
               Vn-Christian
               name
               .
            
             
               
                 which
                 no
                 body
                 can
                 deny
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               This
               Doctor
               came
               hither
               to
               cure
               three
               Nations
               .
            
             
               Who
               were
               so
               silly
               as
               to
               be
               his
               Patients
               ;
            
             
               And
               first
               he
               Blooded
               'em
               for
               the
               Fashions
               .
            
             
               
                 Which
                 no
                 body
                 can
                 deny
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               The
               Med'cine
               he
               brought
               was
               called
               a
               PLOT
               ,
            
             
               Which
               was
               Compounded
               of
               the
               Devil
               knows
               what
               :
            
             
               When
               first
               he
               Arriv'd
               it
               was
               Piping-Hot
               .
            
             
               Which
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               But
               if
               we
               may
               guess
               at
               the
               Damn'd
               Composition
               ▪
            
             
               'T
               was
               a
               mess
               of
               all
               sorts
               of
               
                 English
                 Sedition
              
               ,
            
             
               Made
               up
               by
               a
               
                 Presbyterian
                 Physician
              
               .
            
             
               Which
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               To
               make
               each
               Dose
               go
               down
               the
               safer
               ,
            
             
               What
               do's
               the
               still
               this
               Learned
               Gaffer
               ,
            
             
               But
               cover
               it
               o'r
               with
               a
               
                 Papist●s
                 Wafer
              
               .
            
             
               Which
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               As
               soon
               as
               't
               was
               Swallow'd
               ,
               the
               Patient
               began
            
             
               To
               Stare
               and
               to
               Talk
               like
               a
               Lunatick
               Man
               ,
            
             
             
               Of
               Pistols
               and
               Daggers
               ,
               to
               Kill
               and
               Trapan
               .
            
             
               Which
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               To
               some
               't
               was
               Emetick
               ,
               to
               others
               Cathartick
               ,
            
             
               (
               I
               mean
               ,
               to
               all
               those
               who
               of
               it
               did
               partake
               ,
               )
            
             
               In
               short
               ,
               it
               made
               every
               Honest
               Mans
               heart-ake
               .
            
             
               Which
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               To
               say
               truth
               we
               were
               all
               in
               a
               filthy
               Condition
            
             
               This
               voided
               a
               Libel
               ,
               that
               Spew'd
               a
               Petition
               ,
            
             
               For
               which
               we
               may
               thank
               in
               part
               our
               Physician
               .
            
             
               Which
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               At
               last
               it
               made
               our
               Bloud
               so
               ferment
               ,
            
             
               That
               a
               
                 Rancorous
                 Sore
              
               from
               Men's
               Body's
               was
               sent
               :
            
             
               The
               Vlcer
               ,
               I
               mean
               ,
               of
               a
               
                 strange
                 Parliament
              
               .
            
             
               Which
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               It
               's
               Venom
               upon
               each
               Member
               was
               shed
               ;
            
             
               The
               Body
               it
               almost
               had
               over-spread
               ,
            
             
               Nay
               ,
               it
               had
               e●en
               like
               to
               have
               seiz'd
               on
               the
               Head.
            
             
               Which
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               11.
               
            
             
               But
               one
               wiser
               then
               all
               ,
               did
               giv
               't
               such
               a
               Thump
               ,
            
             
               That
               it
               burst
               and
               went
               out
               ,
               just
               next
               to
               the
               Rump
               .
            
             
               Which
               made
               with
               Joy
               ev'ry
               
                 Loyal
                 Heart
                 Jump
              
               .
            
             
               Which
               ▪
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               12.
               
            
             
               This
               Vlcer
               was
               full
               of
               Pistol
               and
               Sword
               ,
            
             
               With
               Blunderbuss
               and
               with
               your
               things
               made
               of
               Board
               ,
            
             
               Your
               
                 Protestant
                 Flayls
              
               to
               Fight
               for
               the
               Lord.
            
             
               Which
               ,
               &c
            
          
           
             
             
               13.
               
            
             
               O
               Doctor
               !
               I
               fear
               ,
               you
               study'd
               
                 Art
                 Magick
              
               ,
            
             
               To
               Compass
               your
               Ends
               ,
               which
               still
               were
               so
               Tragick
               :
            
             
               But
               now
               it
               is
               hop'd
               that
               we
               may
               lead
               You
               a
               Jig
               .
            
             
               Which
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               14.
               
            
             
               Or
               else
               I
               am
               sure
               ,
               without
               being
               uncivil
               ,
            
             
               A
               Man
               my
               believe
               you
               deal
               with
               the
               Devil
               ,
            
             
               For
               no
               body
               else
               could
               have
               wrought
               us
            
             
               such
               
                 Evil.
                 Which
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               15.
               
            
             
               Your
               Canting
               was
               
                 Charm
                 ,
                 Rebellion
              
               your
               Witch
               ,
            
             
               With
               these
               you
               gave
               the
               
                 Poor
                 Rabble
              
               the
               Itch
               ,
            
             
               When
               like
               Emp'rick
               on
               Stage
               you
               made
               'em
               a
               Speech
               .
            
             
               Which
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               16.
               
            
             
               Y'
               are
               Jilted
               you
               see
               by
               Faction
               your
               Whore
               ,
            
             
               Your
               little
               Tap-Pug
               can
               help
               you
               no
               more
               :
            
             
               Hell
               ow's
               Both
               a
               Spite
               ,
               and
               will
               pay
               ye
               the
               score
               .
            
             
               
                 Which
                 no
                 body
                 can
                 deny
              
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Titus
             Tell-Troth
             :
             A
             Song
          
           
             to
             the
             Tune
             of
             ,
             
               Hail
               to
               the
               Myrile
               Shades
            
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               HAil
               to
               the
               
                 Knight
                 of
                 the
                 Post
              
               ;
            
             
               To
               Titus
               the
               Chief
               of
               the
               Town
            
             
               Titus
               who
               vainly
               did
               boast
            
             
               Of
               the
               
                 Salamancha
                 Gown
              
               ;
            
             
               Titus
               who
               saw
               the
               world
               o're
               ,
            
             
               From
               the
               Tower
               of
               Valadolid
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               stood
               in
               the
               White-horse
               Door
               ,
            
             
               And
               swore
               to
               it
               ,
               like
               the
               Creed
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Titus
               at
               Watton
               in
               May
               ,
            
             
               To
               Titus
               at
               Islington
               ;
            
             
               And
               Titus
               the
               self
               same
               day
            
             
               Both
               Here
               and
               There
               again
               .
            
             
               Titus
               who
               never
               swore
               Truth
               ,
            
             
               His
               Politick
               Plots
               to
               maintain
               ,
            
             
               And
               never
               yet
               bawk'd
               an
               Oath
               ,
            
             
               When
               call'd
               to
               the
               Test
               again
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Then
               Titus
               was
               Meekest
               of
               all
               ,
            
             
               When
               
                 Never
                 a
                 Peny
                 in
                 's
                 Purse
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               oft
               did
               on
               Pickering
               call
               ,
            
             
               His
               Charity
               to
               Imburse
               .
            
             
               But
               when
               he
               swore
               
                 Damnable
                 Oaths
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               Lying
               esteemed
               no
               Sin
               ,
            
             
               Then
               Titus
               was
               One
               of
               those
            
             
               Whom
               the
               Devil
               had
               entred
               in
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Then
               Titus
               the
               Frown
               of
               Heav'n
               ,
            
             
               And
               Titus
               a
               Plague
               upon
               Earth
               ;
            
             
               Titus
               who
               'l
               ne'r
               be
               Forgiven
               ,
            
             
               Curs'd
               from
               his
               
                 Fatal
                 Birth
              
               ;
            
             
               Titus
               the
               Curse
               and
               the
               Doom
            
             
               Of
               the
               Rich
               and
               the
               Poor
               Man
               too
               ;
            
             
               Oh
               Titus
               ,
               thou
               
                 Shred
                 of
                 a
                 Loom
              
               ,
            
             
               What
               a
               plague
               dost
               thou
               mean
               to
               do
               ?
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Titus
               an
               
                 Orthodox
                 Beast
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               Titus
               a
               
                 Presbyter
                 Tall
              
               ;
            
             
               Titus
               a
               
                 Popish
                 Priest
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               Titus
               the
               shame
               of
               all
               ;
            
             
               Titus
               who
               ne'r
               had
               the
               skill
            
             
               The
               Wise
               with
               his
               Plots
               to
               deceive
            
             
             
               But
               Titus
               whose
               Tongue
               can
               kill
               ;
            
             
               Whom
               Nature
               has
               made
               a
               Sla
               ▪
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Titus
               the
               Light
               of
               the
               Town
               ,
            
             
               Where
               Zealots
               and
               Whigs
               do
               resort
               ;
            
             
               Titus
               the
               Shame
               of
               the
               Gown
               ,
            
             
               And
               Titus
               the
               Scorn
               of
               the
               Court
               ;
            
             
               Titus
               who
               Spew'd
               out
               the
               Truth
               ,
            
             
               To
               Swallow
               the
               Covenant
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               never
               blush'd
               at
               an
               Oath
               ,
            
             
               Whom
               Lying
               has
               made
               a
               Saint
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Yet
               Titus
               believed
               cou'd
               be
            
             
               Against
               any
               
                 Popish
                 Lord
              
               ;
            
             
               Whilst
               still
               ag●inst
               Shaftsbury
            
             
               The
               Witness
               and
               
               Truth
               ●s
               abhor'd
               ;
            
             
               So
               Titus
               got
               Credit
               and
               Gold
            
             
               For
               Lying
               ,
               an
               thought
               it
               no
               Sin
               ;
            
             
               But
               against
               Dissenters
               bold
            
             
               The
               Truth
               is
               not
               worth
               a
               pin
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Thus
               Titus
               Swore
               on
               a
               pace
               ,
            
             
               '
               Gainst
               those
               whom
               he
               never
               did
               see
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               Titus
               with
               brazen
               Face
            
             
               Wou'd
               our
               Preserver
               be
               .
            
             
               But
               as
               Titus
               the
               foremost
               in
               Trust
            
             
               Discover'd
               this
               Mistery
               :
            
             
               May
               Titus
               so
               be
               the
               First
            
             
               That
               leads
               to
               the
               Triple-Tree
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             Compleat
             Swearing-Master
             :
          
           
             To
             the
             Tune
             of
             ,
             
               Now
               now
               the
               Fight
               's
               done
            
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               ONce
               on
               a
               time
               ,
               the
               Dr.
               did
               Swea●
               ,
            
             
               By
               the
               help
               of
               his
               Friend
               the
               Prince
               of
               the
               Air.
            
             
               He
               was
               busie
               in
               Consult
               ,
               one
               day
               in
               Spain
               ,
            
             
               And
               on
               the
               same
               day
               in
               England
               again
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 the
              
               Dr.
               
                 did
                 wear
                 that
                 Noble
              
               Don
               John
               ,
            
             
               
                 Though
                 little
                 and
                 Fair
                 ,
                 was
                 a
                 tall
                 black
                 Man.
                 
              
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               The
               Dr.
               Swore
               he
               brought
               Commissions
               to
               Town
            
             
               From
               Father
               Oliva
               ,
               to
               men
               of
               Renown
               :
            
             
               To
               raise
               mighty
               Force
               ,
               the
               King
               to
               destroy
               ,
            
             
               For
               which
               many
               Ruffians
               the
               Pope
               did
               imploy
               ;
            
             
               
                 And
                 the
              
               Dr.
               
                 did
                 Swear
                 that
                 little
              
               Don
               John
               ,
            
             
               
                 Was
                 Black
                 ,
                 and
                 also
                 a
                 very
                 tall
                 Man.
                 
              
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               That
               forty
               thousand
               Pilgrims
               there
               were
               ,
            
             
               Arm'd
               with
               
                 Black
                 Bills
              
               ,
               that
               march'd
               in
               the
               Air
            
             
               And
               ready
               to
               strike
               when
               the
               Pope
               should
               command
               ,
            
             
               And
               carry
               to
               Rome
               poor
               little
               England
               .
            
             
               
                 And
                 the
              
               Dr.
               
                 did
                 Swear
                 as
                 few
                 others
                 can
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 little
              
               Don
               John
               
                 is
                 a
                 tall
                 black
                 Man.
              
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               And
               the
               Dr.
               did
               Swear
               he
               had
               Letters
               full
               many
            
             
               But
               for
               all
               he
               Swore
               ,
               he
               ne'r
               produc'd
               any
               ,
            
             
               It
               's
               much
               he
               kept
               none
               to
               make
               out
               the
               matter
            
             
               But
               it
               may
               be
               he
               lost
               them
               ,
               in
               crossing
               the
               Water
               ;
            
             
               But
               that
               's
               
                 all
                 one
                 the
              
               Dr.
               
                 Swore
                 on
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 That
                 little
              
               Don
               John
               
                 was
                 a
                 tall
                 black
                 Man.
              
               
            
          
           
             
             
               5.
               
            
             
               He
               swore
               two
               hundred
               thousand
               pounds
               sent
            
             
               To
               Ireland
               ,
               which
               was
               all
               to
               be
               Spent
               :
            
             
               In
               Squibs
               to
               burn
               houses
               ,
               Amunition
               and
               Bills
               ,
            
             
               And
               pay
               Popish
               Doctors
               for
               
                 King
                 Killing
                 Pills
              
               :
            
             
               
                 Which
                 he
                 swore
                 had
                 been
                 done
                 if
                 the
              
               Plot
               
                 had
                 gon
                 on
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 then
                 Swore
              
               Don
               John
               
                 a
                 very
                 tall
                 Man.
              
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               And
               the
               Dr.
               did
               swear
               he
               knew
               not
               some
               men
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               afterwards
               swore
               ,
               he
               knew
               them
               again
               ;
            
             
               And
               the
               Dr.
               did
               Swear
               by
               the
               fair
               candle-light
            
             
               He
               could
               not
               discern
               a
               Man
               from
               a
               Mite
               :
            
             
               
                 But
                 believe
                 him
                 who
                 will
                 ,
                 for
                 I
                 hardly
                 can
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 little
              
               Don
               John
               
                 is
                 a
                 tall
                 black
                 Man.
              
               
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               And
               he
               swore
               he
               always
               a
               Protestant
               was
               ,
            
             
               And
               ne'r
               car'd
               a
               Fart
               for
               Pope
               or
               for
               Mass
               ,
            
             
               And
               he
               Swore
               he
               went
               to
               St.
               Omers
               to
               find
            
             
               What
               the
               Jesuits
               had
               against
               England
               design'd
               .
            
             
               
                 And
                 the
              
               Dr.
               
                 did
                 swear
                 ,
                 deny
                 it
                 who
                 can
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 little
              
               Don
               John
               
                 was
                 a
                 tall
                 black
                 Man
              
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               And
               the
               Dr.
               did
               swear
               a
               thousand
               things
               more
            
             
               That
               discovering
               the
               plot
               had
               made
               him
               so
               poor
               ,
            
             
               And
               he
               swore
               himself
               700
               pounds
               worse
               ,
            
             
               But
               a
               pox
               of
               all
               lies
               ,
               take
               that
               with
               a
               curse
               :
            
             
               
                 But
                 I
                 le
                 not
                 beleiv't
                 ,
                 although
                 others
                 can
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 little
              
               Don
               John
               
                 is
                 a
                 tall
                 black
                 Man.
              
               
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               Now
               if
               it
               should
               please
               the
               Dr.
               to
               swear
            
             
               To
               keep
               his
               hand
               in
               ,
               a
               Man
               is
               a
               Bear
               ;
            
             
               Or
               the
               Dr.
               will
               swear
               his
               Soul
               to
               the
               Devil
               ,
            
             
               He
               wall
               do
               it
               for
               me
               ,
               I
               love
               to
               be
               Civil
               ;
            
             
             
               
                 Every
                 man
                 in
                 his
                 way
                 ,
                 let
                 the
              
               Dr.
               
                 swear
                 on
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 But
                 I
                 beg
                 his
                 excuse
                 in
                 the
                 size
                 of
              
               Don
               John.
               
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               The
               Dr.
               may
               swear
               the
               Crow
               to
               be
               white
               ,
            
             
               Or
               a
               Pigmey
               to
               be
               of
               Gygantick
               height
               ,
            
             
               Or
               double
               his
               numbers
               of
               Pilgrims
               and
               Bills
               ,
            
             
               And
               swear
               them
               drawn
               up
               in
               Lincolns-Inn-fields
               .
            
             
               
                 I
                 hear
                 't
                 and
                 believ
                 't
                 as
                 much
                 as
                 I
                 can
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 little
              
               Don
               John
               
                 is
                 a
                 tall
                 black
                 Man
              
               ,
            
          
           
             
               11.
               
            
             
               There
               's
               no
               stopping
               the
               tide
               ,
               let
               the
               Dr.
               swear
               on
               .
            
             
               The
               black
               is
               the
               fair
               ,
               or
               the
               fair
               the
               black
               Man
               ,
            
             
               Or
               swear
               what
               he
               will
               I
               care
               not
               a
               T
               —
               ,
            
             
               I
               'de
               as
               soon
               as
               his
               ,
               take
               another
               mans
               word
               :
            
             
               
                 So
                 Dr.
                 be
                 damn'd
                 and
                 Swear
                 all
                 you
                 can
                 ,
              
            
             
               Don
               John
               
                 is
                 not
                 tall
                 ,
                 nor
                 yet
                 a
                 black
                 Man
              
               :
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             Tory
             in
             a
             Whig's
             Coat
             :
          
           
             To
             the
             Tune
             of
             ,
             
               Vp
               with
            
             Aley
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               WHat
               !
               still
               ye
               Whigs
               uneasie
               !
            
             
               Will
               nothing
               coll
               your
               Brain
               ,
            
             
               Unless
               Great
               Charles
               ,
               to
               please-ye
               ,
            
             
               Will
               let
               ye
               drive
               his
               Wain
               ?
            
             
               Then
               up
               with
               Prance
               and
               Oats
               ,
            
             
               And
               up
               with
               Knaves
               a
               pair
               ;
            
             
               But
               down
               with
               him
               that
               Votes
            
             
               Against
               a
               
                 Lawful
                 Heir
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Your
               Grievance
               is
               remov'd
               ,
            
             
               Old
               
               Staufford's
               made
               a
               Saint
               ,
            
             
             
               Though
               you
               but
               little
               prov'd
               ,
            
             
               The
               Karle
               away
               you
               sent
               .
            
             
               Then
               up
               with
               all
               your
               spight
               ,
            
             
               And
               shevv
               us
               vvhat
               you
               mean
               ;
            
             
               I
               fear
               me
               ,
               by
               this
               Light
               ,
            
             
               Ye
               long
               to
               vent
               your
               Spleen
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               That
               
                 Peerless
                 House
                 af
                 Commons
              
               .
            
             
               So
               zealous
               for
               the
               Lord
               ,
            
             
               Meant
               (
               piously
               )
               vvith
               some
               on
               's
            
             
               To
               flesh
               the
               
                 Godly
                 Sword
              
               :
            
             
               Then
               up
               vvith
               au
               the
               Leaven
               ,
            
             
               With
               each
               
                 Dissenting
                 Loon
              
               ,
            
             
               Then
               up
               with
               Bully
               Stephen
               ;
            
             
               But
               Colledge
               is
               gone
               doon
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               What
               wou'd
               those
               Loons
               have
               had
               ?
            
             
               What
               makes
               'em
               still
               to
               mutter
               ?
            
             
               I
               think
               thy're
               au
               gone
               mad
               ,
            
             
               They
               keep
               so
               muckle
               clutter
               :
            
             
               Then
               up
               with
               Pilk
               and
               Sute
               ,
            
             
               Another
               Blessed
               Pair
               ;
            
             
               And
               up
               with
               e'ry
               Brute
               ;
            
             
               But
               chiefly
               
               Goatham's
               Mayo
               ▪
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Our
               
               Salamancha-Priest
            
             
               Has
               left
               his
               Flock
               in
               hast
               ;
            
             
               And
               shrevvdly
               is
               he
               mist
               ;
            
             
               Which
               makes
               us
               all
               gast
               :
            
             
               Then
               up
               vvith
               Lads
               of
               vvorth
               ,
            
             
               With
               
                 Baldwin
                 ,
                 V●le
              
               and
               Care
               ;
            
             
               For
               these
               must
               novv
               hold
               forth
               ,
            
             
               And
               Dick
               shall
               nose
               a
               Pray'r
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               But
               is
               our
               Parson
               gone
               ;
            
             
               And
               whither
               gone
               I
               trow
               ?
            
             
               What
               ,
               back
               agen
               to
               Spain
               ?
            
             
               Gued
               Faith
               e'n
               let
               him
               go
               :
            
             
               Then
               up
               with
               blundering
               S.
            
             
               The
               Tories
               Plague
               ,
               I
               trow
               ;
            
             
               'T
               is
               he
               our
               Cause
               must
               bless
            
             
               With
               Characters
               ,
               and
               so
               .
               —
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               But
               scurvy
               Heraclitus
               ,
            
             
               And
               Roger
               too
               is
               rude
               ,
            
             
               And
               Nat
               ,
               who
               plagues
               poor
               Titus
               ,
            
             
               Which
               makes
               us
               chew
               the
               Cud
               :
            
             
               Then
               up
               with
               Associations
               ,
            
             
               Remonstrances
               and
               Libels
               ;
            
             
               'T
               is
               these
               must
               save
               
                 Three
                 Nations
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               will
               presreve
               our
               Bibles
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               The
               Popish
               Fox
               does
               seem
            
             
               To
               sleep
               his
               time
               away
               ;
            
             
               But
               his
               pernicious
               Dream
            
             
               Is
               only
               to
               Betray
               :
            
             
               Then
               up
               with
               How.
               the
               Mole
               ,
            
             
               And
               many
               more
               that
               be
               ;
            
             
               But
               up
               with
               
                 Little
                 Pole
              
            
             
               Upon
               the
               highest
               Tree
               .
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               Hieraclitus
               is
               a
               Debtor
               ,
            
             
               To
               some
               within
               the
               City
               ,
            
             
               Who
               sent
               him
               sike
               a
               Letter
               ,
            
             
               He
               'l
               pay
               them
               in
               a
               Ditty
               :
            
             
               Then
               up
               with
               au
               Dissenters
               ,
            
             
               Up
               with
               'em
               in
               a
               Cart
               :
            
             
               And
               up
               with
               him
               that
               ventures
            
             
               His
               Majesty
               to
               thwart
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               10.
               
            
             
               But
               now
               Great
               YORK
               is
               come
               ,
            
             
               (
               Whom
               Heaven
               still
               be
               with
               )
            
             
               You
               'll
               find
               (
               both
               all
               and
               some
               )
            
             
               'T
               was
               ill
               to
               shew
               your
               Teeth
               :
            
             
               Then
               up
               with
               e●ry
               Round-head
               ,
            
             
               And
               e'ry
               
                 Factious
                 Brother
              
               ,
            
             
               You
               're
               Luck
               is
               now
               confounded
               .
            
             
               Ye
               au
               must
               up
               together
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Protestant
             FLAYL
             :
          
           
             To
             the
             Tune
             of
             ,
             
             Lacy's
             Maggot
             ;
             Or
             ,
             
               The
               Hobby-Horse
            
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               LIsten
               a
               while
               ,
               and
               I
               'l
               tell
               you
               a
               Tale
            
             
               Of
               a
               new
               Device
               of
               a
               
                 Protestant
                 Flayl
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
                 ,
                 Thump
                 ,
                 Thump
                 ,
                 a
                 Thump
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 Thump
                 ,
                 a
                 Thump
                 ,
                 Thump
                 .
              
            
             
               This
               FLAYL
               it
               was
               made
               of
               the
               finest
               vvood
               ,
            
             
               Well
               lin'd
               vvith
               Lead
               ,
               and
               notable
               good
               ,
            
             
               For
               splitting
               of
               Brains
               ,
               and
               shedding
               of
               bloud
            
             
               Of
               all
               that
               withstood
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
                 ,
                 Thump
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               This
               Flayl
               vvas
               invented
               to
               thrash
               the
               Brain
               ,
            
             
               And
               leave
               behind
               not
               the
               vvait
               of
               a
               grain
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               At
               the
               handle-end
               there
               hung
               a
               Weight
               ,
            
             
               That
               carried
               vvith
               it
               unavoidable
               Fate
               ,
            
             
               To
               take
               the
               Monarch
               a
               rap
               in
               the
               Pate
               ,
            
             
               And
               govern
               the
               State.
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
             
               3.
               
            
             
               It
               took
               its
               degree
               in
               
               Oxford-Town
               ,
            
             
               And
               with
               the
               Carpenter
               went
               down
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               If
               any
               durst
               his
               Might
               oppose
               ,
            
             
               He
               had
               you
               close
               ,
               in
               spight
               of
               your
               Nose
               ,
            
             
               To
               carry
               on
               clever
               the
               
                 Good
                 Old
                 Cause
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               down
               with
               the
               Laws
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               4
            
             
               With
               this
               they
               threatned
               to
               fore-stall
            
             
               The
               Church
               ,
               and
               give
               the
               Bishops
               a
               Mawl
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               If
               King
               and
               Lords
               would
               not
               submit
            
             
               To
               the
               
               Joyner's
               will
               while
               the
               House
               did
               sit
               ,
            
             
               If
               this
               in
               the
               right
               place
               did
               hit
               ,
            
             
               The
               cause
               it
               would
               split
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Two
               handfuls
               of
               Death
               ,
               with
               a
               Thong
               hung
               fast
               ,
            
             
               By
               a
               Zealot
               who
               hang'd
               himself
               at
               last
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               With
               a
               moving
               head
               both
               stiff
               and
               stout
               ,
            
             
               Found
               by
               the
               
                 Protestant
                 Joyner
              
               out
               ,
            
             
               To
               have
               at
               the
               King
               &
               the
               Laws
               t'other
               bout
               ▪
            
             
               And
               turn
               them
               both
               out
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Invinsibly
               't
               wou'd
               deal
               his
               Blovvs
               ,
            
             
               All
               to
               maintain
               the
               
                 Good
                 Old
                 Cause
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
              
               ,
               &c
            
             
               Wou'd
               Liberty
               and
               Freedom
               bring
            
             
               To
               every
               thing
               except
               the
               King
               ,
            
             
               At
               Monarchy
               it
               had
               a
               fling
               ,
            
             
             
               And
               took
               its
               svving
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               This
               Flayl
               vvas
               made
               of
               the
               Nevvest
               Fashion
               ,
            
             
               To
               heal
               the
               Breaches
               of
               the
               Nation
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               If
               Faction
               any
               difference
               bred
               ,
            
             
               T●vvon'd
               split
               the
               Cause
               in
               the
               very
               Head
               ,
            
             
               Till
               Monarchy
               reel'd
               ,
               and
               Loyalty
               bled
               ,
            
             
               And
               vvere
               knock'd
               in
               the
               Head
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               When
               any
               Strife
               vvas
               in
               the
               State
               ,
            
             
               This
               Flayl
               vvou'd
               end
               the
               vvhole
               Debate
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               '
               Gainst
               
                 Arbitrary
                 Power
              
               of
               State
               ,
            
             
               And
               Popery
               vvhich
               the
               Zealots
               hate
               ,
            
             
               It
               vvou'd
               give
               them
               such
               a
               Rap
               on
               the
               Pate
               ,
            
             
               They
               must
               yield
               to
               their
               Fate
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               It
               had
               a
               thousand
               Virtues
               more
               ,
            
             
               And
               had
               a
               Salve
               for
               every
               Sore
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               With
               this
               they
               thought
               to
               have
               maintain'd
               ,
            
             
               The
               Loyal
               Tribe
               ,
               and
               Royalists
               brain'd
               :
            
             
               But
               the
               Joyner
               vvas
               hang'd
               ,
               and
               the
               Flayl
               vvas
               Arraign●d
            
             
               And
               the
               Conquest
               Regain'd
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               May
               Tony
               and
               all
               our
               Enemies
               ,
            
             
               Meet
               vvith
               no
               better
               Fate
               then
               his
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
             
               May
               Charles
               still
               live
               to
               Rule
               the
               State
               ,
            
             
               And
               York
               ,
               (
               vvhom
               all
               Dissenters
               hate
               )
            
             
               To
               be
               reveng'd
               upon
               their
               Pate
               ,
            
             
               By
               timely
               fate
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 Thump
                 ,
                 Thump
                 ,
                 Thump
                 a
                 Thump
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 Thump
                 ,
                 a
                 Thump
                 ,
                 Thump
                 .
              
            
          
        
         
           
             IGNORAMUS●Justice
             ,
          
           
             To
             the
             Tune
             of
             ,
             
               Sir
               Egledemore
            
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               DId
               you
               not
               hear
               of
               a
               Peer
               that
               was
               Try'd
               ?
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ▪
                 la
                 ,
                 la
                 ,
                 la
                 ,
                 la.
              
            
             
               That
               looks
               like
               a
               Cask
               with
               a
               Tap
               in
               his
               side
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
                 ,
                 la
                 ,
                 la
                 ,
                 la.
              
            
             
               This
               
                 Noble
                 Peer
              
               to
               the
               Bar
               was
               call'd
               ;
            
             
               The
               Witnessses
               sworn
               ,
               but
               the
               Fore-man
               out-baul'd
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
                 ,
                 la
                 ,
                 la
                 ,
                 la.
                 
              
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Then
               up
               Sir
               Samuel
               did
               start
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               And
               found
               the
               Bill
               not
               worth
               a
               F
               —
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               With
               that
               the
               Court
               kept
               such
               a
               stir
               ,
            
             
               The
               Fore-man
               should
               prove
               so
               s●yll
               a
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               The
               Witnesses
               for
               the
               King
               swore
               plain
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               But
               had
               they
               been
               as
               many
               again
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               The
               Jury
               before
               such
               Truths
               receiv'd
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               them
               ,
               nor
               St.
               Peter
               they
               wou'd
               have
               believ'd
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
             
               4.
               
            
             
               The
               Witnesses
               brought
               him
               a
               Traytor
               in
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               But
               the
               Jury
               found
               it
               another
               thing
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               For
               he
               who
               did
               still
               his
               King
               oppose
               ,
            
             
               Is
               made
               a
               true
               Subject
               in
               spight
               of
               the
               Laws
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Thus
               this
               
                 Great
                 Lord
              
               of
               High
               Renown
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               Th'
               Exalted
               Idol
               of
               the
               Town
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               Is
               clear'd
               by
               Ignoramus-sway
               ,
            
             
               For
               Betraying
               the
               Church
               and
               the
               King
               in
               a
               day
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               The
               Rabble
               to
               shew
               their
               Loyalty
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               Did
               in
               full
               shouts
               with
               the
               Jury
               agree
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               They
               Bonfires
               made
               with
               great
               applause
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               to
               maintain
               the
               
                 Good
                 Old
                 Cause
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               And
               now
               in
               spight
               of
               King
               and
               Queen
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               More
               Jollity
               was
               in
               the
               Streets
               to
               be
               seen
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               Then
               on
               the
               
                 Twenty
                 Ninth
                 of
                 May
              
               ,
            
             
               Though
               it
               was
               the
               Restauration-day
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Another
               passage
               I
               chanc●d
               to
               hear
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               That
               the
               Doctor
               is
               fallen
               from
               the
               Front
               to
               the
               Rear
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               He
               to
               the
               Saints
               does
               now
               incline
               ,
            
             
               Abjures
               the
               King
               ,
               with
               the
               Rebels
               Combines
               ;
            
             
               
                 VVith
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c
               ▪
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               Yet
               these
               pretend
               now
               for
               to
               Inherit
               ;
            
             
               
                 VVith
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               (
               As
               Heirs
               do
               Estates
               )
               the
               
                 Light
                 of
                 the
                 Spirit
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 VVith
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               Yet
               let
               them
               say
               or
               do
               what
               they
               will
               ,
            
             
               They
               'l
               find
               themselves
               Ignoramus
               still
               ;
            
             
               
                 VVith
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               But
               had
               it
               been
               a
               
                 Popish
                 Lord
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 VVith
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               One
               Witness
               then
               had
               serv'd
               in
               a
               word
               ;
            
             
               
                 VVith
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               They
               had
               not
               then
               enquir'd
               so
               far
               ;
            
             
               But
               found
               it
               ,
               and
               never
               have
               stept
               from
               the
               Bar
            
             
               
                 VVith
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               11.
               
            
             
               If
               by
               this
               Law
               the
               Charter
               be
               lost
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               Will
               
               Tony's
               Estate
               repay
               all
               the
               Cost
               ?
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               The
               Boys
               will
               then
               find
               out
               the
               Cheat.
            
             
               And
               de
               
                 De
                 Witt
              
               the
               old
               Cam●al
               in
               his
               Retreat
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
             
               12.
               
            
             
               They
               'l
               Curse
               that
               Pate
               that
               studied
               to
               bring
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               Plague
               to
               the
               Country
               ,
               and
               Ruine
               to
               th'
               King
               ;
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
             
               Divested
               thus
               of
               
               Citophel's
               Pride
               ,
            
             
               They
               'l
               do
               him
               that
               Justice
               which
               Juries
               deny'd
            
             
               
                 With
                 a
                 fa
                 ,
                 la
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Loyal
             Feast●
             ;
          
           
             to
             the
             Tune
             of
             Sawney
             will
             never
             be
             my
             Love
             again
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               TONY
               was
               small
               ,
               but
               of
               Noble
               Race
               ,
            
             
               And
               was
               beloved
               of
               ev'ry
               one
               ;
            
             
               He
               Broach'd
               his
               Tap
               ,
               and
               it
               ran
               apace
            
             
               To
               make
               a
               Solemn
               Treat
               for
               all
               the
               Town
            
             
               He
               sent
               to
               
                 Yeoman
                 ,
                 Knight
              
               ,
               and
               Lord
               ,
            
             
               The
               Holy
               
                 Tribe
                 to
              
               Entertain
            
             
               With
               all
               the
               Nation
               cou'd
               afford
               ,
            
             
               But
               Tony
               
                 will
                 never
                 be
                 himself
                 again
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               He
               sent
               to
               the
               Shambles
               for
               all
               their
               Store
               ,
            
             
               And
               left
               behind
               neither
               Fowl
               nor
               Beast
               ;
            
             
               The
               Spiggot
               ran
               swift
               and
               fain
               wou'd
               do
               more
            
             
               To
               make
               all
               the
               Lords
               a
               Noble
               Feast
               ;
            
             
               He
               sent
               to
               Market
               ,
               sent
               to
               Fair
               ,
            
             
               His
               
                 Loyal
                 Guests
              
               to
               entertain
               ,
            
             
               But
               of
               the
               Banquet
               he
               had
               no
               share
               ,
            
             
               And
               Tony
               
                 will
                 never
                 be
                 himself
                 again
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               At
               two
               great
               Halls
               in
               
                 London
                 Town
              
               ,
            
             
               Design'd
               to
               meet
               a
               Zealous
               Crew
            
             
               Of
               Lords
               and
               Knights
               of
               High
               Renown
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               were
               
                 Protestants
                 True
                 Blue
              
               .
            
             
             
               They
               threw
               in
               Guineys
               free
               as
               Brass
               ,
            
             
               The
               Noble
               Frolick
               to
               Maintain
               ,
            
             
               But
               on
               Great
               Charles
               the
               Sham
               wou'd
               not
               pass
            
             
               And
               Tony
               will
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               With
               Duty
               to
               their
               Lawful
               Prince
               ,
            
             
               A
               Loyal
               Subject
               every
               one
               ;
            
             
               To
               pray
               for
               him
               is
               the
               Pretence
               ,
            
             
               And
               then
               to
               Rail
               and
               Plot
               against
               the
               Crown
            
             
               From
               Church
               they
               did
               intend
               to
               th'
               Hall
               ,
            
             
               Their
               Noble
               Guests
               to
               Entertain
               ;
            
             
               But
               they
               were
               Routed
               ,
               Horse
               and
               all
               ,
            
             
               And
               Tony
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               In
               favour
               of
               the
               King
               and
               Duke
               ,
            
             
               The
               Heir-Apparent
               of
               the
               Throne
               ,
            
             
               His
               Highness
               they
               Exclude
               ,
               and
               took
            
             
               A
               Fop-Pretender
               of
               their
               own
               ;
            
             
               The
               meek
               Guide
               Moses
               they
               withstand
               ,
            
             
               A
               Golden
               Calf
               to
               Entertain
               ;
            
             
               But
               Royal
               Charles
               he
               dispers'd
               the
               Band
               ,
            
             
               And
               Tony
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               The
               Bloody
               Papists
               shall
               no
               more
            
             
               Contrive
               against
               his
               Life
               and
               Reign
               :
            
             
               Tho'
               it
               was
               themselves
               did
               the
               Feat
               before
               ,
            
             
               And
               are
               as
               ready
               to
               do
               't
               again
               .
            
             
               Thus
               they
               Exclude
               the
               Rightful
               Heir
               ,
            
             
               The
               Gaudy
               Fop
               to
               Entertain
               ,
            
             
               But
               they
               were
               met
               by
               the
               good
               
                 Lord
                 Mayor
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               Tony
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               With
               thanks
               and
               Pray'rs
               for
               our
               good
               King
            
             
               They
               Vow'd
               to
               Sacrifice
               the
               Day
               ;
            
             
             
               But
               Royal
               Charles
               he
               smoak'd
               out
               the
               thing
               ;
            
             
               And
               sent
               the
               Rable
               with
               a
               Pox
               away
               .
            
             
               He
               sent
               his
               Summons
               to
               the
               Cit
               ,
            
             
               Seditious
               Meetings
               to
               Restrain
               ,
            
             
               The
               Feast
               was
               broke
               ,
               and
               the
               Guests
               were
               besh
               —
               ,
            
             
               And
               Tony
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               8
            
             
               And
               now
               the
               Capons
               flye
               about
               ,
            
             
               With
               Frigaces
               of
               Ambergreece
               ,
            
             
               And
               Chickens
               ready
               drest
               they
               Shout
            
             
               About
               the
               Street
               for
               pence
               a
               piece
               :
            
             
               The
               Whigs
               did
               wish
               the
               Council
               choak'd
               ,
            
             
               Who
               did
               this
               Noble
               Feast
               restrain
               ;
            
             
               All
               down
               in
               the
               Mouth
               to
               be
               thus
               bawk'd
               ,
            
             
               Poor
               Tony
               
                 will
                 never
                 be
                 himself
                 again
              
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Old
             Jemmey
             .
          
           
             Tune
             of
             ,
             
               Young
               Jemmey
            
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               OLd
               Jemmy
               is
               a
               Lad
            
             
               Right
               lawfully
               descended
               ;
            
             
               No
               Bastard
               born
               nor
               bred
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               for
               a
               Whig
               suspended
               :
            
             
               The
               true
               and
               Lawful
               Heir
               to
               th'
               Crown
               ,
            
             
               By
               Right
               of
               Birth
               and
               Laws
               ,
            
             
               And
               bravely
               will
               maintain
               his
               own
               ,
            
             
               In
               spight
               of
               all
               his
               Foes
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Old
               Jemmy
               is
               the
               Top
            
             
               And
               Chief
               amongst
               the
               Princes
               ;
            
             
               No
               Mobile
               gay
               Fop
               ,
            
             
               With
               Brimigham
               pretences
               :
            
             
               A
               Heart
               and
               Soul
               so
               wondrous
               great
            
             
               And
               such
               a
               conqu'ring
               Eye
               ,
            
             
               That
               every
               Loyal
               Lad
               fears
               not
            
             
               In
               
               Jemmy's
               Cause
               to
               die
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               Old
               Jemmy
               is
               a
               Prince
            
             
               Of
               Noble
               Resolutions
               .
            
             
               Whose
               Powerful
               influence
            
             
               Can
               order
               our
               Confusions
               :
            
             
               But
               Oh!
               He
               fights
               with
               such
               a
               Grace
            
             
               No
               Force
               can
               him
               withstand
               ;
            
             
               No
               God
               of
               War
               but
               must
               give
               place
            
             
               Where
               Jemmy
               leads
               the
               Van
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               To
               Jemmy
               every
               Swain
            
             
               Does
               pay
               due
               Veneration
               ;
            
             
               And
               Scotland
               does
               maintain
            
             
               His
               Title
               to
               the
               Nation
               :
            
             
               The
               Pride
               of
               all
               the
               Court
               he
               stands
            
             
               The
               Patron
               of
               his
               Cause
               ,
            
             
               The
               Joy
               and
               Hope
               of
               all
               his
               Friends
            
             
               The
               terrour
               of
               his
               Foes
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Maliciously
               they
               Vote
               ,
            
             
               To
               work
               Old
               
               Jemmy's
               Ruin
               ,
            
             
               And
               zealously
               promote
            
             
               A
               Bill
               for
               his
               undoing
               :
            
             
               Both
               Lords
               and
               Commons
               most
               agree
            
             
               To
               pull
               His
               Highness
               down
               ;
            
             
               But
               (
               '
               spight
               of
               all
               their
               Policy
               )
            
             
               Old
               
               Jemmy's
               Heir
               to
               th'
               Crown
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               The
               Schismatick
               and
               Saint
               ,
            
             
               The
               Baptist
               and
               the
               Athiest
               ,
            
             
               Swear
               by
               the
               Covenant
               ,
            
             
               Old
               Jemmy
               is
               a
               Papist
               ;
            
             
               Whilst
               all
               the
               Holy
               Crew
               did
               plot
            
             
               To
               pull
               His
               Highness
               down
               ,
            
             
               Great
               Albany
               a
               Noble
               Scot
            
             
               Did
               raise
               unto
               a
               Crown
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Great
               Albany
               they
               swear
               ,
            
             
               He
               before
               any
               other
               ,
            
             
               Shall
               be
               immediate
               Heir
            
             
               Unto
               His
               Royal
               Brother
               ,
            
             
               Who
               will
               in
               spight
               of
               all
               his
               Foes
               ,
            
             
               His
               Lawful
               Rights
               maintain
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               the
               Fops
               that
               interpose
               ,
            
             
               Old
               
               Jemmy's
               York
               again
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               The
               Whigs
               and
               Zealots
               Plot
            
             
               To
               banish
               him
               the
               Nation
               ,
            
             
               But
               the
               Renowned
               Scot
            
             
               Hath
               wrought
               his
               Restauration
               .
            
             
               With
               high
               respects
               they
               treat
               his
               Grace
            
             
               His
               Royal
               Cause
               maintain
               ;
            
             
               Brave
               Albany
               (
               to
               
               Scotland's
               Praise
               )
            
             
               Is
               Mighty
               York
               again
               .
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               Against
               his
               envious
               Fates
            
             
               The
               Kirk
               hath
               taught
               a
               Lesson
               ;
            
             
               A
               Blessing
               on
               the
               States
               ,
            
             
               To
               settle
               the
               Succession
               .
            
             
               They
               real
               were
               ,
               both
               Knight
               and
               Lord
            
             
               And
               will
               his
               Rights
               maintain
               ;
            
             
               By
               Royal
               Parliament
               restor'd
               ,
            
             
               Old
               
               Jemmy's
               come
               again
               .
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               And
               now
               He
               's
               come
               again
               ,
            
             
               In
               spight
               of
               all
               Pretenders
               ,
            
             
               Great
               Albany
               shall
               Reign
            
             
               Amongst
               the
               Faiths
               Defenders
               .
            
             
             
               Let
               Whig
               and
               Brimigham
               repine
               ;
            
             
               They
               shew
               their
               Teeth
               in
               vain
               ;
            
             
               The
               Glory
               of
               the
               
                 Brittish
                 Line
              
               ,
            
             
               Old
               
               Jemmy's
               come
               again
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Honour
             of
             Great
             York
             and
             Albany
             ,
          
           
             to
             a
             new
             Tune
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               THe
               Commons
               now
               are
               at
               a
               stand
               ,
            
             
               And
               evermore
               I
               hope
               shall
               be
               ;
            
             
               For
               Scotland
               will
               be
               a
               help
               at
               hand
               ,
            
             
               For
               Great
               James
               Duke
               of
               Al-ba-ny
               .
            
             
               For
               Scotland
               ,
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               A
               braver
               Nation
               he
               can't
               have
               ,
            
             
               For
               Love
               ,
               for
               Truth
               ,
               for
               Loyalty
               ;
            
             
               Each
               Man
               will
               Fight
               into
               his
               Grave
               ,
            
             
               For
               great
               James
               Duke
               of
               Albany
               .
            
             
               
                 Each
                 man
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               A
               Souldier
               stout
               is
               he
               ,
               and
               brave
               ,
            
             
               As
               ever
               any
               man
               did
               see
               ,
            
             
               God
               bless
               the
               King
               ,
               and
               Queen
               ,
               and
               Save
            
             
               Our
               Great
               James
               ,
               Duke
               of
               Albany
               ,
            
             
               
                 God
                 bless
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               He
               very
               Wise
               ,
               and
               Pious
               is
               ,
            
             
               There
               's
               no
               Man
               knows
               the
               Contrary
               ;
            
             
               Then
               Damn'd
               be
               him
               that
               thinks
               amiss
               ,
            
             
               Of
               Great
               James
               Duke
               of
               Albany
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 Damn'd
              
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               5
               ▪
            
             
               All
               Loyal
               Subjects
               him
               must
               love
               ,
            
             
               The
               Heir
               Apparent
               ,
               still
               is
               he
               ,
            
             
             
               Next
               to
               the
               King
               ,
               there
               's
               none
               above
            
             
               Our
               Great
               James
               Duke
               of
               Albany
               .
            
             
               
                 Next
                 to
                 the
                 King
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Then
               let
               our
               Reason
               our
               ill
               Will
               sway
               ,
            
             
               And
               every
               man
               upon
               his
               Knee
               ,
            
             
               I
               do
               not
               mean
               to
               drink
               ,
               but
               Pray
               ,
            
             
               For
               Great
               James
               Duke
               of
               Albany
               .
            
             
               
                 I
                 do
                 not
                 mean
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               There
               's
               no
               man
               is
               so
               mad
               to
               think
               ,
            
             
               That
               Drinking
               can
               availing
               be
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               better
               for
               to
               Fight
               than
               Drink
               ,
            
             
               For
               Great
               James
               Duke
               of
               Albany
               .
            
             
               
                 'T
                 is
                 better
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Yet
               do
               not
               think
               I
               'll
               bawk
               his
               Health
               ,
            
             
               But
               with
               my
               cup
               ,
               most
               moderately
               ,
            
             
               I
               'll
               drink
               ,
               I
               'll
               fight
               ,
               and
               spend
               my
               wealth
               ,
            
             
               For
               Great
               James
               Duke
               of
               Albany
               .
            
             
               
                 I
                 'll
                 Drink
                 ,
                 I
                 'll
                 fight
                 ,
                 and
                 spend
                 ,
              
               &c.
               
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Well-wishers
             to
             the
             Royal
             Family
             .
          
           
             To
             a
             New
             Tune
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               NOw
               the
               Tories
               ,
               that
               Glories
            
             
               In
               Royal
               
               Jemmy's
               return
               ,
            
             
               The
               Tavern
               shall
               Roar
               it
               and
               Score
               it
               ,
            
             
               Your
               Caps
               and
               Bonnets
               burn
               :
            
             
               Let
               the
               Lads
               and
               Lasses
            
             
               Set
               foot
               foot
               in
               their
               Turn
               ;
            
             
               And
               he
               that
               passes
               his
               Glasses
               ,
            
             
               May
               he
               never
               Scape
               the
               Horn
               :
            
             
             
               Royal
               James
               is
               come
               again
               ,
            
             
               There
               's
               for
               honest
               men
               room
               again
               ,
            
             
               The
               true
               Heir
               is
               come
               again
               ;
            
             
               Fop
               Pretenders
               we
               scorn
               ,
            
             
               Then
               Hey
               Boys
               laugh
               it
               ,
               and
               quaff
               it
               ,
            
             
               Let
               Whigs
               and
               Zealots
               mourn
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Let
               Impeaches
               and
               Speeches
            
             
               Be
               with
               the
               Authors
               pull'd
               down
               ;
            
             
               And
               all
               that
               Preaches
               or
               Teaches
            
             
               Against
               the
               Heir
               of
               the
               Crown
               :
            
             
               No
               more
               the
               Zealous
               shall
               tell
               us
            
             
               Of
               the
               Succession
               of
               the
               Throne
               ;
            
             
               Till
               the
               Rebellious
               so
               Zealous
               ,
            
             
               His
               lawful
               Interest
               own
               :
            
             
               Monarchy
               is
               got
               up
               again
               ,
            
             
               Every
               Man
               take
               his
               Cup
               again
               ,
            
             
               Till
               we
               make
               the
               Whigs
               stoop
               again
               :
            
             
               Who
               our
               Peace
               wou'd
               enthrall
               :
            
             
               And
               every
               Rebel
               that
               Libel'd
               ,
            
             
               Do
               at
               his
               Foot
               stool
               fall
               ,
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Let
               's
               be
               Loyal
               and
               Joy-al
               ,
            
             
               Spite
               of
               each
               Factious
               Caball
               ,
            
             
               Who
               daily
               deny
               all
               ,
               defie
               all
               ,
            
             
               That
               we
               can
               Loyalty
               call
               ;
            
             
               Who
               Smoaking
               ,
               and
               Soaking
               ,
            
             
               With
               the
               return
               of
               the
               Rump
               ,
            
             
               Sadly
               Looking
               ,
               sit
               Croaking
               ,
            
             
               To
               see
               it
               Wore
               to
               'th
               Stump
               ;
            
             
               Then
               set
               the
               Glass
               Round
               again
               ,
            
             
               For
               our
               time
               let
               's
               not
               spend
               in
               vain
               ,
            
             
               But
               let
               us
               now
               Drink
               a
               Main
               ,
            
             
               Fill
               it
               up
               to
               the
               Brim
               :
            
             
             
               Come
               round
               Boys
               let
               's
               Trowl
               it
               &
               Bowl
               it
               ,
            
             
               Till
               our
               Joys
               they
               do
               swim
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               For
               Him
               our
               Choices
               and
               Voices
               ,
            
             
               Shall
               all
               hereafter
               be
               free
               ,
            
             
               Whilst
               each
               one
               Rejoyces
               ,
               our
               Noises
            
             
               Shall
               defend
               the
               Raging
               o'
               th
               Sea
               ;
            
             
               We
               'l
               attend
               him
               ,
               befriend
               him
               ,
            
             
               Let
               Malice
               Vote
               what
               it
               will
               ;
            
             
               Coyn
               we
               'l
               Lend
               Him
               ,
               Defend
               Him
               ,
            
             
               And
               we
               'l
               rejoyce
               in
               Him
               still
               :
            
             
               Then
               let
               us
               no
               Mirth
               refrain
               ,
            
             
               Since
               that
               now
               he
               is
               safe
               again
               ,
            
             
               Well
               having
               escap'd
               the
               Main
               ;
            
             
               From
               the
               Salt
               Waters
               set
               free
               ,
            
             
               Then
               Hey
               Boys
               laugh
               it
               ,
               and
               quaff
               it
               ,
            
             
               And
               let
               us
               Mery
               be
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Though
               the
               Zealous
               ,
               grow
               Jealous
               ,
            
             
               And
               Create
               much
               needless
               fear
               ,
            
             
               By
               which
               means
               they
               'd
               Drill
               us
               and
               Will
               us
               .
            
             
               Like
               themselves
               to
               appear
               ;
            
             
               But
               no
               Wonder
               ,
               since
               Plunder
               ,
            
             
               Is
               that
               at
               which
               they
               aim
               ,
            
             
               That
               the
               Whigs
               wander
               under
            
             
               Religious
               Guile
               ,
               which
               they
               Shame
               :
            
             
               But
               at
               last
               we
               have
               found
               them
               ,
            
             
               And
               from
               the
               bottom
               unwound
               them
               ,
            
             
               So
               that
               each
               man
               may
               found
               them
               ,
            
             
               And
               laugh
               at
               the
               
                 Old
                 Cause
              
               ,
            
             
               Which
               was
               the
               Ruine
               and
               undoing
               ,
            
             
               Of
               King
               and
               Kingdoms
               Laws
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Then
               let
               's
               Rout
               'em
               and
               Flout
               'em
               ,
            
             
               Who
               rails
               at
               the
               Succession
               ,
            
             
             
               That
               would
               Rout
               Him
               whom
               we
               so
               esteem
               ,
            
             
               Beyond
               all
               Expression
               ;
            
             
               Fill
               Clarret
               ,
               who
               's
               for
               it
               ?
            
             
               And
               let
               each
               Bumper
               go
               round
               ,
            
             
               Who
               doth
               bar
               it
               ,
               or
               spare
               it
            
             
               May
               he
               with
               Goats
               Horns
               be
               Crown'd
               :
            
             
               Here
               's
               a
               Health
               to
               the
               Dutchess
               ,
            
             
               Grant
               her
               long
               Life
               ,
               Health
               ,
               and
               Riches
               ,
            
             
               And
               a
               Young
               Prince
               is
               all
               our
               wishes
               ,
            
             
               Whilst
               all
               the
               Factious
               Repine
            
             
               Then
               come
               away
               wi
               't
               ,
               ne'r
               stay
               it
               ,
            
             
               Let
               no
               man
               baulk
               his
               Wine
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             
             London's
             Joy
             and
             Loyalty
             On
             His
             Royal
             Highnesses
             Return
             from
             Scotland
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               ROuze
               up
               ye
               Tories
            
             
               Of
               this
               
                 Factious
                 Land
              
               ,
            
             
               Now
               Loyalty
            
             
               Hath
               got
               the
               Upper-hand
               :
            
             
               The
               Rabble-rout
            
             
               Their
               Errours
               shall
               disclaim
               ,
            
             
               And
               Homage
               pay
            
             
               To
               
               York's
               Illustrious
               Name
               ;
            
             
               The
               London
               Mayor
            
             
               Is
               faithful
               to
               his
               Trust
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               two
               present
               Sh'riffs
            
             
               Wou'd
               fain
               be
               counted
               Just
               ;
            
             
               And
               every
               
                 Factious
                 Rebel
              
            
             
               Through
               the
               Town
               agree
            
             
               To
               shew
               the
               heighth
            
             
               Of
               London's
               Loyalty
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Now
               the
               loud
               Threatning
            
             
               Tempest
               is
               dispers'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               their
               shamming
               Plots
            
             
               Are
               quite
               revers'd
               ;
            
             
               Great
               
               Jemmy's
               happy
            
             
               Restauration
               here
            
             
               Makes
               a
               new
               day
            
             
               In
               
               London
               ●s
               Hemisphere
               :
            
             
               The
               Clouds
               are
               gone
            
             
               That
               did
               oppress
               his
               Reign
               ,
            
             
               And
               joyful
               day
               breaks
               forth
            
             
               In
               this
               glad
               Land
               again
               .
            
             
               Then
               to
               the
               Mighty
               Duke
            
             
               Of
               York
               and
               Albany
            
             
               Now
               
                 London
                 ,
                 London
              
               ,
            
             
               Shew
               thy
               Loyalty
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               A
               Royal
               Pair
            
             
               With
               their
               Illustrious
               Train
               ,
            
             
               To
               
               London's
               Joy
            
             
               Are
               now
               Return'd
               again
               ;
            
             
               Great
               Gracious
               Charles
            
             
               Does
               in
               the
               Front
               appear
               ,
            
             
               And
               Princely
               York
            
             
               Advances
               in
               the
               Rear
               ;
            
             
               The
               Right
               Successor
            
             
               Is
               Return'd
               again
               ,
            
             
               Whom
               former
               Faction
            
             
               Sent
               an
               Exile
               o'r
               the
               Main
               ,
            
             
               Then
               to
               the
               Mighty
               Duke
            
             
               Of
               York
               and
               Albany
            
             
               Now
               
                 London
                 ,
                 London
              
            
             
               Shew
               thy
               Loyalty
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Heave'n
               Bless
               the
               King
               ,
            
             
               Preserve
               the
               Lawful
               Heir
               ,
            
             
               Let
               ●ories
               Sing
               ,
            
             
               And
               Brimighams
               Despair
               :
            
             
               To
               see
               Great
               York
            
             
               Invested
               in
               his
               own
               ,
            
             
               Spight
               of
               all
               Fop
            
             
               Pretenders
               to
               the
               Throne
               ;
            
             
               Then
               Truth
               and
               Justice
            
             
               Shall
               our
               Joys
               restore
               ;
            
             
               Associations
               shall
            
             
               Destroy
               our
               Peace
               no
               more
               ,
            
             
               But
               to
               our
               Gracious
               King
               ,
            
             
               With
               York
               and
               Albany
            
             
               All
               Subjects
               seek
               ▪
            
             
               To
               shew
               their
               Loyalty
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Tory
             Song
             on
             His
             Highness
             Return
             from
             Scotland
             .
          
           
             To
             the
             Tune
             of
             ,
             
               The
               Prince
               of
            
             Orange
             's
             Delight
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               ROom
               ,
               room
               for
               Cavaliers
               ,
               bring
               us
               more
               Wine
               ,
            
             
               His
               Highness
               is
               Landed
               ,
               about
               with
               the
               Glass
               ;
            
             
               The
               
               Brimigham-piece
               is
               but
               Counterfeit
               Coyn
            
             
               Yet
               fain
               for
               good
               Sterling
               among
               as
               wou'd
               pass
               .
            
             
               Hey
               Bowman
               more
               Wine
               ,
            
             
               Fill
               up
               to
               the
               Brim
               ;
            
             
               While
               Zealots
               repine
            
             
               We
               'll
               frolick
               and
               sing
               ;
            
             
             
               For
               Oats
               ,
               is
               confounded
               ,
            
             
               That
               Turn-coated
               Round-head
               ;
            
             
               Then
               let
               us
               be
               Loyal
               ,
               and
               true
               to
               our
               King
               :
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               A
               little
               Old
               Conjurer
               threw
               so
               much
               Brass
               ,
            
             
               And
               Pewter
               and
               Copper
               amongst
               the
               True
               Coyn
            
             
               That
               hardly
               a
               Peny
               of
               Money
               can
               pass
               ,
            
             
               But
               what
               is
               Clipt
               ,
               Plated
               ,
               or
               wash'd
               very
               fine
            
             
               But
               thine
               Boy
               ,
               and
               mine
               ,
            
             
               Bears
               the
               stamp
               of
               the
               King
               ;
            
             
               Then
               let
               's
               have
               more
               Wine
               ,
            
             
               While
               good
               Money
               we
               bring
               ;
            
             
               
                 John
                 Thum
              
               is
               confounded
               ,
            
             
               That
               Brazen-fac'd
               Round-head
               ;
            
             
               Then
               let
               us
               be
               Loyal
               ,
               and
               True
               to
               our
               King.
               
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               With
               such
               a
               Bold
               ,
               Impudent
               and
               Brazen-face
            
             
               They'd
               pass
               for
               true
               Mettle
               ,
               although
               but
               wash'd
               o'r
               ;
            
             
               The
               Kings
               Stamp
               &
               Image
               they
               only
               disgrace
            
             
               As
               they
               did
               their
               Lord
               and
               Creators
               before
               ;
            
             
               But
               thine
               Boy
               ,
               and
               mine
               ,
            
             
               Bears
               the
               stamp
               of
               the
               King
               ,
            
             
               Then
               let
               's
               have
               more
               Wine
               ,
            
             
               While
               good
               Money
               we
               bring
               ;
            
             
               For
               Care
               is
               Confounded
               ,
            
             
               That
               Scismatick
               Round-head
               ;
            
             
               Then
               let
               us
               be
               Loyal
               ,
               and
               True
               to
               our
               King.
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Yet
               (
               what
               is
               most
               noted
               )
               these
               Brimigham
               Elves
               ,
            
             
               To
               bear
               the
               true
               stamp
               are
               so
               brazen'd
               with
               Art
               ,
            
             
               That
               they
               wou'd
               have
               nothing
               to
               pass
               but
               themselves
               ,
            
             
             
               Although
               they
               're
               but
               Copper
               and
               Gaul
               at
               the
               heart
               .
            
             
               But
               thine
               Boy
               ,
               and
               mine
               ,
            
             
               Bears
               the
               stamp
               of
               the
               King
               ,
            
             
               Then
               let
               's
               have
               more
               Wine
               ,
            
             
               While
               good
               Sterling
               we
               bring
               ;
            
             
               For
               Dick
               is
               confounded
               ,
            
             
               That
               Libelling
               Roundhead
               ,
            
             
               Then
               let
               us
               be
               Loyal
               ,
               and
               true
               to
               our
               King.
               
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               They
               call
               themselves
               Loyal
               ,
               nay
               more
               ,
               love
               the
               King
            
             
               Yet
               Royalists
               ,
               Tory
               and
               Papist
               mis
               call
               ;
            
             
               And
               rail
               at
               all
               those
               who
               stand
               up
               for
               the
               thing
               ,
            
             
               With
               
                 L'strange
                 ,
                 Heraclitus
              
               and
               Thompson
               ,
               &
               all
            
             
               Gainst
               these
               the
               Slaves
            
             
               Their
               Libels
               they
               fling
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               they
               are
               the
               Knaves
               ,
            
             
               That
               do
               Libel
               the
               King
               ;
            
             
               But
               
               Langley's
               confounded
               ,
            
             
               That
               Pamphletting
               Roundhead
               ;
            
             
               Then
               let
               us
               be
               Loyal
               ,
               and
               true
               to
               our
               King.
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Thus
               Brimighams
               still
               the
               Stamp
               Royal
               rebukes
            
             
               With
               Brazen-fac'd
               Impudence
               guided
               so
               fine
            
             
               Who
               hates
               the
               King's
               Picture
               as
               well
               as
               the
               Dukes
               ,
            
             
               And
               loves
               it
               in
               nothing
               ,
               unless
               in
               his
               Coyn
               ;
            
             
               But
               let
               him
               still
               pass
            
             
               For
               a
               counterfeit
               thing
               ,
            
             
               About
               with
               the
               Glass
               ,
            
             
               And
               merrily
               sing
               ;
            
             
               For
               Ben
               is
               confounded
               ;
            
             
               That
               Cuckoldly
               Round-head
               ;
            
             
               Then
               let
               us
               be
               Loyal
               ,
               and
               true
               to
               our
               King.
               
            
          
           
             
             
               To
               the
               King
               and
               the
               Queen
               ,
               fill
               it
               up
               to
               the
               Top.
            
             
               The
               D.
               &
               the
               Dutchess
               ,
               whom
               Heav'n
               has
               restor'd
               ;
            
             
               And
               next
               ,
               
                 Hans
                 in
                 Kelder
              
               ,
               the
               Royal
               Blew-Cap
               ;
            
             
               To
               all
               the
               true
               Issue
               and
               each
               Loyal
               Lord
               :
            
             
               Crown
               every
               Glass
               ,
            
             
               Fill
               'em
               up
               to
               the
               Brim
               :
            
             
               About
               let
               'em
               pass
               ,
            
             
               While
               we
               merrily
               sing
               ;
            
             
               For
               
               Baldwin's
               confounded
               ,
            
             
               That
               impudent
               Round-head
               ;
            
             
               Then
               let
               us
               be
               Loyal
               ,
               and
               true
               to
               our
               King.
               
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               To
               brave
               Albemarle
               the
               next
               we
               'l
               pursue
               ,
            
             
               With
               Worster
               and
               
                 Clarendon
                 ,
                 Seymour
              
               ,
               and
               Hall
               —
            
             
               To
               all
               to
               their
               King
               ,
               and
               their
               Country
               are
               true
               ,
            
             
               Who
               Loyalty
               love
               ,
               and
               confound
               the
               Caball
               .
            
             
               If
               Monarchy
               shine
               ,
            
             
               And
               Bowman
               but
               bring
            
             
               Good
               store
               of
               brisk
               Wine
               ,
            
             
               We
               'l
               make
               the
               Dog
               ring
               ;
            
             
               For
               
               Tony's
               confounded
               ,
            
             
               That
               
                 Spiggoted
                 Round-head
              
               ;
            
             
               Then
               let
               us
               be
               Loyal
               ,
               and
               true
               to
               our
               King.
               
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             PLOT
             Cram'd
             into
             Jones
             Placket
          
           
             to
             the
             Tune
             of
             ,
             
               Jones
               Placket
               is
               torn
            
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               HAve
               you
               not
               lately
               heard
            
             
               of
               Lords
               sent
               to
               the
               Tower
               ,
            
             
             
               Who
               '
               gainst
               the
               Popish
               Plotters
               ,
            
             
               seem'd
               men
               of
               chiefest
               power
               :
            
             
               But
               now
               they
               're
               got
               into
               the
               Plot
               ,
            
             
               and
               all
               their
               power
               's
               in
               vain
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 the
                 Plot
                 is
                 rent
                 and
                 torn
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 and
                 can
                 never
                 be
                 mended
                 again
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 'T
                 is
                 rent
                 and
                 torn
                 ,
                 and
                 torn
                 and
                 rent
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 and
                 rent
                 and
                 torn
                 in
                 twain
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 For
                 the
                 Plot
                 is
                 rent
                 and
                 torn
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 and
                 will
                 never
                 be
                 mended
                 again
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Fitz-Harris
               they
               suppos'd
            
             
               a
               sitting
               Instrument
               ,
            
             
               The
               Duke
               ,
               the
               Queen
               ,
               and
               King
            
             
               himself
               to
               circumvent
               :
            
             
               But
               now
               he
               's
               hang'd
               and
               all
               his
               Gang
            
             
               will
               follow
               the
               same
               strain
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 the
                 Plot
                 is
                 rent
                 and
                 torn
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 and
                 will
                 never
                 be
                 mended
                 again
                 ,
              
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               The
               Joyner
               he
               did
               march
            
             
               to
               Oxford
               ,
               to
               be
               Try'd
               ,
            
             
               Where
               he
               did
               find
               a
               Jury
               ,
            
             
               who
               were
               not
               Whiggify'd
               :
            
             
               And
               for
               his
               Joyning
               in
               the
               Plot
               ,
            
             
               a
               Halter
               he
               did
               gain
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 the
                 Plot
                 is
                 rent
                 and
                 torn
                 ▪
              
            
             
               
                 and
                 will
                 never
                 be
                 mended
                 again
                 ,
              
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               They
               say
               that
               Mr.
               Dugdale
               ,
            
             
               so
               honest
               and
               so
               true
               ,
            
             
               Is
               one
               of
               the
               King●s
               Evidence
               ,
            
             
               against
               this
               wicked
               Crew
               :
            
             
             
               And
               now
               they
               aim
               him
               to
               defame
               ,
            
             
               but
               all
               will
               be
               in
               vain
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 the
                 Plot
                 is
                 rent
                 and
                 torn
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 and
                 will
                 never
                 be
                 mended
                 again
                 ,
              
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               The
               crafty
               Shaftsburyy
               ,
            
             
               is
               caught
               in
               his
               own
               Snare
               ,
            
             
               He
               has
               hired
               many
               Rogues
               ,
            
             
               themselves
               for
               to
               forswear
               :
            
             
               Are
               now
               undone
               ,
               with
               Hetherington
               ,
            
             
               and
               all
               his
               hired
               Train
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 the
                 Plot
                 is
                 rent
                 and
                 torn
              
            
             
               
                 and
                 will
                 never
                 be
                 mended
                 again
                 ,
              
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Thus
               Innocence
               we
               see
            
             
               begins
               for
               to
               appear
               ,
            
             
               Since
               Rogues
               for
               want
               of
               Pardons
               ,
            
             
               the
               Truth
               are
               fain
               to
               swear
               :
            
             
               Had
               it
               been
               so
               ,
               some
               years
               ago
               ,
            
             
               we
               'd
               hit
               on
               the
               right
               vein
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 the
                 Plot
                 is
                 rent
                 and
                 torn
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 and
                 will
                 never
                 be
                 mended
                 again
              
               ▪
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               The
               pious
               Commons
               Vote
            
             
               it
               was
               a
               Popish
               Plot
               ,
            
             
               Which
               Factious
               Lords
               promote
               ,
            
             
               't
               was
               death
               to
               think
               it
               not
               ;
            
             
               Thus
               piously
               they
               all
               agree
            
             
               a
               Plot
               for
               to
               maintain
               ,
            
             
               
                 But
                 now
                 '
                 ●is
                 rent
                 and
                 torn
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 and
                 will
                 never
                 be
                 mended
                 again
                 ,
              
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Against
               the
               Lawful
               Heir
               ,
            
             
               full
               many
               a
               Bill
               they
               pass
            
             
             
               Upon
               the
               Royal
               Chair
            
             
               to
               place
               a
               gawdy
               Ass
               ;
            
             
               But
               they
               may
               ride
               to
               'th
               Devil
               astride
            
             
               with
               Noll
               new
               Plots
               to
               feign
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 the
                 Plot
                 is
                 rent
                 and
                 torn
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 and
                 will
                 never
                 he
                 mended
                 again
                 ,
              
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               When
               they
               cou'd
               rail
               no
               more
            
             
               of
               pious
               Lords
               and
               Peers
               ,
            
             
               To
               set
               them
               as
               before
            
             
               together
               by
               the
               Ears
               ;
            
             
               To
               Shrives
               and
               Mayor
               they
               made
               this
               Prayer
               ,
            
             
               they
               wou'd
               the
               Plot
               maintain
               ,
            
             
               
                 But
                 now
                 't
                 is
                 rent
                 and
                 torn
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 and
                 will
                 never
                 be
                 mended
                 again
                 ,
              
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               Brave
               Rich
               and
               Famous
               North
               ,
            
             
               (
               whom
               Factions
               did
               oppose
               )
            
             
               For
               Loyalty
               and
               Worth
               ,
            
             
               The
               Noble
               Mayor
               has
               chose
               ,
            
             
               Who
               hand
               in
               hand
               will
               faithful
               stand
            
             
               to
               Royal
               
               Charles's
               Reign
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 the
                 Plot
                 is
                 rent
                 and
                 torn
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 and
                 will
                 never
                 be
                 mended
                 again
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 'T
                 is
                 rent
                 and
                 torn
                 ,
                 and
                 torn
                 and
                 rent
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 and
                 rent
                 and
                 torn
                 in
                 twain
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 For
                 the
                 Plot
                 is
                 rent
                 and
                 torn
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 and
                 will
                 never
                 be
                 mended
                 again
                 .
              
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Happy
             return
             of
             the
             Old
             Dutch
             Miller
             .
          
           
             To
             the
             Tune
             of
             the
             First
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               GOod
               People
               of
               England
               I
               hope
               you
               have
               had
            
             
               Experience
               of
               my
               Art
               in
               my
               Trade
               ;
            
             
             
               For
               I
               am
               the
               Miller
               that
               was
               here
               before
               ,
            
             
               That
               ground
               Women
               young
               ,
               of
               four
               or
               five
               Score
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 make
                 hast
                 Customers
                 ,
                 bring
                 in
                 your
                 Tribes
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 I
                 l'e
                 quickly
                 dispatch
                 them
                 without
                 any
                 Bribes
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 For
                 I
                 am
                 so
                 Zealous
                 for
              
               Whiglanders
               Crew
            
             
               
                 I
                 l'e
                 cure
                 their
                 Distempers
                 with
                 one
                 Turn
                 or
                 Two.
                 
              
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               And
               now
               (
               for
               your
               comfort
               )
               I
               am
               come
               again
            
             
               To
               cure
               the
               defection
               amongst
               all
               your
               Men
               ;
            
             
               Whether
               they
               be
               Factious
               ,
               Stupid
               or
               Lame
               ;
            
             
               Let
               's
               see
               e're
               a
               Chymist
               that
               can
               do
               the
               same
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 make
                 hast
                 Customers
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               If
               you
               have
               e're
               a
               City
               that
               's
               troubl'd
               with
               Simples
               ;
            
             
               That
               's
               over-rich
               grown
               ,
               and
               has
               Rebellious
               pimples
            
             
               I
               'le
               strip
               it
               of
               all
               these
               defects
               in
               an
               hour
               ,
            
             
               And
               make
               it
               submit
               to
               the
               King
               or
               the
               Tower.
            
             
               
                 Then
                 come
                 away
                 Customers
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               If
               any
               pretending
               
                 Whigg
                 Sheriffs
              
               yet
               dare
               ,
            
             
               (
               In
               the
               year
               of
               his
               Office
               )
               Arrest
               the
               
                 Lord
                 Mayor
              
               ;
            
             
               Let
               them
               come
               to
               my
               Mill
               ,
               if
               their
               Insolence
               must
            
             
               Be
               taken
               a
               Peg
               lower
               ,
               I
               'l
               Grind
               them
               to
               Dust
            
             
               
                 Then
                 make
                 hast
                 Customers
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               If
               any
               Grave
               Alderman
               Perjures
               and
               Swears
               ,
            
             
               Till
               he
               runs
               the
               great
               hazard
               of
               loosing
               his
               Ears
               .
            
             
               Let
               him
               bring
               but
               his
               Toll
               ,
               and
               to
               cover
               his
               Shame
            
             
               I
               'le
               hide
               him
               i'
               th
               Hopper
               ,
               and
               Dip
               him
               i'
               th'
               Dam
               ▪
            
             
               
                 Then
                 make
                 hast
                 Customers
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
             
               6.
               
            
             
               If
               any
               Hot
               Zealots
               ,
               or
               Turbulent
               Cits
               ,
            
             
               With
               Tumults
               &
               Riots
               run
               out
               of
               their
               Wits
               ;
            
             
               For
               the
               Toll
               I
               'l
               so
               Tame
               'em
               ,
               that
               they
               shall
               be
               all
            
             
               Like
               Flour
               of
               Patience
               ,
               I
               'l
               Grind
               'em
               so
               small
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 make
                 hast
                 Customers
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               If
               you
               have
               e're
               a
               Fop
               that
               's
               proud
               of
               a
               String
               ,
            
             
               And
               fain
               would
               aspire
               to
               the
               Throne
               of
               a
               King
            
             
               Bring
               him
               to
               my
               Mill
               ,
               I
               will
               presently
               show
            
             
               If
               he
               's
               qualified
               for
               a
               Monarch
               ,
               or
               no.
            
             
               
                 Then
                 make
                 hast
                 Customers
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               If
               you
               have
               e're
               a
               Lord
               that
               's
               a
               Pimp
               to
               's
               Wife
               ,
            
             
               And
               to
               hide
               his
               Horns
               would
               venture
               his
               Life
               :
            
             
               Send
               her
               to
               my
               Mill.
               I
               'll
               venture
               a
               Tryal
               ,
            
             
               To
               make
               Her
               as
               Honest
               as
               e're
               He
               was
               Loyal
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 make
                 hast
                 Customers
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               If
               you
               have
               e're
               a
               Slabbering
               Lord
               that
               's
               a
               Fool
               ,
            
             
               And
               sits
               in
               Cabals
               3
               Kingdoms
               to
               Rule
               ,
            
             
               And
               stands
               for
               a
               States-man
               ,
               I
               'll
               make
               him
               as
               able
            
             
               As
               ever
               a
               Helper
               in
               all
               his
               own
               Stable
            
             
               
                 Then
                 make
                 hast
                 Customers
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               If
               you
               have
               e're
               a
               Lord
               that
               used
               to
               Preach
            
             
               I'●h
               '
               top
               of
               a
               
                 Crab
                 Tree
              
               ,
               above
               all
               your
               reach
               ,
            
             
               And
               still
               the
               
                 Lords
                 Super
              
               expos'd
               in
               
                 Lambs
                 wool
              
               :
            
             
               send
               him
               to
               my
               Mill
               ,
               I
               'll
               Reform
               his
               Skull
               :
            
             
               
                 Then
                 make
                 hast
                 Customers
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               11.
               
            
             
               If
               you
               have
               ●'re
               a
               Knight
               that
               's
               a
               Knave
               and
               Thred-bare
               ,
            
             
             
               That
               deals
               in
               Neck-laces
               and
               such
               kind
               of
               ware
               :
            
             
               And
               stole
               the
               best
               Plot
               ,
               now
               hides
               it
               in
               Bristol
               :
            
             
               Bring
               him
               to
               my
               Mill
               ,
               I
               'll
               make
               him
               confess
               't
               all
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 make
                 hast
                 Customers
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               12.
               
            
             
               If
               you
               have
               ,
               or
               had
               ,
               any
               Sheriffs
               that
               are
               Whigs
               ,
            
             
               That
               have
               cut
               off
               some
               Heads
               ,
               and
               are
               cutting
               off
               Legs
               .
            
             
               Bring
               them
               ,
               and
               their
               
                 Perjur'd
                 Juries
              
               together
               ,
            
             
               I
               'll
               turn
               'em
               all
               round
               in
               my
               Mill
               with
               the
               Weather
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 make
                 hast
                 Customers
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               13.
               
            
             
               If
               you
               have
               e're
               a
               Doctor
               that
               has
               ne'r
               a
               Mouth
               ,
            
             
               But
               a
               Hole
               in
               the
               place
               for
               a
               Nose
               ,
               Nor.
               &
               South
            
             
               Put
               him
               to
               my
               Mill
               ,
               I
               shal
               make
               him
               speak
               sense
            
             
               Behind
               and
               before
               ,
               like
               a
               Quaker
               in
               Trance
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 make
                 hast
                 Customers
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               14.
               
            
             
               If
               
                 He
                 has
                 been
                 Perjur'd
                 ten
                 thousand
                 times
                 o're
                 ,
              
            
             
               And
               for
               want
               of
               Imployment
               begins
               to
               grow
               poor
               ;
            
             
               I
               'll
               make
               him
               as
               
                 Rich
                 (
                 if
                 he
                 knows
                 his
                 own
                 Name
                 )
              
            
             
               As
               when
               he
               came
               Mumping
               from
               Flanders
               or
               Spain
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 make
                 hast
                 Customers
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               15.
               
            
             
               If
               
                 Forty
                 Religions
              
               he
               dares
               to
               Believe
               ,
            
             
               And
               yet
               
                 Preacheth
                 Blasphemy
              
               Fools
               to
               deceive
               :
            
             
               Bring
               him
               to
               my
               Mill
               ,
               with
               more
               of
               the
               Grist
               ,
            
             
               I
               'll
               make
               him
               a
               Devil
               ,
               a
               Man
               or
               a
               Beast
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 make
                 hast
                 Customers
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               16.
               
            
             
               If
               you
               have
               any
               Plots
               ,
               either
               
                 Sham
                 ones
              
               or
               
                 True
                 ones
              
               ,
            
             
               Bring
               out
               the
               Contrivers
               ,
               both
               
                 black
                 ones
              
               &
               
                 ble●
                 ones
              
               .
            
             
               I
               'll
               either
               Refine
               'em
               from
               all
               their
               past
               Ill
               ,
            
             
             
               Or
               else
               I
               will
               strangle
               them
               All
               in
               my
               MILL
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 make
                 hast
                 Customers
                 ,
                 bring
                 in
                 your
                 Tribes
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 I
                 'll
                 quickly
                 dispatch
                 them
                 without
                 any
                 Bribes
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 For
                 I
                 am
                 so
                 Zealous
                 for
              
               Whiglanders
               Crew
               ,
            
             
               
                 I
                 'll
                 cure
                 their
                 Distempers
                 with
                 one
                 Turn
                 or
                 two
                 .
              
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             Congratulation
             on
             the
             Happy
             Discovery
             of
             the
             
               Hellish
               Fanatick
               Plot.
            
             
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Now
               ,
               now
               the
               Fight
               's
               done
               .
            
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               COme
               now
               let
               's
               rejoyce
               ,
               and
               the
               City
               Bells
               ring
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               Bonfires
               kindle
               ,
               whilst
               unto
               the
               King
               ▪
            
             
               We
               pay
               on
               our
               knees
               the
               grand
               tribute
               that
               's
               due
               ,
            
             
               Of
               thanks
               and
               oblation
               ,
               which
               now
               we
               renew
               ,
            
             
               For
               Mercies
               that
               we
               have
               received
               of
               late
               ,
            
             
               From
               Prudence
               and
               Justice
               diverting
               our
               Fate
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               The
               Curtain
               is
               drawn
               ,
               and
               the
               Clouds
               are
               disperst
               ;
            
             
               The
               
               Plot
               's
               come
               to
               light
               ,
               that
               in
               darkness
               did
               nest
               ,
            
             
               Jack
               Calvin's
               display'd
               with
               his
               Colours
               in
               grain
               :
            
             
               And
               who
               were
               the
               Traytors
               and
               Villains
               't
               is
               plain
               :
            
             
               The
               Traps
               that
               they
               laid
               ,
               and
               the
               snares
               that
               they
               set
               ,
            
             
               Have
               caught
               them
               at
               last
               in
               their
               own
               silly
               Net
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               The
               Foreman
               himself
               ,
               that
               off-spring
               of
               Hell
               ,
            
             
               In
               whose
               wick'd
               Breast
               all
               Treason
               doth
               dwel
               ,
            
             
               To
               the
               Tower
               was
               sent
               ,
               with
               his
               Triple
               Name
               ,
            
             
               Whilst
               the
               Triple-tree
               groans
               for
               his
               Carcass
               again
               ,
            
             
             
               And
               many
               Rogues
               more
               their
               Leader
               will
               follow
            
             
               Unto
               the
               same
               place
               ,
               whilst
               we
               whoop
               and
               hallow
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               The
               Libelling
               tribe
               that
               so
               long
               have
               reign'd
            
             
               And
               sow'd
               Sedition
               ,
               shall
               now
               be
               Arraign●d
               ;
            
             
               Their
               Shams
               and
               their
               Lies
               shall
               do
               them
               no
               good
               ,
            
             
               When
               they
               come
               to
               the
               tree
               ,
               there
               's
               no
               shamming
               that
               wood
               :
            
             
               Janway
               and
               Curtis
               in
               the
               forlorn
               hope
               ,
            
             
               Then
               
                 Vile
                 ,
                 Smith
              
               and
               Care
               shall
               neck
               the
               next
               Rope
               .
            
          
           
             
               5
            
             
               So
               ,
               so
               ,
               let
               them
               dye
               that
               would
               Monarchs
               destroy
               ,
            
             
               And
               spit
               all
               their
               Venom
               our
               Land
               to
               annoy
               :
            
             
               If
               that
               their
               Pow●r
               were
               to
               their
               Malice
               equal
               ,
            
             
               And
               their
               Courage
               the
               same
               ,
               they
               'd
               soon
               ruine
               all
               ▪
            
             
               But
               their
               Courage
               is
               low
               ,
               and
               their
               Power
               but
               small
               ;
            
             
               Their
               Treason
               is
               High
               ,
               and
               must
               have
               a
               Fall.
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               When
               Trojans
               of
               old
               (
               our
               Ancestors
               )
               were
            
             
               In
               danger
               of
               Shipwrack
               ,
               &
               toss'd
               here
               &
               there
            
             
               Great
               Neptune
               soon
               quell'd
               those
               Rebels
               and
               Storms
               ,
            
             
               With
               brandished
               trident
               ,
               and
               free'd
               them
               from
               harms
               ;
            
             
               They
               ●led
               from
               his
               Face
               ,
               through
               guilt
               of
               their
               Cause
               ,
            
             
               As
               these
               from
               our
               Lion
               ,
               if
               he
               stretch
               out
               his
               paws
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Go
               Devils
               ,
               be
               gone
               to
               the
               Region
               below
               ,
            
             
               Here
               's
               no
               bus'ness
               of
               yours
               ,
               or
               ought
               left
               to
               do
               :
            
             
               No
               Tempter
               we
               need
               ,
               we
               can
               act
               all
               our selves
               ,
            
             
               Without
               any
               help
               from
               you
               silly
               Elve●
               ;
            
             
               For
               what
               Presbyter
               act
               ,
               he
               thinks
               a
               disgrace
            
             
             
               All
               Hell
               should
               out-do
               him
               ,
               or
               dare
               shew
               their
               face
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               For
               produce
               all
               the
               ill
               that
               Hell
               ever
               hatch'd
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               nothing
               at
               all
               ,
               when
               it
               comes
               to
               be
               match'd
            
             
               With
               what
               has
               been
               Plotted
               by
               Traytors
               of
               late
               ,
            
             
               Who
               aim'd
               at
               the
               Ruine
               of
               Church
               ,
               and
               of
               State
               :
            
             
               By
               Perjury
               ,
               Bribes
               ,
               by
               suborning
               all
               Evil
               ,
            
             
               By
               Murther
               ,
               and
               worse
               Than
               e're
               came
               from
               the
               Devil
               .
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               Now
               Presbyter
               come
               and
               submit
               thy
               stiff
               Neck
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               labour'st
               in
               vain
               our
               great
               Monarch
               to
               check
               ;
            
             
               Whose
               Power
               Divine
               no
               Mortals
               controul
               ,
            
             
               But
               hazard
               the
               loss
               of
               both
               Body
               and
               Soul
               :
            
             
               Then
               banish
               for
               ever
               your
               Commonwealth
               hope
               ,
            
             
               Which
               tends
               to
               destruction
               ,
               and
               ends
               in
               a
               Rope
               .
            
          
           
             
               Epilogue
               .
            
             
               
                 With
                 Wine
                 of
                 all
                 sorts
                 let
                 the
                 Conduits
                 run
                 free
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 each
                 true
                 heart
                 drink
                 the
              
               K's
               
                 Health
                 on
                 his
                 knee
              
               :
            
             
               
                 No
                 Treason
                 shall
                 lodge
                 in
                 our
                 breasts
                 while
                 we
                 live
                 ,
              
            
             
               To
               God
               ,
               
                 and
                 to
              
               Caesar
               
                 their
                 Due
                 we
                 will
                 give
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 We
                 'l
                 pray
                 with
                 our
                 hearts
                 ,
                 and
                 fight
                 with
                 our
                 hands
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 Against
                 all
              
               Fanat
               .
               
                 when
                 great
              
               Charles
               commands
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Loyal
             Sheriffs
             of
             London
             and
             Midlesex
             .
             Upon
             their
             Election
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Now
               at
               last
               the
               Riddle
            
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               NOw
               at
               last
               the
               Matter
               is
               decided
               ,
            
             
               Which
               so
               long
               the
               Nation
               has
               divided
               ;
            
             
               Misguided
            
             
             
               By
               Interest
               and
               blind
               Zeal
               ,
            
             
               Which
               so
               well
               in
               
                 Forty
                 four
              
               they
               Acted
               ;
            
             
               Now
               with
               greater
               heat
               ,
            
             
               They
               again
               act
               o're
               like
               Men
               Distracted
               ,
            
             
               To
               give
               to
               Monarchy
               a
               new
               defeat
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Famous
               North
               ,
               of
               Noble
               Birth
               and
               Breeding
               ,
            
             
               And
               in
               Loyal
               Principles
               Exceeding
               ;
            
             
               Is
               pleading
            
             
               To
               stand
               his
               Countreys
               Friend
               ,
            
             
               To
               do
               Justice
               to
               the
               King
               and
               Nation
               ,
            
             
               Some
               so
               much
               oppose
               ,
            
             
               To
               renew
               the
               work
               of
               REFORMATION
               ,
            
             
               And
               carry
               on
               again
               the
               
                 Good
                 Old
                 Cause
              
               ▪
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Next
               Renowned
               Box
               as
               high
               commended
               ,
            
             
               And
               of
               Loyal
               Parentage
               Descended
               ;
            
             
               Intended
            
             
               To
               do
               the
               City
               Right
               ,
            
             
               With
               true
               Courage
               ,
               and
               firm
               Resolution
               ,
            
             
               He
               the
               Hall
               Adorns
               ;
            
             
               But
               the
               Heads
               were
               all
               in
               a
               Confusion
               :
            
             
               Such●d
               in
               there
               was
               &
               a
               ratling
               with
               their
               Horns
               :
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Prick
               up
               Ears
               ,
               and
               push
               for
               one
               another
               ,
            
             
               Let
               not
               Box
               (
               an
               old
               Malignant
               )
               Brother
               ;
            
             
               Nor
               '
               ●other
            
             
               Our
               Properties
               command
               ,
            
             
               He
               's
               a
               
                 Kings-man
                 ,
                 North
              
               is
               nothing
               better
               ,
            
             
               They
               walk
               Hand
               in
               Hand
            
             
               He
               you
               know
               is
               the
               Lord
               Mayor's
               Creature
               :
            
             
               And
               therefore
               't
               is
               not
               sit
               that
               they
               should
               stand
               ▪
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Where
               are
               now
               our
               Liberties
               and
               Freedom
               ?
            
             
             
               Where
               shall
               we
               find
               Friends
               when
               we
               shou'd
            
             
               To
               bleed
               'em
            
             
               And
               pull
               the
               
               Tory's
               down
               ,
            
             
               To
               push
               for
               our
               Int'rest
               ,
               who
               can
               blame
               us
               ?
            
             
               Sheriffs
               rule
               the
               Town
               ,
            
             
               When
               we
               loose
               our
               Darling
               IGNORAMVS
               :
            
             
               We
               lose
               the
               Combat
               ,
               and
               the
               day
               's
               their
               own
               :
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Then
               let
               every
               Man
               stand
               by
               his
               Brother
               ,
            
             
               Poll
               o're
               ten
               times
               ,
               Poll
               for
               one
               another
               ;
            
             
               What
               a
               Pother
            
             
               You
               see
               the
               
               Tory's
               make
               ,
            
             
               Now
               or
               never
               ,
               now
               to
               save
               your
               Charter
               ,
            
             
               Or
               your
               Hearts
               will
               ake
               ,
            
             
               If
               it
               goes
               for
               them
               expect
               no
               Quarter
               :
            
             
               If
               Law
               and
               Justice
               rule
               ,
               our
               heels
               must
               shake
               :
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Rout
               ,
               a
               Rout
               ,
               joyn
               
                 'Prentice
                 ,
                 Bore
              
               and
               Peasant
               ,
            
             
               Let
               the
               White-hall
               Party
               call
               it
               Treason
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               Treason
            
             
               We
               should
               our
               Necks
               Defend
               ,
            
             
               Routs
               and
               
                 Ryots
                 ,
                 Tumults
              
               and
               Sedition
               ,
            
             
               Poll
               'em
               o're
               again
               ,
            
             
               These
               do
               best
               agree
               with
               our
               Condition
               ;
            
             
               If
               Monarchy
               prevail
               ,
               we
               're
               all
               lost
               men
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               The
               Lord
               Mayor
               is
               Loyal
               in
               his
               Station
               ,
            
             
               'Las
               what
               will
               become
               o'
               th
               Reformation
               ;
            
             
               O'
               th'
               Nation
            
             
               If
               the
               Sheriffs
               be
               Loyal
               too
               ?
            
             
               Wrangle
               ,
               Brangle
               ,
               huff
               and
               keep
               a
               Clatter
               ;
            
             
               If
               we
               loose
               the
               Field
               ,
            
             
               Poll
               'em
               o're
               again
               ,
               it
               makes
               no
               matter
               :
            
             
               For
               tho'
               we
               loose
               the
               Day
               ,
               we
               scorn
               to
               Yield
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               9.
               
            
             
               Ten
               for
               Box
               ,
               and
               Twenty
               for
               Papillion
               ,
            
             
               North
               a
               Thousand
               ,
               and
               Dubois
               a
               Million
               :
            
             
               What
               Villain
            
             
               Our
               Interest
               dare
               oppose
               ?
            
             
               With
               those
               Noble
               Patriots
               thus
               they
               sided
               ,
            
             
               To
               uphold
               the
               Cause
               ;
            
             
               But
               the
               good
               Lord
               Mayor
               the
               case
               decided
               :
            
             
               And
               once
               again
               two
               
                 Loyal
                 Worthies
              
               Chose
               .
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               Noble
               North
               ,
               and
               Famous
               Box
               promoted
               ,
            
             
               By
               due
               Course
               and
               Legal
               Choice
               allotted
               ;
            
             
               They
               Voted
            
             
               To
               be
               the
               
                 City
                 Sheriffs
              
            
             
               And
               may
               they
               both
               to
               Londons
               Commendation
               ,
            
             
               Her
               Ancient
               Rights
               restore
               ,
            
             
               To
               do
               that
               Justice
               to
               the
               King
               and
               Nation
               ,
            
             
               Which
               former
               Factions
               have
               deny'd
               before
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             
               Loyalty
               Triumphant
            
             ,
             on
             the
             Confirmation
             of
             Mr.
             North
             and
             Mr.
             Rich
             ,
             Sheriffs
             of
             London
             and
             Middlesex
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Joy
               to
               the
               Bridegroom
            
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               FIll
               up
               the
               Bowl
               ,
               and
               set
               it
               round
               ,
            
             
               The
               day
               is
               won
               ,
               the
               Sheriffs
               crown'd
               ;
            
             
               The
               Rabble
               flies
               ,
               the
               Tumults
               yield
               ;
            
             
               And
               Loyalty
               maintains
               the
               Field
               ;
            
             
               Saint
               George
               for
               England
               ,
               then
               amain
               ,
            
             
               To
               Royal
               CHARLES
               this
               Ocean
               drain
               ▪
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               With
               Justice
               may
               it
               ever
               flow
               ,
            
             
               And
               in
               an
               endless
               Circle
               go
               ;
            
             
             
               The
               brim
               with
               conqu'ring
               Bays
               be
               crown'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               Faction
               in
               the
               Dregs
               lie
               drown'd
               :
            
             
               Then
               to
               the
               QVEEN
               ,
               and
               Royal
               James
               ,
            
             
               Sacrifice
               your
               flowing
               Thames
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Thanks
               to
               Sir
               John
               ,
               our
               good
               
                 Lord
                 Mayor
              
               ,
            
             
               '
               Gainst
               
                 Sheriffs
                 Tricks
              
               He
               kept
               the
               Chair
               ;
            
             
               The
               Court
               and
               City's
               Right
               maintains
               ,
            
             
               While
               head
               strong
               Faction
               broke
               the
               Reins
               :
            
             
               Then
               to
               the
               famous
               Sir
               
                 John
                 Moor
              
               ,
            
             
               May
               after-Age
               that
               Name
               adore
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               What
               Zeal
               (
               ye
               Whigs
               )
               to
               the
               
                 Old
                 Cause
              
               .
            
             
               Thus
               makes
               you
               act
               against
               the
               LAWS
               ;
            
             
               That
               none
               for
               Sheriff
               must
               contend
               ,
            
             
               But
               your
               old
               IGNORAMVS
               Friend
               ?
            
             
               But
               now
               ,
               your
               hopes
               are
               all
               destroy'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               your
               two
               Champions
               laid
               aside
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Is
               this
               your
               love
               to
               Church
               and
               State
               ,
            
             
               That
               no
               good
               man
               must
               serve
               of
               late
               ,
            
             
               While
               you
               can
               find
               one
               
                 Factious
                 Rogue
              
               ,
            
             
               To
               sway
               the
               Poll
               ,
               and
               get
               your
               Vogue
               ?
            
             
               By
               unjust
               means
               your
               Rights
               you
               claim
               ,
            
             
               And
               lawless
               Force
               maintain
               the
               same
               .
            
          
           
             
               6
            
             
               But
               brave
               Sir
               John
               ,
               while
               th'storms
               increase
               ,
            
             
               His
               Wisdom
               made
               the
               Tumults
               cease
               ;
            
             
               In
               spight
               of
               all
               
                 Illegal
                 Poll
              
               ,
            
             
               The
               Routs
               and
               Ryots
               did
               controll
               :
            
             
               Whence
               He
               shall
               gain
               a
               lasting
               Name
               ,
            
             
               And
               after-Age
               Record
               His
               Fame
               .
            
          
           
             
               7
            
             
               Amongst
               the
               Men
               of
               chiefest
               worth
               ,
            
             
               The
               Vote
               is
               given
               for
               
                 Loyal
                 NORTH
              
               ,
            
             
             
               In
               spight
               of
               Pilkington
               and
               Shute
               ,
            
             
               Papilion
               ,
               and
               the
               
                 Rabble
                 Rout
              
               :
            
             
               Then
               to
               brave
               NORTH
               a
               double
               Doze
               ,
            
             
               Who
               the
               strong
               Factions
               did
               oppose
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Now
               BOX
               withdraws
               ,
               Dubois
               contends
               ,
            
             
               And
               Noble
               RICH
               the
               Stage
               ascends
               ;
            
             
               By
               Legal
               (
               '
               gainst
               Illegal
               )
               Vote
               ,
            
             
               The
               
                 Loyal
                 Tribune
              
               they
               promote
               :
            
             
               Then
               to
               brave
               RICH
               a
               Health
               off
               hand
               ,
            
             
               Who
               the
               loud
               Tumults
               did
               withstand
               .
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               For
               Ropes
               and
               Gibbets
               the
               next
               year
               ,
            
             
               The
               Whigs
               we
               hope
               )
               need
               not
               despair
               ;
            
             
               If
               Rich
               find
               TIMBER
               ,
               (
               give
               them
               scope
               )
            
             
               Brave
               North
               will
               never
               grudge
               them
               ROPE
               :
            
             
               Then
               ,
               to
               conclude
               ,
               we
               'll
               crown
               the
               Bowl
            
             
               With
               a
               Health
               to
               th●
               K.
               and
               each
               
                 Loyal
                 Soul.
              
               
            
          
        
         
           
             
               London's
               Joy
               and
               Triumph
            
             ,
             on
             the
             Instalment
             of
             Sir
             
               William
               Pritchard
            
             L.
             Mayor
             for
             the
             ensuing
             year
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Tangier
               March
            
             :
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               LEt
               the
               Whigs
               revile
               ,
            
             
               The
               Tories
               Smile
               ,
            
             
               That
               their
               business
               is
               Compleated
               ,
            
             
               Let
               all
               Rejoyce
            
             
               With
               Heart
               and
               Voice
               ,
            
             
               That
               the
               Whig's
               at
               last
               defeated
               .
            
             
               The
               Whigs
               for
               Loyalty
               so
               Fam'd
               ,
            
             
               With
               all
               their
               Hopes
               are
               Undone
               ;
            
             
               Since
               now
               brave
               Pritchard
               is
               Proclaim'd
            
             
               The
               Loyal
               Mayor
               of
               London
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               2.
               
            
             
               You
               Polish
               Brace
            
             
               Whose
               Brazen
               Face
               ,
            
             
               To
               the
               Chair
               wou'd
               be
               Aspiring
               ,
            
             
               See
               the
               Rabble
               Crowd
            
             
               Who
               Poll'd
               so
               Loud
               ;
            
             
               Are
               bawk'd
               beyond
               Admiring
               ;
            
             
               Learn
               in
               time
               to
               mitigate
            
             
               Your
               bold
               Tumultuous
               Fury
               ,
            
             
               Er'e
               you
               shall
               find
               ,
               you
               trust
               too
               late
               ,
            
             
               To
               
                 Ignoramus
                 Jury
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Let
               
                 Player
                 Tom
              
            
             
               Receive
               the
               Doom
               ,
            
             
               So
               long
               due
               for
               his
               Cheating
               ,
            
             
               Who
               did
               purloyn
            
             
               The
               City
               Coyn
               ,
            
             
               To
               keep
               up
               Holy
               Meeting
               ;
            
             
               To
               Rob
               the
               Orphan
               ,
               and
               the
               Poor
               .
            
             
               His
               great
               Discharge
               of
               Trust
               is
               ,
            
             
               And
               run
               upon
               the
               Widdows
               Score
               ,
            
             
               To
               do
               the
               City
               Justice
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Let
               Ward
               Repent
               ,
            
             
               And
               Jenks
               Relent
               ,
            
             
               Their
               Practice
               so
               malitious
               ,
            
             
               Let
               Hobland
               rue
            
             
               With
               all
               the
               Crew
               ,
            
             
               That
               they
               were
               so
               Officious
               ;
            
             
               Such
               Jews
               as
               these
               ,
               who
               did
               deny
            
             
               Their
               Saviour
               for
               a
               Tester
               ,
            
             
               No
               doubt
               again
               wou'd
               Crucify
            
             
               Their
               Sovereign
               Lord
               and
               Master
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               5.
               
            
             
               For
               North
               and
               Rich
               ,
            
             
               And
               every
               such
               ,
            
             
               They
               set
               up
               a
               Papillion
               ;
            
             
               '
               Gainst
               Pritchard
               hold
               ,
            
             
               With
               
                 Cornish
                 ,
                 Gold
              
               ,
            
             
               With
               Ryot
               and
               Rebellion
               :
            
             
               To
               love
               the
               King
               can
               you
               pretend
               ,
            
             
               Who
               Royalists
               deny
               all
               ;
            
             
               And
               with
               such
               Vigour
               dare
               contend
               ,
            
             
               Against
               the
               Man
               that
               's
               Loyal
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               For
               shame
               in
               time
            
             
               Repent
               your
               Crime
            
             
               Your
               Ryot
               and
               Commotion
               ;
            
             
               And
               to
               the
               Mayor
               ,
            
             
               Who
               kept
               the
               Chair
               ,
            
             
               Pay
               all
               your
               just
               Devotion
               ;
            
             
               Such
               was
               their
               Loyalty
               of
               late
               ,
            
             
               To
               give
               the
               King
               no
               Money
               :
            
             
               But
               freely
               throw
               away
               their
               Plate
               ,
            
             
               To
               joyn
               with
               Rebel
               Tony.
               
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Thus
               you
               before
            
             
               Did
               run
               on
               score
            
             
               With
               Royal
               Charles
               your
               Master
               ;
            
             
               Like
               Drunk
               or
               mad
            
             
               Spent
               all
               you
               had
            
             
               To
               uphold
               a
               bold
               Imposture
               :
            
             
               Let
               not
               Knaves
               again
               betray
               ,
            
             
               And
               rob
               you
               of
               your
               Reason
               ,
            
             
               Then
               leave
               your
               Factious
               Heads
               to
               pay
            
             
               The
               forfeit
               of
               your
               Treason
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               8.
               
            
             
               With
               all
               your
               heat
            
             
               What
               did
               you
               get
               ?
            
             
               With
               all
               your
               din
               and
               quarter
               ;
            
             
               But
               to
               involve
            
             
               With
               each
               Resolve
            
             
               The
               more
               entangled
               Charter
               ?
            
             
               To
               Charles
               your
               just
               Allegiance
               give
               ,
            
             
               Your
               Properties
               ,
               then
               plead
               em
               ,
            
             
               Defending
               the
               Prerogative
               ,
            
             
               You
               best
               protect
               your
               Freedom
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Ryot
             upon
             Ryot
             ;
             or
             a
             SONG
             upon
             the
             Arresting
             the
             Loyal
             Lord
             Mayor
             and
             Sheriffs
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Burton
               Hall.
            
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               ROwze
               up
               Great
               Monarch
            
             
               In
               the
               Royal
               Cause
               ;
            
             
               The
               Great
               Defender
            
             
               Of
               our
               Faith
               and
               Laws
               :
            
             
               Now
               ,
               now
               ,
               or
               never
               ,
            
             
               Crush
               the
               Serpent's
               Head
               ,
            
             
               Or
               else
               the
               Poyson
               ▪
            
             
               Through
               the
               Land
               will
               spread
               .
            
             
               The
               Noble
               Mayor
               ,
            
             
               And
               his
               two
               Loyal
               Sherieves
               ,
            
             
               Bearing
               the
               Sword
               's
               ,
               assaulted
            
             
               By
               Usurping
               Thieves
               ,
            
             
               Who
               their
               Rebellious
               Ryots
            
             
               Would
               maintain
               by
               Law
               :
            
             
               Oh!
               London
               !
               London
               !
            
             
               
                 Where
                 's
                 thy
                 Justice
                 now
              
               ?
            
          
           
             
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Smite
               ,
               smite
               ,
               the
               Snakes
            
             
               Did
               first
               their
               Sting
               reveal
               ,
            
             
               Stabbing
               thy
               Royal
            
             
               Brother
               in
               the
               Heel
               ;
            
             
               And
               struck
               so
               many
            
             
               Loyal
               Martyr's
               dead
               ,
            
             
               Now
               in
               the
               Sun
            
             
               Flies
               boldly
               at
               the
               Head.
            
             
               Slaves
               that
               resist
            
             
               All
               Power
               but
               their
               own
               ;
            
             
               He
               that
               would
               usurp
               the
               Chair
               ,
            
             
               Would
               next
               usurp
               the
               Throne
               ,
            
             
               Who
               neither
               
                 Royal
                 Heir
              
            
             
               Nor
               
                 Loyal
                 Mayors
              
               allow
               :
            
             
               Oh!
               London
               !
               London
               !
            
             
               
                 Where
                 's
                 thy
                 Charter
                 now
              
               ?
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               London
               ,
               of
               Faction's
            
             
               The
               eternal
               Spring
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               so
               much
               favour'd
            
             
               By
               a
               Gracious
               King
               ;
            
             
               Who
               does
               such
               Deeds
            
             
               That
               have
               no
               parallel
               ,
            
             
               Only
               to
               teach
            
             
               Thy
               Children
               to
               Rebel
               .
            
             
               This
               will
               record
               thee
            
             
               In
               the
               Books
               of
               Fame
               ;
            
             
               This
               bold
               Attempt
               no
               Law
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               Precedent
               can
               claim
               :
            
             
               Blood
               and
               the
               
                 Crown
                 ,
                 Papillion
              
            
             
               And
               Dubois
               out-do
               :
            
             
               
               Oh!
               London
               !
               London
               !
            
             
               
                 Where
                 's
                 thy
                 Charter
                 now
              
               ?
            
          
           
             
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Was
               this
               the
               way
            
             
               Your
               Ryots
               to
               repair
               ;
            
             
               In
               spight
               o●th
               Charter
               ,
            
             
               To
               Arrest
               the
               Mayor
               ?
            
             
               And
               gainst
               the
               Sh'riffs
            
             
               Your
               sham
               Actions
               bring
               ,
            
             
               '
               Cause
               justly
               chosen
               ,
            
             
               And
               approv'd
               by
               th'
               King
               ?
            
             
               What
               call
               you
               this
               ,
               but
               Treason
               ?
            
             
               Whilst
               the
               Fool
            
             
               That
               did
               Arrest
               the
               Mayor
            
             
               Expects
               himself
               to
               Rule
               ;
            
             
               And
               ,
               save
               his
               own
               ,
               no
               other
            
             
               Power
               would
               allow
               :
            
             
               
               Oh!
               London
               !
               London
               !
            
             
               
                 Where
                 's
                 thy
                 Charter
                 now
              
               ?
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Hang
               up
               the
               Factious
               Heads
            
             
               That
               dare
               oppose
            
             
               The
               Sword
               of
               Justice
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               Ancient
               Laws
               :
            
             
               Who
               in
               his
               Office
            
             
               Dare
               Arrest
               the
               Mayor
               ,
            
             
               Disowns
               the
               Pow'r
            
             
               That
               plac'd
               Him
               in
               the
               Chair
               .
            
             
               
                 Tantara
                 ra-ra
              
               !
            
             
               Let
               the
               Trumpets
               sound
               ,
            
             
               Double
               all
               your
               Guards
               ▪
               and
               let
            
             
               The
               Cent'nels
               stand
               their
               ground
               :
            
             
               He
               that
               Arrests
               the
               Mayor
               ,
            
             
               Would
               bind
               the
               Monarch
               too
               :
            
             
               Oh!
               London
               !
               London
               !
            
             
               
                 Where
                 's
                 thy
                 Charter
                 now
              
               ?
            
          
        
         
           
           
             
             London's
             Lamentation
             for
             the
             loss
             of
             their
             Charter
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Packington's
               Pound
            
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               YOu
               Free-men
               ,
               and
               Masters
               ,
               and
               Prentices
               mourn
               ,
            
             
               For
               now
               You
               are
               left
               with
               your
               Charter
               forlorn
               :
            
             
               Since
               London
               was
               London
               ,
               I
               dare
               boldly
               say
               ,
            
             
               For
               your
               Ryots
               you
               never
               so
               dearly
               did
               pay
               ;
            
             
               In
               Westminster-hall
            
             
               Your
               Dagon
               did
               fall
               ,
            
             
               That
               caus'd
               You
               to
               Ryot
               and
               Mutiny
               all
               :
            
             
               Oh
               London
               !
               Oh
               London
               !
               
                 thou
                 'dst
                 better
                 had
                 none
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Than
                 thus
                 with
                 thy
              
               Charter
               
                 to
                 vie
                 with
                 the
              
               Throne
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Oh
               London
               !
               Oh
               London
               !
               how
               cou'dst
               Thou
               pretend
            
             
               Against
               thy
               Defender
               Thy
               Crimes
               to
               defend
               ?
            
             
               Thy
               Freedoms
               and
               Rights
               from
               kind
               Princes
               did
               spring
               ,
            
             
               And
               yet
               in
               contempt
               thou
               withstandest
               Thy
               King
               :
            
             
               With
               bold
               brazen
               Face
            
             
               They
               pleaded
               Thy
               Case
               ,
            
             
               In
               hopes
               to
               the
               Charter
               the
               King
               wou'd
               give
               place
               :
            
             
               Oh
               London
               !
               
                 thou
                 'dst
                 better
                 no
              
               Charter
               
                 at
                 all
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Than
                 thus
                 for
              
               Rebellion
               thy
               Charter
               
                 shou'd
                 fall
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Since
               Britains
               to
               London
               came
               over
               to
               dwell
               ,
            
             
               You
               had
               an
               old
               Charter
               ,
               to
               buy
               and
               to
               sell
               ;
            
             
               And
               whilst
               in
               Allegiance
               each
               honest
               man
               lives
               ,
            
             
               Then
               you
               had
               a
               Charter
               for
               
                 Lord
                 Mayor
              
               and
               Sheriffs
               :
            
             
               But
               when
               ,
               with
               Your
               Pride
               ,
            
             
               You
               began
               to
               backslide
               ,
            
             
             
               And
               London
               of
               Factions
               did
               run
               w'th
               '
               Tide
               ▪
            
             
               Then
               London
               ,
               Oh
               London
               !
               
                 't
                 is
                 time
                 to
                 withdraw
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Lest
                 the
                 floud
                 of
                 Your
              
               Factions
               
                 the
                 Land
                 over-flow
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               When
               Faction
               and
               fury
               of
               Rebels
               prevail'd
               ;
            
             
               When
               Coblers
               were
               Kings
               ,
               &
               Monarchs
               were
               jayl'd
               ;
            
             
               When
               Masters
               in
               Tumults
               their
               Prentices
               led
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               Tail
               did
               begin
               to
               make
               war
               with
               the
               Head
               ;
            
             
               When
               Thomas
               and
               Kate
            
             
               Did
               bring
               in
               their
               Plate
               ,
            
             
               T'
               uphold
               the
               
                 Old
                 Cause
              
               of
               the
               
                 Rump
                 of
                 the
                 State
              
            
             
               
                 Then
                 tell
                 me
                 ,
                 Oh
              
               London
               !
               
                 I
                 prethee
                 now
                 tell
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Hadst
                 thou
                 e'r
                 a
              
               Charter
               
                 to
                 Fight
                 and
                 Rebel
              
               ?
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               When
               zealous
               
                 Sham
                 Sheriffs
              
               the
               City
               oppose
               ,
            
             
               In
               spight
               of
               the
               Charter
               ,
               the
               King
               ,
               and
               the
               ●aws
               ,
            
             
               And
               make
               such
               a
               Ryot
               and
               Rout
               in
               the
               Town
               ,
            
             
               That
               never
               before
               such
               a
               Racket
               was
               known
               ;
            
             
               When
               Ryoters
               dare
            
             
               Arrest
               the
               
                 Lord
                 May'r
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               force
               the
               
                 King's
                 Substitute
              
               out
               of
               the
               Chair
            
             
               Oh
               London
               !
               whose
               Charter
               
                 is
                 now
                 on
                 the
              
               Lees
               ,
            
             
               
                 Did
                 Your
              
               Charter
               
                 e'r
                 warrant
                 such
                 actions
                 as
                 these
              
               ?
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Alas
               for
               the
               Brethren
               !
               what
               now
               must
               they
               do
               ,
            
             
               For
               choosing
               Whig-Sheriffs
               and
               Burgesses
               too
               ?
            
             
               The
               Charter
               with
               Patience
               is
               gone
               to
               the
               pot
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               Doctor
               is
               lost
               in
               the
               depth
               of
               the
               Plot
               :
            
             
               St.
               Stephen
               his
               Flayl
            
             
               No
               more
               will
               prevail
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               Sir
               
               Robert's
               Dagger
               ,
               the
               Charter
               to
               bail
               :
            
             
               Oh
               London
               !
               
                 thou
                 'dst
                 better
                 have
                 lain
                 in
                 the
              
               Fire
               ,
            
             
               
                 Then
                 thus
                 thy
                 old
              
               Charter
               
                 shou'd
                 stick
                 in
                 the
                 Mire
              
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               7.
               
            
             
               But
               since
               with
               your
               Folly
               ,
               your
               Faction
               and
               Pride
               ,
            
             
               You
               sink
               with
               the
               Charter
               ,
               who
               strove
               with
               the
               Tide
               ,
            
             
               Let
               all
               the
               lost
               Rivers
               return
               to
               the
               Main
            
             
               From
               whence
               they
               descended
               ;
               They
               'l
               spring
               out
               again
               ;
            
             
               Submit
               to
               the
               King
            
             
               In
               every
               thing
               ,
            
             
               Then
               of
               a
               
                 New
                 Charter
                 New
                 Sonnets
              
               we
               'll
               sing
               :
            
             
               As
               London
               ,
               (
               the
               Phoenix
               of
               England
               ,
               )
               ne'r
               dies
               ,
            
             
               So
               out
               of
               the
               Flames
               a
               new
               Charter
               will
               rise
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Wine-Coop●rs
             Delight
             ,
          
           
             Tune
             of
             The
             Delights
             of
             the
             Bottle
             .
          
           
             
               THe
               Delights
               of
               the
               Bottle
               are
               turn'd
               out
               of
               dores
               ,
            
             
               By
               Factious
               Fanatical
               sons
               of
               damn'd
               Whores
               .
            
             
               French
               Wines
               Prohibition
               ,
               meant
               no
               other
               thing
            
             
               But
               to
               Poyson
               the
               Subject
               ▪
               &
               begger
               the
               King.
            
             
               Good
               Nature
               's
               suggested
               with
               Dregs
               like
               to
               choak
               her
               ,
            
             
               Of
               fulsom
               stum'd
               Wine
               by
               the
               cursed
               Wine
               -
               Cooper
            
          
           
             
               Our
               plaguy
               Wine
               -
               Cooper
               has
               tamper'd
               so
               much
               ,
            
             
               To
               find
               out
               the
               subtilty
               of
               the
               false
               Dutch.
            
             
               He
               tinctures
               prickt
               White
               -
               wine
               ,
               that
               never
               was
               good
               ,
            
             
               Till
               it
               mantles
               ,
               and
               sparkles
               &
               looks
               like
               Bulls
               bloud
               :
            
             
               But
               when
               it
               declines
               ,
               and
               its
               Spirits
               expire
               ,
            
             
               He
               adds
               more
               Ingredients
               ,
               and
               makes
               it
               look
               higher
            
          
           
             
               His
               
                 old
                 rotten
                 Pipes
              
               where
               he
               keeps
               all
               his
               Trash
            
             
               For
               fear
               they
               should
               burst
               ▪
               Sir
               ,
               he
               hoops
               them
               with
               Ash
               .
            
             
             
               When
               the
               Sophistication
               begins
               for
               to
               froth
               ,
            
             
               And
               boils
               on
               the
               Fret
               ,
               Sir
               ,
               he
               wisely
               pulls
               forth
            
             
               A
               Tap
               ,
               which
               gives
               vent
               to
               the
               grounds
               of
               the
               Cause
               ,
            
             
               And
               then
               is
               to
               vamp
               up
               a
               second
               
                 Red
                 Nose
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               Then
               this
               dingy
               Wine-Cooper
               stops
               it
               up
               again
               ,
            
             
               And
               keeps
               it
               unvented
               till
               't
               is
               all
               on
               a
               flame
               .
            
             
               The
               Intelligences
               then
               were
               invented
               to
               show
               ,
            
             
               Where
               Wine
               of
               strange
               Vertues
               in
               plenty
               did
               flow
               .
            
             
               People
               from
               all
               parts
               of
               the
               Nation
               did
               come
               ,
            
             
               Both
               
                 Lords
                 ,
                 Knights
              
               and
               
                 Gentlemen
                 ,
                 Doctor
              
               &
               Bum.
               
            
          
           
             
               The
               Cooper
               then
               pulls
               the
               Tap
               out
               of
               his
               side
               ,
            
             
               And
               drinks
               to
               the
               Elders
               of
               all
               the
               good
               Tribe
               .
            
             
               But
               when
               they
               had
               gus●'d
               about
               all
               the
               Bowls
               ,
            
             
               They
               found
               a
               
                 strange
                 freedom
              
               it
               gave
               to
               their
               Souls
            
             
               Of
               secrets
               in
               Nature
               that
               never
               were
               known
               ,
            
             
               It
               gave
               Inspiration
               from
               Beggar
               to
               Throne
               .
            
          
           
             
               For
               the
               Cooper
               himself
               full
               Brimmers
               did
               draw
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               the
               whole
               Gang
               were
               oblig'd
               to
               do
               so
               .
            
             
               Amongst
               these
               Gabals
               there
               was
               no
               such
               thing
               ,
            
             
               As
               a
               Health
               once
               propos'd
               to
               the
               D.
               or
               the
               King.
            
             
               But
               drank
               to
               that
               Idol
               of
               Hopes
               in
               their
               Powers
               .
            
             
               And
               Sons
               of
               most
               
                 Infamous
                 Hackney
                 old
                 Whores
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               Then
               the
               Rable
               had
               notice
               from
               Smith
               and
               from
               Ben
            
             
               What
               a
               
                 Heavenly
                 Liquor
              
               was
               sent
               amongst
               men
               .
            
             
               Both
               Tinkers
               and
               Coblers
               the
               
                 Broom
                 men
              
               and
               Sweep
               ,
            
             
               Before
               this
               Wine-Cooper
               in
               Flocks
               they
               did
               meet
               ;
            
             
               And
               each
               under-foot
               stampt
               his
               
                 old
                 greazy
                 Bonnet
              
            
             
               To
               drink
               M
               —
               th's
               
                 Health
                 ,
                 Boys
              
               ,
               whate'r
               come
               on
               it
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               Cooper
               preceiving
               his
               Trade
               to
               approach
               ,
            
             
               He
               then
               was
               resolved
               once
               more
               to
               debauch
               .
            
             
             
               To
               encourage
               the
               Rable
               ,
               and
               shew
               himself
               stout
               ,
            
             
               He
               pull'd
               out
               the
               Spigot
               amongst
               the
               whole
               Rout
            
             
               Which
               kindness
               provok'd
               them
               to
               swear
               they
               would
               bring
            
             
               Such
               a
               Trade
               to
               his
               House
               as
               wou'd
               make
               him
               a
               King.
               
            
          
           
             
               A
               Hat
               or
               a
               Bottle
               was
               still
               at
               the
               Tap
               ;
            
             
               But
               Zealots
               sometimes
               laid
               their
               Mouths
               to
               the
               Fat.
            
             
               They
               charg'd
               their
               brisk
               Bumpers
               so
               many
               times
               round
               ,
            
             
               Till
               part
               of
               the
               Mobile
               sprawl'd
               on
               the
               ground
               :
            
             
               But
               when
               this
               damn'd
               Liquor
               was
               get
               in
               their
               Pates
               ,
            
             
               They
               fell
               to
               
                 Bumbasting
                 ,
                 Disord'ring
              
               of
               States
               .
            
          
           
             
               They
               began
               to
               cant
               Dangers
               by
               formal
               Sedition
            
             
               And
               swear
               lawful
               Allegiance
               '
               against
               lawful
               Succession
               .
            
             
               When
               these
               Propositions
               began
               to
               take
               Fire
               ,
            
             
               They
               screw'd
               their
               Presumptions
               a
               hole
               or
               two
               higher
               ;
            
             
               But
               still
               they
               keep
               under
               Hugh
               Peters's
               Cloak
               ,
            
             
               To
               bring
               in
               the
               Devil
               ,
               to
               drive
               out
               the
               Pope
               .
            
          
           
             
               But
               then
               they
               began
               for
               to
               pick
               at
               the
               Crown
            
             
               Each
               thinking
               that
               he
               deserv'd
               one
               of
               his
               own
               .
            
             
               Then
               all
               the
               
                 Kings
                 Guards
              
               they
               thought
               fit
               to
               Indict
               ,
            
             
               
                 Swear
                 Treason
              
               '
               gainst
               all
               that
               maintain●d
               the
               
                 King's
                 Right
              
               .
            
             
               Both
               Papists
               and
               Protestants
               no
               matter
               whether
               ,
            
             
               They
               are
               not
               of
               our
               party
               ,
               let
               's
               hang
               'em
               together
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Next
               the
               chief
               of
               our
               Game
               is
               to
               keep
               the
               King
               poor
               ,
            
             
               And
               our
               Senators
               must
               the
               Militia
               secure
               .
            
             
               The
               Navy
               &
               Cinque-ports
               we
               'll
               have
               in
               our
               hands
               ,
            
             
             
               And
               then
               we
               'll
               make
               th'
               Kingdom
               obey
               our
               Commands
               .
            
             
               Then
               if
               Charles
               do
               withstand
               us
               ,
               we
               need
               not
               to
               fight
               ,
            
             
               To
               make
               
                 Eighty
                 one
              
               to
               out-do
               
                 Forty
                 eight
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               What
               ever
               Objections
               great
               Loyalists
               bring
               ,
            
             
               Old
               Adam
               liv'd
               happy
               without
               e'r
               a
               King.
            
             
               Then
               why
               may
               not
               we
               ,
               that
               are
               much
               wiser
               than
               he
               ,
            
             
               Subdue
               the
               whole
               
                 World
                 ,
                 Sir
              
               ,
               by
               our
               Sov'raignty
               :
            
             
               If
               one
               man
               alone
               can
               keep
               three
               Nations
               under
               ,
            
             
               Then
               why
               may
               not
               We
               that
               are
               Kings
               without
               number
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Right
               ,
               said
               the
               Cooper
               ,
               &
               shak'd
               his
               old
               Noddle
               ,
            
             
               Three
               Kingdoms
               we
               'll
               toss
               ,
               like
               a
               Child
               in
               a
               Cradle
            
             
               Stick
               close
               to
               this
               Liquor
               which
               I
               do
               prepare
               ,
            
             
               'T
               will
               make
               us
               as
               splendid
               as
               Noll
               in
               his
               Chair
               ,
            
             
               We
               'll
               kindle
               old
               Plots
               ,
               by
               contriving
               of
               new
               ,
            
             
               Till
               none
               shall
               be
               safe
               but
               the
               Cooper
               and
               You.
               
            
          
           
             
               
                 O
                 brave
                 Boys
                 !
                 O
                 brave
                 Boys
              
               !
               the
               Rabble
               did
               rore
               .
            
             
               Tantivies
               and
               Tories
               shall
               Hector
               no
               more
               ;
            
             
               By
               Vs
               they
               're
               out-acted
               ,
               to
               Vs
               they
               shall
               bend
               ,
            
             
               Whilst
               we
               to
               our
               Dignities
               freely
               ascend
               ,
            
             
               Then
               they
               were
               dead-drunk
               as
               the
               Devil
               cou'd
               make
               '
               em
               .
            
             
               And
               fell
               fast
               asleep
               ,
               as
               ten
               Drums
               could
               not
               wake
               '
               em
               .
            
          
           
             
               In
               the
               Piss
               and
               the
               Spew
               the
               poor
               Cooper
               did
               paddle
               ,
            
             
               To
               stop
               up
               his
               Tap
               ,
               but
               the
               Knave
               was
               not
               able
               .
            
             
               For
               his
               Limbs
               like
               a
               Tortoise
               did
               shrivle
               &
               crease
               ,
            
             
               Down
               drops
               the
               Wine-Cooper
               with
               the
               other
               Beasts
            
             
               And
               there
               the
               whole
               Litter
               as
               yet
               doth
               abide
               ,
            
             
               At
               the
               Sign
               of
               the
               Butt
               ,
               with
               the
               Tap
               in
               his
               side
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             A
             Song
             upon
             the
             King
             Poland
             ,
             and
             the
             Prince
             o'
             the
             
               Land
               of
               Promise
            
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Hold
               fast
               thy
               Crown
               and
               Scepter
               ,
            
             Charles
          
           
             
               1.
               
               Prince
               .
            
             
               O
               
                 Poland
                 Monster
              
               of
               our
               Isle
               ,
            
             
               Corruption
               of
               our
               Age
               ;
            
             
               Which
               on
               my
               Infant
               Hours
               didst
               smile
               ,
            
             
               'Till
               thou
               inflam'dst
               the
               Rage
            
             
               Of
               my
               Ambitious
               Soul
               ,
               to
               sore
            
             
               Above
               its
               defil'd
               Sphear
               ;
            
             
               And
               ,
               
               Icarus-like
               ,
               I
               now
               must
               low'r
               ,
            
             
               Transform'd
               into
               Despair
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Now
               all
               my
               Trophies
               of
               Success
               ,
            
             
               Are
               in
               Oblivion
               drown'd
               ;
            
             
               And
               none
               for
               Me
               dare
               now
               Address
               ,
            
             
               Where
               I
               hop●d
               to
               be
               Crown'd
               ▪
            
             
               I
               by
               thy
               false
               blind
               Plots
               am
               sham'd
               ,
            
             
               Fool'd
               from
               a
               Glorious
               sway
               ,
            
             
               Snatch'd
               from
               a
               Father's
               Arms
               ,
               and
               Damn'd
               ,
            
             
               Like
               all
               that
               Disobey
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Thou
               call'dst
               my
               nearest
               Friends
               at
               Court
               ,
            
             
               Soft
               ,
               easie
               ,
               abusurd
               Tools
               ,
            
             
               That
               Kings
               were
               but
               for
               Sates-Men's
               Sport
               ,
            
             
               The
               Councel
               Knaves
               and
               Fools
               .
            
             
               But
               I
               ,
               poor
               I
               ,
               find
               now
               too
               late
               ,
            
             
               Your
               
                 Polish
                 Grace
              
               can
               lye
               ;
            
             
               None
               prov●d
               more
               weak
               at
               the
               Foyls
               of
               State
               ,
            
             
               Than
               poor
               silly
               Tom
               ,
               and
               I.
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Now
               ,
               that
               Imperial
               Crown
               ▪
               which
               thou
            
             
             
               For
               me
               so
               fit
               hadst
               made
               ,
            
             
               Is
               faln
               and
               broke
               ,
               I
               know
               not
               how
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               our
               Wiles
               betray●d
               ;
            
             
               Our
               full
               Cabals
               ,
               and
               
               Wapping-Treats
               ,
            
             
               Retrench'd
               to
               secret
               Holes
               :
            
             
               Treason
               the
               strength
               Our
               Greatness
               waits
            
             
               In
               these
               rough
               reared
               Walls
               .
            
          
           
             
               5
               Poland
               .
            
             
               Thou
               mighty
               Prince
               ,
               by
               me
               Elect
               ,
            
             
               I'
               th'
               
                 Land
                 of
                 Promise
              
               Sways
               ▪
            
             
               Thy
               tim'rous
               Soul
               is
               the
               defect
            
             
               Of
               our
               declining
               Days
               .
            
             
               What
               brighter
               Prospect
               canst
               propose
               ,
            
             
               To
               Magnifie
               thy
               Name
               ,
            
             
               Than
               H●arts
               ,
               and
               Arms
               ,
               and
               Power
               of
               Those
               ,
            
             
               That
               Rule
               both
               Law
               and
               Fame
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               The
               Rustick
               Swains
               want
               not
               the
               Word
               ,
            
             
               No
               Magazines
               ,
               nor
               Horse
               ;
            
             
               '
               Zwounds
               Sixty
               Thousand
               by
               the
               Sword
               ,
            
             
               Defy
               both
               Fate
               and
               Curse
               .
            
             
               They
               'l
               lay
               three
               Kingdoms
               at
               our
               Feet
               ,
            
             
               In
               Blood
               and
               mangled
               Brains
               ▪
            
             
               Then
               the
               Train-Bands
               ,
               Cinque-Ports
               ,
               and
               Fleet
               ,
            
             
               At
               our
               Command
               remains
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Though
               Rowley
               ,
               and
               his
               Brother
               Joyns
               ,
            
             
               And
               ●heel's
               around
               the
               Park
               ;
            
             
               Like
               two
               Yoak't
               Oxen
               ,
               Tugs
               and
               Twines
               ,
            
             
               '
               Gainst
               our
               Designs
               i'
               th'
               Dark
               ,
            
             
               And
               wisely
               weighs
               ;
               Their
               Wits
               have
               wrought
            
             
               Our
               Potent
               Parties
               Fall
               ;
            
             
               That
               Conquest
               must
               be
               dearer
               bought
               ,
            
             
               Else
               Tony
               Hangs
               for
               all
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               7.
               
            
             
               We
               have
               reserv'd
               Machines
               in
               store
               ,
            
             
               To
               raise
               more
               daring
               Flames
               ,
            
             
               Then
               Morrals
               '
               ere
               Conspir'd
               before
               ;
            
             
               Or
               Damned
               Furies
               Frames
               .
            
             
               If
               e'r
               a
               Parliament
               be
               call'd
               ,
            
             
               Our
               Representatives
               there
            
             
               Shall
               Scorn
               to
               be
               out-box'd
               ,
               or
               bawl'd
               ,
            
             
               In
               Country
               ,
               Town
               ,
               or
               Shire
               .
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               Then
               every
               Member
               of
               the
               Cause
               ,
            
             
               Amidst
               the
               Rable
               Rude
               ,
            
             
               Who
               shall
               decide
               the
               Poll
               with
               blows
               ,
            
             
               And
               quash
               the
               Tory
               Crowd
               .
            
             
               Then
               stick
               to
               Time
               ,
               whilst
               Heads
               are
               hot
               ,
            
             
               Our
               Force
               together
               brings
               :
            
             
               If
               this
               best
               PLOT
               ,
               at
               last
               fail
               not
               ,
            
             
               By
               Christ
               ,
               we'●l
               Both
               be
               Kings
               !
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Hunting
             of
             the
             Fox
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Now
               the
               Tories
               that
               Glories
            
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               HAy
               
                 Jouler
                 ,
                 Ringwood
              
               ,
               and
               Towzer
               ,
            
             
               Ho
               
                 Smoaker
                 ,
                 Drunkard
              
               ,
               and
               Fly
               ;
            
             
               
                 Sweet-lips
                 ,
                 Light-foot
              
               ,
               and
               Bowzer
               ;
            
             
               Brave
               
                 Bowman
                 ,
                 Lofty
              
               ,
               and
               Cry
               ;
            
             
               And
               four
               and
               twenty
               brave
               Couple
               ,
            
             
               To
               make
               a
               Pack
               for
               the
               Downs
               ,
            
             
               Sure
               footed
               ,
               and
               your
               Limbs
               supple
               ;
            
             
               The
               Scent
               's
               hot
               yet
               on
               the
               Grounds
               .
            
             
               The
               Old
               
                 White
                 Fox
              
               is
               got
               loose
               again
               ;
            
             
               We
               think
               he
               's
               gone
               to
               ketch
               Goose
               again
               :
            
             
               His
               Cub●
               they
               sculk
               and
               desert
               amain
               .
            
             
               Come
               let●s
               beleaguer
               their
               Holes
               :
            
             
             
               For
               they
               're
               past
               Evil
               ;
               to
               th'
               Devil
            
             
               We
               'll
               send
               'em
               with
               thread-bare
               Souls
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               They
               have
               left
               the
               City
               ,
               't
               is
               pity
               ,
            
             
               And
               their
               damn'd
               Party
               i'
               th
               Lurch
               :
            
             
               If
               to
               be
               Hang'd
               ,
               't
               would
               be
               pretty
               ,
            
             
               For
               Treason
               '
               gainst
               King
               and
               Church
               .
            
             
               For
               Cinque-ports
               ,
               Venus
               and
               Juno
               ;
            
             
               For
               Champion
               ,
               Thunder
               and
               Spark
               ;
            
             
               Let
               Swift
               beat
               for
               Caralino
               ,
            
             
               And
               Noser
               wind
               'em
               i'
               th'
               dark
               .
            
             
               Like
               Wasps
               and
               Flies
               ,
               they
               would
               bite
               us
               ;
            
             
               As
               Wolves
               do
               Sheep
               ,
               they
               would
               treat
               us
               ;
            
             
               Like
               Crockadiles
               ,
               they
               would
               eat
               us
               ;
            
             
               They
               thirst
               for
               Innocent
               Blood
               :
            
             
               Then
               never
               scruple
               ,
               but
               graple
            
             
               For
               King
               and
               
               Country's
               Good.
               
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Round
               the
               Dimension
               o
               th'
               Nation
               ,
            
             
               Beat
               all
               the
               Banks
               on
               the
               Shore
               ;
            
             
               And
               some
               leap
               o're
               the
               main
               Ocean
               ,
            
             
               If
               they
               are
               gone
               before
               .
            
             
               O
               surround
               'em
               ,
               confound
               'em
               ,
            
             
               From
               Sea-Port
               to
               City-Walls
               ;
            
             
               If
               there
               they
               venter
               to
               shelter
               ,
            
             
               'Zounds
               tear
               them
               out
               of
               their
               Holes
               :
            
             
               For
               making
               Church
               into
               Stables
               ,
            
             
               And
               vamping
               Kings
               up
               of
               Baubles
               ,
            
             
               And
               forgoing
               Plots
               out
               of
               Fables
               ,
            
             
               And
               seizing
               Kings
               in
               a
               trice
               ;
            
             
               That
               the
               crooked
               Piper
               might
               vapour
            
             
               Like
               Rat
               amongst
               Fifteen
               Mice
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Scoure
               the
               Globe
               to
               the
               Axels
               ,
            
             
             
               From
               Pole
               to
               Pole
               ;
               then
               retire
               ,
            
             
               And
               center
               at
               Mother
               Creswels
               ,
            
             
               The
               Fox
               us'd
               to
               Harbour
               there
               :
            
             
               There
               ,
               there
               both
               Wives
               ,
               Whores
               and
               Virgins
               ,
            
             
               He
               had
               them
               all
               at
               his
               Call
               ,
            
             
               T'
               oblige
               his
               Captains
               and
               Surgeons
               ,
            
             
               'Till
               better
               Occasions
               fall
               .
            
             
               At
               Oxford
               late
               all
               his
               Cubs
               and
               He
               ,
            
             
               To
               the
               Exclusion
               did
               all
               agree
               ;
            
             
               Could
               not
               budge
               further
               ,
               'till
               sign'd
               and
               free
               .
            
             
               Yet
               Rowley
               rouzed
               the
               Rump
               ,
            
             
               And
               sent
               'em
               all
               to
               
                 Peg
                 Trantams
              
               ;
            
             
               And
               
               Tapsky's
               worn
               to
               the
               Stump
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Oh
               ,
               
               Swift's
               returned
               ,
               and
               Noser
               ,
            
             
               Their
               Hoofs
               are
               batter'd
               with
               Greet
               :
            
             
               The
               Game
               shews
               by
               the
               Opposer
               ,
            
             
               He
               's
               lodg'd
               in
               Aldersgate-Street
               .
            
             
               Come
               ring
               a
               Peal
               with
               a
               Courage
               ,
            
             
               The
               Grains
               o'
               th'
               Tap
               makes
               a
               Train
               ;
            
             
               He
               lurks
               in
               Hole
               to
               make
               Forrage
            
             
               Of
               all
               that
               uses
               his
               Name
               .
            
             
               We
               'll
               fetch
               him
               out
               with
               Mandamus
               ,
            
             
               And
               hang
               him
               with
               Ignoramus
               ;
            
             
               There
               's
               none
               but
               Rebels
               can
               blame
               us
               :
            
             
               More
               Pardons
               let
               him
               not
               hope
               ;
            
             
               For
               all
               his
               Squinting
               and
               Blinking
               ,
            
             
               He
               must
               to
               th'Hatchet
               or
               Rope
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             
             Dagon's
             Fall.
             
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             Philander
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               AH
               Cruel
               Bloody
               Fate
               !
            
             
               What
               canst
               thou
               now
               do
               more
               ?
            
             
               Alas
               !
               't
               is
               now
               too
               late
            
             
               Poor
               Toney
               to
               restore
               :
            
             
             
               Why
               should
               the
               flattering
               Fates
               persuade
               ,
            
             
               That
               Toney
               still
               should
               live
               ,
            
             
               In
               England
               here
               ,
            
             
               Or
               in
               Holland
               there
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               all
               our
               hopes
               deceive
               ?
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               A
               Noble
               Peer
               He
               was
               ,
            
             
               And
               of
               Notorious
               Fame
               ;
            
             
               But
               now
               He
               's
               gone
               (
               alas
               !
               )
            
             
               A
               Pilgrim
               o're
               the
               Main
               :
            
             
               The
               Prop
               and
               Pillar
               of
               our
               hope
            
             
               The
               Patron
               of
               our
               cause
               ,
            
             
               The
               Scorn
               and
               Hate
            
             
               Of
               Church
               and
               State
               ,
            
             
               The
               Urchin
               of
               the
               Laws
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Of
               matchless
               Policy
            
             
               Was
               this
               Renowned
               Peer
               ,
            
             
               The
               bane
               of
               Monarchy
               ,
            
             
               The
               Peoples
               Hope
               and
               Fear
               ,
            
             
               The
               Joy
               of
               all
               
                 True
                 Protestants
              
               ,
            
             
               The
               Tories
               Scorn
               and
               Dread
               ;
            
             
               But
               now
               He
               's
               gone
            
             
               Who
               curst
               the
               Throne
               ,
            
             
               Alas
               !
               poor
               
               Toney's
               dead
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               For
               Commonwealth
               he
               stood
               ,
            
             
               Pretending
               Liberty
               ;
            
             
               And
               for
               the
               
                 Publick
                 Good
              
            
             
               Would
               pull
               down
               Monarchy
               :
            
             
               The
               Church
               and
               State
               he
               would
               divorce
               ,
            
             
               The
               Holy
               Cause
               to
               wed
               :
            
             
               And
               in
               time
               did
               hope
            
             
               To
               confound
               the
               Pope
               ,
            
             
               To
               be
               himself
               the
               Head.
               
            
          
           
             
             
               5.
               
            
             
               A
               Tap
               in
               's
               side
               he
               bore
               ,
            
             
               To
               broach
               all
               sorts
               of
               Ill
               ,
            
             
               For
               which
               Seditious
               Store
            
             
               The
               Crowd
               ador'd
               him
               still
               :
            
             
               He
               spit
               his
               Venom
               through
               the
               Town
               ,
            
             
               With
               which
               the
               Saints
               possest
               ,
            
             
               Would
               preach
               and
               prate
            
             
               '
               Gainst
               Church
               and
               State
               ,
            
             
               While
               He
               perform'd
               the
               rest
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               When
               any
               change
               of
               State
            
             
               Or
               Mischief
               was
               at
               hand
               ,
            
             
               He
               had
               a
               working
               Pate
               ,
            
             
               And
               Devil
               at
               command
               :
            
             
               He
               forg●d
               a
               Plot
               ,
               for
               which
               the
               Heads
            
             
               Of
               Faction
               gave
               their
               Votes
               ;
            
             
               But
               now
               the
               Plot
            
             
               Is
               gone
               to
               pot
               ,
            
             
               What
               will
               become
               of
               Oates
               ?
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Under
               the
               fair
               pretence
            
             
               Of
               
                 Right
                 ,
                 Religion
                 ,
                 Law
              
               ,
            
             
               Excluding
               the
               
                 True
                 Prince
              
               ,
            
             
               The
               Church
               would
               overthrow
               :
            
             
               With
               such
               Religious
               Shams
               he
               brought
            
             
               The
               Rabble
               on
               his
               side
               ;
            
             
               And
               ,
               for
               his
               sport
               ,
            
             
               The
               Town
               and
               Court
            
             
               In
               Parties
               would
               divide
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Now
               what
               's
               become
               of
               all
            
             
               His
               squinting
               Policy
               ,
            
             
               Which
               wrought
               your
               
                 Dagon●s
                 Fall
              
               ,
            
             
               From
               Justice
               forc●d
               to
               flie
               ?
            
             
             
               Old
               and
               Decrepid
               ,
               full
               of
               pains
               ▪
            
             
               As
               he
               of
               Guilt
               was
               full
               :
            
             
               He
               fell
               to
               Fate
               ,
            
             
               And
               now
               (
               too
               late
               )
            
             
               He
               leaves
               us
               to
               condole
               .
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               Now
               ,
               learn
               ye
               Whigs
               in
               time
               ,
            
             
               By
               his
               deserved
               fall
               ,
            
             
               To
               expiate
               his
               Crime
               ,
            
             
               E're
               Fate
               revenge
               you
               all
               ;
            
             
               For
               
                 Rights
                 ,
                 Religion
                 ,
                 Liberty
              
               ,
            
             
               Are
               but
               the
               Sham-pretence
            
             
               To
               Anarchy
               ;
            
             
               But
               Loyalty
            
             
               Obeys
               the
               Lawful
               Prince
               :
            
          
        
         
           
             Hue-and-Song
             after
             
               Patience
               Ward
            
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Hail
               to
               the
               Myrtle
               Shades
            
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               HAil
               to
               London
               fair
               Town
               ,
            
             
               All
               hail
               to
               the
               Mayor
               and
               the
               Shrieves
               ;
            
             
               Hail
               to
               the
               
                 Scarlet
                 Gown
              
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               Sentence
               our
               Patience
               grieves
               :
            
             
               Justice
               and
               Law
               hath
               prevail'd
               ,
            
             
               With
               Patience
               a
               Verdict
               to
               find
               ,
            
             
               '
               Gainst
               Patience
               ,
               whose
               Conscience
               fail'd
               ;
            
             
               Oh
               Patience
               !
               why
               art
               so
               blind
               ?
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Patience
               ,
               the
               joy
               of
               the
               Town
               ,
            
             
               The
               comfort
               and
               hope
               of
               the
               Crowd
               ;
            
             
               Patience
               ,
               who
               got
               renown
               ,
            
             
               By
               
                 Perjury
                 ,
                 Lies
              
               and
               Fraud
               :
            
             
               Patience
               who
               ne'r
               had
               the
               Heart
            
             
             
               His
               
               Sovereign's
               Rights
               to
               maintain
               ;
            
             
               But
               Patience
               he
               had
               the
               Art
            
             
               To
               Swear
               and
               Forswear
               again
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Patience
               for
               Church
               and
               for
               State
               ,
            
             
               And
               Patience
               for
               Meetings
               by
               stealth
               ;
            
             
               Patience
               ,
               who
               wou'd
               translate
            
             
               The
               State
               to
               a
               Commonwealth
               :
            
             
               Whose
               Zeal
               has
               his
               Patience
               betray'd
               ,
            
             
               To
               lie
               for
               the
               Saints
               in
               distress
               ;
            
             
               Nay
               ,
               tho'
               he●s
               Forsworn
               ,
               (
               't
               is
               said
               ,
               )
            
             
               He
               Swore
               he
               could
               do
               no
               less
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Patience
               ,
               whose
               Zeal
               did
               contrive
            
             
               The
               
                 Monument
                 Figures
              
               and
               Spire
               ,
            
             
               That
               while
               there
               's
               a
               Papist
               alive
            
             
               We
               may
               not
               forget
               the
               Fire
               :
            
             
               The
               Pillory
               now
               is
               his
               Lot
               ,
            
             
               He
               has
               rais●d
               such
               a
               flame
               with
               his
               Crew
               ,
            
             
               That
               London
               is
               now
               too
               hot
               ;
            
             
               Oh
               Patience
               !
               where
               art
               thou
               now
               ?
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Patience
               for
               Zeal
               to
               the
               Cause
               ,
            
             
               Did
               preach
               to
               the
               Captives
               in
               Goal
               ▪
            
             
               Patience
               ,
               with
               great
               applause
               ,
            
             
               Gave
               large
               to
               an
               Hospital
               :
            
             
               To
               Vse
               now
               his
               Money
               may
               lend
               ,
            
             
               For
               Pomfret
               he
               'l
               never
               more
               stand
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               Warrants
               for
               Thompson
               send
               ,
            
             
               T'please
               Titus
               o'
               th'
               Perjur'd
               Band.
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Patience
               with
               Coller
               of
               Brass
               ,
            
             
               To
               woful
               Disasters
               did
               fall
               ;
            
             
               Patience
               with
               
                 Copper
                 Face
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               a
               Conscience
               worse
               than
               all
               ;
            
             
             
               To
               Holland
               ,
               to
               Holland
               he
               goes
               ;
            
             
               For
               plainly
               now
               it
               appears
               ,
            
             
               That
               (
               in
               spight
               of
               all
               
                 Whiggish
                 Laws
              
               ,
               )
            
             
               Ignoramus
               can't
               save
               his
               Ears
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Some
               say
               that
               the
               Saints
               may
               not
               Swear
               ,
            
             
               But
               Lie
               ev'n
               as
               much
               as
               they
               can
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               Patience
               in
               spight
               on
               's
               Ears
               ,
            
             
               Will
               Swear
               and
               Forswear
               again
               :
            
             
               That
               Patience
               should
               be
               so
               far
               lost
               ,
            
             
               Alas
               !
               who
               with
               Patience
               can
               hear
               ?
            
             
               That
               a
               Saint
               should
               be
               
                 Knight
                 o'
                 th'
                 Post
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               an
               Elder
               without
               an
               Ear.
               
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Let
               ev'ry
               good
               Subject
               with
               Me
               ,
            
             
               Who
               Patience
               a
               Virtue
               doth
               praise
               ,
            
             
               Lest
               he
               fall
               into
               Perjury
               ,
            
             
               With
               Patience
               pray
               for
               Grace
               .
            
             
               But
               now
               I
               with
               Patience
               have
               done
               ,
            
             
               Lest
               with
               Patience
               I
               keep
               such
               a
               Rout
               ,
            
             
               That
               astray
               more
               with
               Patience
               run
               ,
            
             
               And
               weary
               your
               Patience
               out
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             new
             SONG
             on
             the
             Arrival
             of
             Prince
             George
             ,
             and
             his
             Intermarriage
             with
             the
             Lady
             Anne
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Old
               Jemmy
            
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               PRince
               George
               at
               last
               is
               come
               ,
            
             
               Fill
               every
               man
               his
               Bumper
               ;
            
             
               For
               the
               Valiant
               Dane
               make
               room
               ,
            
             
               Confusion
               to
               each
               Rumper
               ,
            
             
               And
               every
               prodigal
               starch'd
               Fool
            
             
               Aspires
               unto
               a
               Crown
               ,
            
             
             
               By
               hopes
               of
               Plotting
               Knaves
               to
               Rule
               ,
            
             
               Who
               next
               wou'd
               pull
               Him
               down
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Preserve
               Great
               Charles
               our
               King
               ,
            
             
               And
               His
               Illustrious
               Brother
            
             
               Whilst
               Whigs
               in
               Halters
               swing
               ,
            
             
               And
               hang
               up
               one
               another
               :
            
             
               The
               joyful
               Bridegroom
               and
               the
               Bride
               ,
            
             
               Prince
               George
               of
               Royal
               Race
               ,
            
             
               Of
               all
               the
               Swains
               the
               Joy
               and
               Pride
               ,
            
             
               The
               subject
               of
               their
               ●ays
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Brave
               George
               He
               is
               a
               Lad
            
             
               With
               all
               Perfections
               shining
               ;
            
             
               With
               every
               Virtue
               clad
               ,
            
             
               And
               every
               Grace
               refining
               :
            
             
               But
               oh
               !
               of
               such
               a
               war-like
               Race
               ,
            
             
               So
               Conqu'ring
               are
               his
               Charms
               ,
            
             
               No
               Mars
               in
               Field
               ,
               but
               must
               give
               place
            
             
               To
               His
               Victorious
               Arms.
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               
                 Brave
                 George
              
               ,
               Great
               
               Denmark's
               Son
               ,
            
             
               (
               A
               stout
               and
               war-like
               Nation
               )
            
             
               By
               Birth
               to
               
               England's
               Crown
            
             
               A
               near
               and
               dear
               Relation
               ;
            
             
               But
               now
               the
               Knot
               is
               doubly
               ty'd
               ,
            
             
               Which
               makes
               him
               still
               more
               near
               ,
            
             
               The
               Knot
               which
               Knaves
               would
               have
               destroy'd
               ,
            
             
               By
               cutting
               off
               the
               Heir
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               But
               now
               the
               Tribe's
               dispers'd
               ,
            
             
               Their
               Projects
               are
               defeated
               ,
            
             
               Which
               Walcot
               and
               the
               rest
            
             
               Did
               hope
               to
               have
               compleated
               :
            
             
             
               And
               now
               they
               'l
               pay
               for
               all
               their
               scores
               ,
            
             
               Who
               for
               that
               Int'rest
               stood
               ,
            
             
               And
               let
               'em
               hang
               for
               Sons
               of
               Whores
               ,
            
             
               Who
               thirst
               for
               
                 Royal
                 Blood.
              
               
            
          
           
             
               6
            
             
               Poor
               Perkin
               !
               where
               's
               the
               hope
            
             
               Of
               all
               thy
               high
               promoting
               ?
            
             
               Now
               ,
               Bully
               Tom
               ,
               a
               Rope
            
             
               Must
               crown
               thy
               Cheats
               and
               Plotting
               :
            
             
               Let
               Ferguson
               with
               Gray
               escape
               ,
            
             
               They
               safe
               are
               ev'ry-where
               ,
            
             
               If
               
                 Murder
                 ,
                 Treason
                 ,
                 Lust
              
               and
               Rape
            
             
               Can
               pass
               unpunish'd
               here
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Let
               M
               —
               for
               a
               Crown
               ,
            
             
               That
               hopeful
               Prince
               so
               Loyal
               ,
            
             
               Away
               with
               Rebels
               run
               ,
            
             
               To
               raise
               an
               Army-Royal
               :
            
             
               Brave
               George
               for
               England
               scorns
               to
               fly
               ,
            
             
               Old
               Jemmy
               stout
               as
               He
               ,
            
             
               Their
               Plots
               and
               Malice
               we
               defie
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               their
               Treachery
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               May
               Heav'n
               ,
               which
               him
               did
               raise
            
             
               O'
               th'
               Protestant
               Profession
               ,
            
             
               In
               His
               Immortal
               Race
            
             
               Maintain
               the
               just
               Succession
               ,
            
             
               That
               no
               pretending
               Bastard
               bold
            
             
               In
               time
               to
               come
               may
               dare
            
             
               His
               lawless
               Title
               to
               uphold
               ,
            
             
               Against
               the
               lawful
               Heir
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             A
             new
             Song
             made
             by
             a
             Person
             of
             Quality
             ,
             and
             sung
             before
             His
             Majesty
             at
             Winchester
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Cook
               Lawrel
            
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               A
               Tory
               came
               late
               through
               Westminster-hall
               ,
            
             
               And
               as
               he
               past
               by
               heard
               a
               Citizen
               bawl
               ;
            
             
               The
               Judges
               are
               Perjur'd
               ,
               and
               we
               are
               undone
               ,
            
             
               Our
               
               Liberty's
               lost
               ,
               and
               our
               Charter
               is
               gone
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               This
               comes
               of
               our
               Prating
               since
               Colledge
               is
               dead
               ;
            
             
               This
               comes
               of
               our
               Plotting
               without
               
               ●ony's
               Head
               :
            
             
               For
               he
               had
               more
               wit
               in
               his
               Treason
               by
               half
               ,
            
             
               As
               he
               hook●d
               himself
               on
               ,
               he
               crook'd
               himself
               off
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               He
               scarce
               had
               said
               this
               when
               a
               Baron
               approac'd
            
             
               That
               ruin'd
               two
               Sisters
               ,
               the
               younger
               debauch'd
               :
            
             
               The
               Reasons
               he
               cry'd
               ,
               I
               'm
               loath
               to
               describe
               ,
            
             
               He
               would
               have
               a
               Maiden-head
               out
               of
               the
               Tribe
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               The
               next
               came
               a
               Peer
               ,
               &
               a
               Knight
               of
               great
               Fame
               ,
            
             
               One
               Famous
               for
               Stabbing
               ,
               the
               other
               was
               Lame
               ;
            
             
               O
               Heavens
               !
               in
               what
               a
               strange
               Age
               do
               we
               dwell
               ,
            
             
               When
               Bully's
               Reform
               ,
               and
               Cripples
               Rebel
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               With
               them
               the
               sweet
               Speaker
               ,
               
                 Wi.
                 W
                 —
                 s
              
               I
               saw
               ,
            
             
               His
               Head
               full
               of
               Projects
               ,
               but
               empty
               of
               Law
               ;
            
             
               For
               he
               't
               is
               observ'd
               has
               been
               dull
               as
               a
               Dog
            
             
               Since
               
                 Pe
                 —
                 n
              
               batoon'd
               him
               for
               calling
               him
               R●
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Peart
               
                 Wa
                 —
                 op
              
               and
               
                 Win
                 —
                 on
              
               ,
               Mutinies
               breed
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               still
               in
               the
               Cause
               ,
               for
               no
               purpose
               are
               Fee'd
               ▪
            
             
               For
               Cradeck
               will
               offer
               himself
               for
               a
               Drudge
               ;
            
             
               If
               either
               of
               them
               will
               be
               fit
               for
               a
               Judge
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Old
               
                 Ma
                 —
                 rd
              
               ,
               all
               ages
               in
               Faction
               was
               chief
               ;
            
             
               Now
               Mumbles
               by
               rote
               ,
               ne'r
               looks
               in
               his
               Brief
               :
            
             
               But
               rotten
               Rebellion
               will
               never
               last
               long
               ,
            
             
               He
               spit
               out
               his
               Teeth
               ,
               &
               will
               cough
               out
               his
               Tongue
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Now
               by
               the
               
                 Re
                 —
                 er
              
               new
               Cards
               must
               be
               plaid
               ,
            
             
               That
               Body
               of
               Law
               with
               a
               Sarazens-Head
               ,
            
             
               That
               (
               Span●el-like
               )
               fawns
               on
               the
               King
               to
               his
               face
            
             
               And
               yet
               makes
               the
               Whigs
               just
               amends
               for
               his
               place
               .
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               For
               Magistrate
               Patience
               ,
               I
               plainly
               confess
               ,
            
             
               I
               've
               little
               to
               say
               ,
               because
               he
               's
               in
               Distress
               ;
            
             
               But
               he
               that
               sat
               once
               in
               th'
               Cities
               great
               Chair
               ,
            
             
               Would
               a
               Pillory
               grace
               ;
               so
               I
               wish
               he
               were
               there
               .
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               Dubois
               and
               Papillion
               ,
               the
               Cities
               sham
               Shrieves
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               Truth
               and
               whose
               Loyalty
               no
               man
               believes
               ;
            
             
               That
               Arrested
               the
               Mayor
               and
               no
               danger
               forsaw
               ,
            
             
               To
               keep
               from
               self-hanging
               I
               leave
               to
               the
               Law.
               
            
          
           
             
               11.
               
            
             
               For
               Law
               they
               complain'd
               ,
               of
               the
               Lawyers
               they
               boast
               ,
            
             
               They
               'r
               pleas●d
               ,
               till
               by
               Law
               they
               their
               
                 Ch
                 ▪
              
               had
               lost
               :
            
             
               Law
               ,
               Law
               ,
               was
               the
               cry
               of
               the
               Mutinous
               Crew
               ,
            
             
               The
               
               Devil
               's
               in
               't
               if
               they
               ha'nt
               Law
               enough
               now
               .
            
          
           
             
               12.
               
            
             
               Scribe
               Cl
               —
               n's
               Wife
               deckt
               with
               the
               spoils
               of
               the
               poor
               ,
            
             
               Embroider●d
               in
               Scarlet
               like
               
               Babylon's
               Whore
               ;
            
             
               But
               let
               me
               advise
               him
               to
               strip
               off
               her
               Red
               ,
            
             
               And
               make
               her
               a
               Peticoat
               of
               her
               Green-Bed
               .
            
          
           
             
               13.
               
            
             
               Old
               
                 Pl
                 —
                 yer
              
               grown
               rampant
               ,
               late
               pickt
               up
               a
               Whore
            
             
               And
               swore
               he
               'd
               recant
               ,
               &
               be
               Whiggish
               no
               more
               ;
            
             
               By
               Tories
               made
               Drunk
               in
               the
               Company
               's
               view
               .
            
             
             
               The
               Saint
               kist
               her
               
                 C
                 —
                 t
              
               ,
               and
               drank
               healths
               in
               her
               Shoe.
               
            
          
           
             
               14
            
             
               Now
               listen
               ye
               Whigs
               ,
               and
               hear
               what
               I
               speak
               ,
            
             
               A
               Monarch
               (
               like
               Heaven
               can
               give
               and
               can
               take
               ;
            
             
               But
               you
               for
               Rebellion
               no
               Reason
               can
               bring
               ,
            
             
               So
               hang
               your selves
               all
               ;
               and
               
                 God
                 save
                 the
                 King.
              
               
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             New-market
             SONG
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             Old
             Symon
             the
             King.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               THe
               Golden
               Age
               is
               come
               ,
            
             
               The
               Winter-storms
               are
               gone
               ,
            
             
               The
               Flowers
               spread
               ,
               and
               Bloom
               ,
            
             
               And
               smile
               to
               see
               the
               Sun
               ;
            
             
               Who
               daily
               gilds
               each
               Grove
               ,
            
             
               And
               calms
               the
               Air
               and
               Seas
               ,
            
             
               Dame
               Nature
               seems
               in
               Love
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               the
               World
               's
               at
               ease
               :
            
             
               You
               Rogue
               so
               saddle
               Ball
               ,
            
             
               I●ll
               to
               
                 New
                 market
              
               scour
               ▪
            
             
               You
               never
               mind
               when
               I
               call
               ,
            
             
               I
               shou●d
               have
               been
               there
               this
               hour
               ;
            
             
               For
               there
               is
               all
               Sporting
               and
               Game
               ,
            
             
               Without
               any
               ●lotting
               of
               State
               ;
            
             
               From
               Whigs
               ,
               and
               another
               such
               Sham
               ,
            
             
               Deliver
               us
               ,
               deliver
               us
               ,
               O
               Fate
               !
            
             
               Let
               's
               be
               to
               each
               other
               a
               ●rey
               ,
            
             
               To
               be
               chea●ed
               be
               ev'ry
               ones
               Lot
               ;
            
             
               Or
               chous'd
               any
               sort
               of
               a
               way
               ,
            
             
               But
               by
               another
               Damn'd
               Plot.
            
             
               Let
               Cullies
               that
               lose
               at
               the
               Race
            
             
               Go
               venture
               at
               Hazard
               ,
               and
               win
               ;
            
             
               And
               he
               that
               is
               bubbl'd
               at
               Dice
               ,
            
             
               Recover
               't
               at
               Cocking
               again
               :
            
             
             
               Let
               Jades
               that
               are
               founder'd
               be
               bought
               ,
            
             
               Let
               Jockeys
               play
               Crimp
               to
               make
               sport
               ;
            
             
               For
               'faith
               it
               was
               strange
               ,
               methought
               ,
            
             
               to
               see
               Vintner
               beat
               the
               Court.
               
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Each
               corner
               of
               the
               Town
            
             
               Rings
               with
               perpetual
               noise
               ,
            
             
               The
               
                 Oyster
                 bawling
              
               Clown
            
             
               Joyns
               with
               
                 hot
                 Pudding-pies
              
               ;
            
          
           
             
               And
               both
               in
               Consort
               keep
               ,
            
             
               To
               vend
               their
               stinking
               Ware
               ,
            
             
               The
               drowzy
               God
               of
               Sleep
            
             
               Hath
               no
               Dominion
               there
               .
            
          
           
             
               Hey
               boys
               !
               the
               Jockeys
               roar
               .
            
             
               If
               the
               Mare
               and
               the
               Gelding
               run
               ,
            
             
               I
               'll
               hold
               you
               Five
               Guineys
               to
               Four
            
             
               He
               beats
               her
               ,
               and
               gives
               half
               a
               stone
               .
            
          
           
             
               
                 God
                 d
                 —
                 me
              
               ,
               quoth
               Bully
               ,
               
                 't
                 is
                 done
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Or
                 else
                 I
                 'm
                 a
                 Son
                 of
                 a
                 Whore
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 And
                 fain
                 wou'd
                 I
                 meet
                 with
                 the
                 man
              
            
             
               
                 Would
                 offer
                 it
                 ,
                 would
                 offer
                 it
                 once
                 more
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               See
               ,
               see
               the
               damn'd
               Fa●e
               of
               the
               Town
               !
            
             
               A
               Fop
               that
               was
               starving
               of
               late
               ,
            
             
               And
               scarcely
               cou'd
               borrow
               a
               Crown
               ,
            
             
               Puts
               in
               to
               run
               for
               the
               Plate
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Another
               makes
               chousing
               a
               Trade
               ,
            
             
               And
               dreams
               of
               his
               Projects
               to
               come
               ,
            
             
               And
               many
               a
               Crimp
               match
               has
               made
               ,
            
             
               By
               bribing
               another
               man's
               Groom
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               Towns-men
               are
               Whiggish
               ,
               God
               rot
               'em
               ,
            
             
               Their
               hearts
               are
               but
               Loyal
               by
               fits
               ;
            
             
               For
               ,
               shou'd
               you
               search
               to
               the
               bottom
               ,
            
             
               They
               're
               as
               nasty
               as
               their
               Streets
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               3.
               
            
             
               But
               now
               all
               hearts
               beware
               ;
            
             
               See
               ,
               see
               on
               yonder
               Downs
               ?
            
             
               Beauty
               now
               tryumphs
               there
               ,
            
             
               And
               at
               this
               distance
               wounds
               :
            
          
           
             
               In
               the
               Amazonian
               Wars
            
             
               Thus
               all
               the
               Virgins
               shone
               ,
            
             
               And
               ,
               like
               the
               glittering
               Stars
               ,
            
             
               Paid
               homage
               to
               the
               Moon
               .
            
          
           
             
               Love
               proves
               a
               Tyrant
               now
               ,
            
             
               And
               there
               doth
               proudly
               dwell
               ;
            
             
               For
               each
               stubborn
               heart
               must
               bow
               ,
            
             
               He
               has
               found
               a
               new
               way
               to
               kill
               :
            
          
           
             
               For
               ne'r
               was
               invented
               before
            
             
               Such
               Charms
               of
               additional
               Grace
            
             
               Nor
               has
               
                 Divine
                 Beauty
              
               such
               Pow'r
            
             
               In
               ev'ry
               ,
               in
               ev'ry
               fair
               Face
               .
            
          
           
             
               
                 Ods
                 bud
              
               ,
               cries
               my
               Country-man
               John
               ,
            
             
               
                 Was
                 ever
                 the
                 like
                 before
                 seen
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 By
                 Hats
                 and
                 by
                 Feathers
                 they
                 ve
                 on
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 I
                 se
                 took
                 'em
                 e●n
                 all
                 for
                 men
                 :
              
            
          
           
             
               
                 Embroider'd
                 and
                 fine
                 as
                 the
                 Sun
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 Their
                 Horses
                 and
                 Trappings
                 of
                 Gold
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 Such
                 a
                 sight
                 I
                 shall
                 ne'r
                 see
                 again
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 If
                 I
                 live
                 to
                 a
                 hundred
                 years
                 old
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               This
               ,
               this
               is
               the
               Countreys
               discourse
            
             
               All
               wondring
               at
               this
               rare
               sight
               :
            
             
               Then
               Roger
               go
               saddle
               my
               Hor●e
               ,
            
             
               For
               I
               will
               be
               there
               to
               night
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             A
             New
             Song
             on
             the
             
               Fan.
               Plot
            
             ,
          
           
             Tune
             Hey
             Boys
             up
             go
             We
          
           
             
               NOw
               ,
               now
               the
               Plot
               is
               all
               come
               out
               ,
            
             
               That
               caus'd
               our
               Doubts
               and
               Fears
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               the
               Tribe
               that
               made
               the
               Rout
               ,
            
             
               Both
               Commoners
               and
               Peers
               ;
            
             
               The
               mighty
               Patrns
               of
               the
               Cause
               ,
            
             
               Gainst
               
                 Pagan
                 Popery
              
               ,
            
             
               Who
               rais'd
               a
               Gibbet
               for
               our
               Foes
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 hey
                 Boys
                 up
                 go
                 we
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               With
               Sanctify'd
               Religious
               Zeal
            
             
               The
               Brethren
               did
               agree
            
             
               To
               raise
               our
               Ancient
               Commonweal
            
             
               On
               Christian
               Liberty
               :
            
             
               To
               undermine
               the
               Church
               and
               State
               ,
            
             
               And
               blow
               up
               Monarchy
               ;
            
             
               But
               now
               ,
               alas
               !
               't
               is
               our
               own
               Fate
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 hey
                 Boys
                 up
                 go
                 We.
                 
              
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               A
               Holy
               Covenant
               we
               took
               ,
            
             
               To
               Sacrifice
               the
               King
               ,
            
             
               And
               next
               to
               him
               the
               Royal
               Duke
               ,
            
             
               A
               Bloody
               Offering
               ;
            
             
               For
               which
               ,
               according
               to
               the
               Vote
               ,
            
             
               The
               Papists
               all
               shou'd
               die
               ;
            
             
               But
               now
               the
               Saints
               have
               chang'd
               their
               note
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 hey
                 Boys
                 up
                 go
                 we
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Our
               Zealous
               Covenanting
               Saints
               ,
            
             
               Associating
               Peers
               ,
            
             
               Each
               Heart
               for
               fear
               with
               Patience
               pants
               ,
            
             
               To
               lose
               more
               than
               his
               Fars
               ;
            
             
               
               Toney's
               dead
               ,
               and
               M
               —
               s
               fled
               ,
            
             
               The
               Helm
               is
               turn'd
               a
               Lee
            
             
               The
               Plot
               (
               the
               Nail
               )
               is
               knock'd
               o'
               th'
               head
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 hey
                 then
                 up
                 go
                 we
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
             
               No
               longer
               may
               the
               Papists
               boast
            
             
               Their
               Bloody
               black
               Designs
               ;
            
             
               Old
               Rome
               thy
               Ancient
               Glory
               's
               lost
               ,
            
             
               For
               all
               thy
               Learn'd
               Divines
               :
            
             
               For
               Royal
               Murders
               ,
               Treasons
               base
               ,
            
             
               And
               marchless
               Trachery
               ,
            
             
               The
               Jesuits
               must
               now
               give
               place
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 hey
                 Boys
                 up
                 go
                 we
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               How
               well
               did
               we
               contrive
               the
               Plot
               ,
            
             
               And
               laid
               it
               at
               their
               Door
               ,
            
             
               For
               which
               old
               Stafford
               went
               to
               pot
               ,
            
             
               And
               many
               guiltless
               more
               ;
            
             
               But
               now
               the
               Tide
               is
               come
               about
               ,
            
             
               The
               Truth
               of
               all
               we
               see
               ;
            
             
               And
               when
               the
               Murder
               all
               is
               out
               ,
            
             
               
                 Then
                 hey
                 Boys
                 up
                 go
                 We.
                 
              
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               
               Rumsey's
               Gold
               ,
               and
               Rumbold
               bold
               ,
            
             
               Conspire
               to
               kill
               the
               King
               ,
            
             
               And
               Pickering
               in
               fatal
               hold
               ,
            
             
               Must
               answer
               for
               the
               thing
               ;
            
             
               
                 ●elthor●
                 ,
                 West
              
               ,
               and
               all
               the
               rest
               ,
            
             
               With
               Perkin
               may
               agree
               ,
            
             
               To
               be
               o'
               th'
               Tower
               not
               Throne
               possest
               ;
            
             
               
                 Then
                 hey
                 Boys
                 up
                 go
                 we
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Our
               City
               Ryots
               and
               Country
               Routs
               ,
            
             
               That
               to
               Rebellion
               tend
               ,
            
             
               Our
               Races
               ,
               and
               our
               Hunting-bouts
               ,
            
             
               In
               Insurrections
               end
               ;
            
             
               The
               Rebel
               now
               is
               catch'd
               i'
               th'
               Snare
            
             
               ●e
               laid
               for
               Monarchy
               ;
            
             
               At
               last
               the
               Gallows
               claims
               its
               share
               ,
            
             
               
                 Then
                 hey
                 Goys
                 up
                 go
                 we
                 .
              
            
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             Conspiracy
             ;
             or
             ,
             the
             discovery
             of
             the
             
               Fanatick
               Plot.
            
             
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             Let
             Oliver
             now
             be
             forgotten
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               LEt
               Pickering
               now
               be
               forgotten
               ,
            
             
               Old
               Rumbold
               has
               wip'd
               off
               his
               scores
               ;
            
             
               Since
               
                 Presbyter
                 Jack
              
               went
               a
               Plotting
               ,
            
             
               The
               Jesuits
               turn'd
               out
               of
               Dores
               :
            
             
               For
               Brewing
               ,
               swilling
               of
               Treason
               ,
            
             
               King-killing
               without
               reason
               ,
            
             
               Of
               all
               the
               Pack
               ,
            
             
               Noble
               or
               Peasant
               ,
            
             
               None
               can
               exceed
               old
               
                 Presbyter
                 Jack
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               First
               ,
               the
               hot
               Sectaries
               Voted
               ,
            
             
               
                 'T
                 was
                 Treason
                 to
                 Murther
                 the
                 King
                 ▪
              
            
             
               And
               next
               the
               bold
               Regicides
               Plotted
            
             
               To
               compass
               the
               very
               same
               Thing
               :
            
             
               Their
               Votes
               and
               
                 Arbitrary
                 Power
              
               ,
            
             
               That
               sent
               the
               Lords
               to
               the
               Tower
               ,
            
             
               We
               now
               see
               plain
               ,
            
             
               Every
               hour
               ,
            
             
               They
               'd
               the
               old
               Game
               play
               over
               again
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Rumsey
               and
               Rumbold
               indented
            
             
               At
               Hodsdon
               their
               Ambush
               to
               bring
               ;
            
             
               But
               Heav'n
               and
               the
               Fire
               prevented
               ,
            
             
               And
               Providence
               guarded
               the
               King
               :
            
             
               The
               Whigs
               the
               Treason
               propounded
               ;
            
             
               But
               when
               the
               Trumpet
               sounded
            
             
               For
               Cambridgeshire
               ,
            
             
               All
               were
               confounded
               ,
            
             
               Taken
               or
               fled
               both
               Peasant
               and
               Peer
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               4
            
             
               M●nmo●th
               for
               Wit
               ,
               who
               was
               able
            
             
               To
               make
               to
               a
               Crown
               a
               pretence
               ,
            
             
               The
               Head
               and
               the
               Hope
               of
               the
               Rabble
               ,
            
             
               A
               ●oyal
               and
               Politick
               Prince
               :
            
             
               But
               now
               He
               's
               gone
               into
               Holland
               ,
            
             
               To
               be
               a
               King
               of
               no-Land
               ,
            
             
               Or
               else
               must
               be
            
             
               Monarch
               of
               Poland
               ,
            
             
               Was
               ever
               Son
               so
               Loyal
               as
               He
               ?
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Lord
               Gray
               ,
               and
               Armstrong
               the
               Bully
               ,
            
             
               That
               Prudent
               and
               Politick
               Knight
               ,
            
             
               Who
               made
               of
               His
               Grace
               such
               a
               Cully
               ,
            
             
               Together
               have
               taken
               their
               flight
               :
            
             
               Is
               this
               your
               
                 Races
                 ,
                 Horse-matches
              
               ,
            
             
               His
               Grace's
               swift
               Dispatches
            
             
               From
               Shire
               to
               Shire
               ?
            
             
               Under
               the
               Hatches
               ,
            
             
               Now
               above-Deck
               you
               dare
               not
               appear
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Brave
               Russel
               and
               Sidney
               the
               Bully
               ,
            
             
               That
               stood
               for
               the
               holy
               
                 Old
                 Cause
              
               ;
            
             
               And
               Trenchard
               drawn
               in
               for
               a
               Cully
               ,
            
             
               In
               spight
               of
               Allegiance
               and
               Laws
               ;
            
             
               And
               Wildman
               too
               ,
               with
               his
               Cannon
               ,
            
             
               With
               
                 Walcot
                 ,
                 Smith
              
               and
               Aaron
               ,
            
             
               With
               Mead
               and
               Bourn
               ,
            
             
               Every
               Man
               ,
               on
            
             
               To
               Tyburn
               goes
               the
               next
               in
               his
               Turn
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Next
               Valiant
               and
               Noble
               Lord
               
                 H
                 —
                 d
              
            
             
               That
               formerly
               dealt
               in
               Lambs-wool
               ,
            
             
               And
               knows
               what
               it
               is
               to
               be
               Tower●d
               ,
            
             
               By
               Impeaching
               may
               fill
               the
               Jayl●
               full
               :
            
             
             
               And
               next
               to
               him
               Cully
               Brandon
            
             
               The
               Wit
               ;
               and
               famous
               Hambden
            
             
               Must
               take
               his
               place
               ,
            
             
               Who
               did
               abandon
            
             
               All
               
                 Loyalty
                 ,
                 Religion
              
               and
               Grace
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Hone
               ▪
               and
               Rowse
               ,
               the
               King
               and
               His
               Brother
            
             
               That
               they
               were
               to
               kill
               'em
               confest
               ,
            
             
               And
               now
               they
               hang
               up
               one
               another
               ,
            
             
               
                 Holms
                 ,
                 Blaney
                 ,
                 Lee
                 ,
                 Walcot
              
               and
               West
               :
            
             
               May
               all
               such
               Traytors
               discarded
               ,
            
             
               To
               Tyburn
               be
               well
               guarded
               ,
            
             
               And
               ev'ry
               thing
            
             
               Be
               so
               rewarded
               ,
            
             
               That
               would
               oppose
               so
               Gracious
               a
               King.
               
            
          
        
         
           
             
             RVSSEL's
             Farewel
             Tune
             ,
             Oh
             ,
             the
             merry
             Christ-Church
             Bells
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               OH
               ,
               the
               mighty
               Innocence
            
             
               Of
               Russel
               ,
               Bedford's
               Son
               !
            
             
               That
               dy'd
               for
               the
               Plot
               ,
            
             
               Whether
               Guilty
               ,
               or
               not
               ,
            
             
               By
               his
               last
               (
               Equivocating
               )
               Speech
               !
            
             
               By
               the
               words
               of
               a
               dying
               man
               ,
            
             
               I
               here
               protest
               I
               know
               no
               Plot
            
             
               '
               Gainst
               the
               Life
               of
               the
               King
               ,
               or
               Government
               ,
            
             
               Either
               by
               Action
               ,
               or
               Intent
               .
            
             
               Fy
               ,
               fy
               ,
               fy
               ,
               fy
               ,
               fy
               ,
               fy
               ,
               my
               Lord
               ,
            
             
               What
               are
               you
               about
               to
               do
               ?
            
             
               To
               sink
               to
               Hell
            
             
               By
               th'
               sound
               of
               your
               Knell
               ,
            
             
               Both
               Soul
               and
               Body
               too
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               Oh
               ,
               the
               shallow
               memory
            
             
               Of
               this
               blood-thirsty
               Lord
               !
            
             
               T'deny
               and
               confess
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               to
               express
            
             
               His
               guilty
               Insolence
               the
               more
               :
            
             
               I
               at
               Mr.
               
               Shepherd's
               house
            
             
               Did
               hear
               some
               little
               slight
               discourse
               ,
            
             
               How
               easie
               't
               was
               the
               Guards
               to
               seize
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               I
               am
               guiltless
               ,
               if
               you
               please
               ;
            
             
               No
               ,
               no
               ,
               no
               ,
               no
               ,
               no
               ,
               no
               ,
               my
               Lord
               ,
            
             
               Your
               Guilt
               's
               too
               plainly
               seen
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 M
                 —
                 th
              
               too
               ,
            
             
               With
               
               Shaftsbury's
               Crew
               ,
            
             
               To
               destroy
               both
               King
               and
               Queen
            
          
           
             
               3
            
             
               Next
               your
               Lordship
               does
               protest
               ,
            
             
               No
               man
               had
               ever
               yet
            
             
               That
               Impudence
            
             
               Against
               his
               Prince
               ,
            
             
               To
               your
               face
               to
               propose
               any
               foul
               Design
               :
            
             
               Then
               you
               confess
               immediately
               ,
            
             
               At
               the
               House
               of
               Politick
               Shaftsbury
            
             
               You
               heard
               such
               words
            
             
               Were
               sharp
               as
               Swords
               ,
            
             
               The
               worst
               can
               be
               thought
               or
               English
               affords
               ;
            
             
               Which
               rais'd
               your
               Righteous
               Spirit
               to
            
             
               Exclaim
               against
               their
               sense
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               this
               you
               conceal'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               never
               reveal'd
               ,
            
             
               Till
               in
               your
               blind
               Defence
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Po●ery
               (
               your
               Lordship
               says
               )
            
             
               
                 Is
                 Bloody
                 and
                 unjust
              
               ;
            
             
               What
               then
               )
               you
               design'd
            
             
               With
               those
               you
               combin'd
               ,
            
             
             
               Was
               farce
               ,
               to
               jest
               our
               Lives
               away
               ;
            
             
               For
               when
               the
               Duke
               of
               Monmouth
               came
            
             
               T'
               acquaint
               your
               Honour
               of
               his
               Fear
            
             
               Of
               being
               undone
               by
               the
               heat
               of
               some
               ,
            
             
               Too
               violent
               for
               the
               
                 bloody
                 Cause
              
               ,
            
             
               Away
               you
               go
               to
               
               Shepherd
               ●s
               strait
               ,
            
             
               Where
               pernicious
               words
               were
               said
               ,
            
             
               In
               Passion
               all
               ,
            
             
               With
               Judgment
               small
               ,
            
             
               But
               consequence
               of
               Dread
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               From
               the
               time
               of
               choosing
               Sheriffs
               ,
            
             
               I
               did
               conclude
               the
               heat
            
             
               Would
               this
               produce
               ;
            
             
               That
               's
               no
               excuse
               ,
            
             
               But
               just
               Confession
               of
               the
               Fact.
            
             
               Presently
               your
               Lordship
               says
               ,
            
             
               For
               farther
               Confirmation
               still
               ,
            
             
               You
               are
               not
               surpriz●d
               to
               find
               it
               fall
            
             
               On
               your
               Honour
               you
               deserv'd
               it
               all
               :
            
             
               Immediately
               you
               would
               proclaim
            
             
               Aloud
               your
               Innocence
            
             
               Why
               your
               Lordship
               's
               mad
               ,
            
             
               In
               a
               Cause
               so
               bad
               ,
            
             
               To
               put
               that
               Sham-pretence
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               O
               ye
               
                 True
                 blew
                 Protestants
              
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               times
               are
               yet
               to
               come
               ,
            
             
               You
               see
               your
               Fate
               ;
            
             
               Early
               or
               late
            
             
               Follow
               you
               must
               ,
               't
               is
               all
               your
               Doom
               .
            
             
               
                 M●th
                 ,
                 Armstrong
                 ,
                 Ferguson
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Gray
                 ,
                 Goodenough
              
               the
               Under-Shrieve
               ,
            
             
               With
               all
               your
               Ignoramus
               Crew
               ,
            
             
             
               That
               Justice
               hate
               ,
               and
               Treason
               brew
               ;
            
             
               Scaffold
               ,
               Tyburn
               ,
               Halter
               ,
               Ax
               ,
            
             
               Those
               Instruments
               of
               Death
               ,
            
             
               As
               't
               is
               your
               due
               ,
            
             
               May
               't
               you
               pursue
               ,
            
             
               Till
               you
               resign
               your
               Breath
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             
               Eustace
               Comines
            
             the
             Irish
             Evidence
             ,
             his
             Farewel
             to
             England
             .
             Tune
             ,
          
           
             O
             hone
             ,
             O
             hone
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               BEe
               me
               Shoul
               and
               Shouluation
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               I
               'le
               go
               to
               mee
               own
               Nawtion
               :
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               Old
               Tony
               hence
               is
               fled
               ,
            
             
               And
               Russel
               lost
               his
               Head
               ;
            
             
               I
               starve
               for
               want
               of
               Bread
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               This
               Sawcy
               English
               Plot
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               Did
               make
               Ours
               go
               to
               Pot
               :
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               What
               shall
               I
               do
               to
               go
               ?
            
             
               Let
               me
               shee
               ,
               
                 O
                 ho
                 !
                 O
                 ho
              
               !
            
             
               Pox
               take
               me
               if
               I
               know
               :
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               My
               sauce
               does
               red
               wid
               Shame
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               That
               ever
               here
               I
               came
               :
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
            
             
               Ten
               ,
               Twenty
               Curse
               upon
            
             
             
               Sham
               Justice
               Heddrington
               ,
            
             
               Who
               made
               me
               first
               leave
               Home
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               A
               Gra
               Eustace
               ,
               he
               did
               say
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               You
               moyle
               for
               a
               Groat
               a
               day
               :
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               A
               
                 Plot
                 Office
              
               now
               is
               ope
               ,
            
             
               I
               will
               advance
               your
               Hope
               ,
            
             
               If
               you
               'l
               Swear
               against
               the
               Pope
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               
                 Be
                 Creest
              
               I
               will
               ,
               said
               I
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               Tell
               you
               ten
               hundred
               Lye
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               I
               'le
               Swear
               dem
               in
               and
               out
               ,
            
             
               Wee
               'l
               have
               a
               merry
               bout
               ,
            
             
               And
               make
               a
               Rabble
               rout
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               We
               came
               to
               Westminster
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               Den
               he
               call'd
               me
               Maishter
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               I
               swore
               by
               Fait
               and
               Trote
               ,
            
             
               And
               by
               my
               Beeble
               Oate
               ,
            
             
               (
               What
               wee
               'd
               agreed
               on
               bote
               ,
               )
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Then
               I
               was
               put
               in
               pay
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               Had
               five
               ,
               six
               Groat
               a
               day
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
             
               Which
               did
               fine
               Cloads
               afford
               ,
            
             
               Instead
               of
               Spawde
               ,
               a
               Sword
               ;
            
             
               I
               knew
               not
               mee
               shelf
               good
               Lord
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               But
               soon
               my
               Maishter
               Rogue
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               Was
               in
               spite
               of
               his
               Brogue
               :
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               For
               the
               Sawce
               of
               his
               Tongue
               ,
            
             
               To
               Prisons
               dragg'd
               along
               ,
            
             
               
                 Magnatum
                 Scandalum
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               Then
               was
               prepar'd
               a
               Drench
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               Oats
               himshelf
               to
               Retrench
               ;
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               The
               meaner
               Swearers
               then
            
             
               To
               Tremble
               did
               begin
               :
            
             
               As
               I
               have
               a
               Shoul
               widin
               :
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               By
               this
               Book
               I
               did
               faint
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               Till
               Patrick
               mee
               fwhite
               Saint
               :
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               Bid
               me
               leave
               off
               my
               Cryes
               ,
            
             
               And
               Swear
               no
               more
               Plot-Lies
               .
            
             
               Then
               streight
               away
               he
               hies
               :
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               11.
               
            
             
               Deel
               take
               this
               Swearing
               Trade
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
             
               I
               'le
               go
               home
               to
               mee
               Spade
               :
            
             
               O
               hone
               ,
               O
               hone
               .
            
             
               I
               'le
               fence
               the
               Patatoes
               round
            
             
               And
               keep
               mee
               Maishters
               ground
               ;
            
             
               I
               am
               too
               long
               Hell-Hound
               .
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               12.
               
            
             
               My
               Book-bussing
               Tribe
               adieu
               ;
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               It
               is
               now
               bad
               wid
               you
               :
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               And
               if
               I
               '
               scape
               the
               Hang
               ,
            
             
               I
               've
               out-done
               all
               my
               Gang
               ;
            
             
               And
               leave
               You
               here
               t'Swing
               Swang
               .
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Monarchy
             Tryumphant
             ;
             or
             ,
             the
             fatal
             fall
             of
             Rebels
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             The
             King
             enjoys
             His
             own
             again
             .
          
           
             
               WHigs
               are
               now
               such
               precious
               things
               ,
            
             
               We
               see
               there
               's
               not
               one
               to
               be
               found
               ;
            
             
               All
               roar
               ,
               
                 God
                 bless
                 and
                 save
                 the
                 King
                 ,
              
            
             
               And
               the
               Health
               goes
               briskly
               all
               day
               round
               :
            
             
               To
               the
               Souldier
               Cap
               in
               hand
            
             
               The
               sneaking
               Rascals
               stand
               ,
            
             
               And
               wou'd
               put
               in
               for
               honest
               men
               ;
            
             
               But
               the
               King
               He
               well
               knows
            
             
               His
               Friends
               from
               His
               Foes
               ,
            
             
               And
               now
               He
               enjoys
               His
               own
               again
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               From
               this
               Plots
               first
               taking
               air
               ,
            
             
               Like
               Lightning
               all
               the
               Whigs
               have
               run
               ;
            
             
               Nay
               ,
               they
               've
               left
               their
               topping
               Square
               ,
            
             
               To
               march
               off
               with
               our
               eldest
               Son
               ▪
            
             
               They
               've
               left
               their
               States
               and
               Wives
               ,
            
             
             
               To
               save
               their
               precious
               Lives
               ,
            
             
               But
               who
               can
               blame
               their
               flying
               ?
               when
            
             
               'T
               was
               plain
               to
               'em
               all
               ,
            
             
               The
               great
               and
               the
               small
               ,
            
             
               That
               the
               King
               wou'd
               have
               His
               own
               again
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Since
               the
               King
               was
               thereabouts
               ,
            
             
               They
               all
               well
               knew
               their
               Heads
               were
               His
               ;
            
             
               So
               by
               help
               of
               such
               like
               scouts
            
             
               The
               Great
               Ones
               have
               yet
               escap'd
               His
               Phys
               .
            
             
               His
               stern
               and
               Kingly
               look
            
             
               There
               's
               few
               of
               them
               can
               brook
               ,
            
             
               Since
               fairly
               try'd
               ,
               they
               know
               that
               then
            
             
               The
               Hemp
               or
               sharp
               Steel
            
             
               They
               must
               all
               expect
               to
               feel
               ,
            
             
               Since
               the
               King
               enjoys
               His
               own
               again
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               This
               may
               chance
               a
               warning
               be
               ,
            
             
               (
               If
               e're
               the
               Saints
               will
               warning
               take
               )
            
             
               To
               leave
               off
               hatching
               Villainy
               ,
            
             
               Since
               they
               've
               seen
               their
               Brethren
               at
               the
               stake
               ,
            
             
               And
               more
               must
               mounted
               be
               ,
            
             
               (
               Which
               God
               grant
               we
               may
               see
               )
            
             
               Since
               Juries
               now
               are
               honest
               men
               ;
            
             
               And
               the
               King
               lets
               'em
               swing
            
             
               With
               a
               
                 hey
                 ding
                 ,
                 ding
                 ,
                 ding
                 ,
                 ding
                 ,
              
            
             
               Great
               Charles
               enjoys
               His
               own
               again
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Once
               they
               voted
               ,
               That
               His
               Guards
            
             
               A
               Nuisance
               was
               ,
               which
               now
               They
               find
               ;
            
             
               Since
               they
               stand
               betwixt
               the
               King
            
             
               And
               the
               Treason
               that
               such
               Dogs
               design'd
               :
            
             
               'T
               is
               They
               will
               you
               maul
               ,
            
             
               Though
               it
               cost
               'em
               a
               fall
               ,
            
             
             
               In
               spight
               of
               your
               most
               mighty
               Men
               ;
            
             
               For
               now
               they
               are
               allarm'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               Loyallists
               well
               arm'd
               ▪
            
             
               Since
               the
               King
               enjoys
               His
               own
               again
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               To
               the
               King
               some
               Bumpers
               round
               ,
            
             
               Let
               's
               drink
               ▪
               my
               Lads
               ,
               whilst
               Life
               doth
               last
               ;
            
             
               He
               that
               at
               the
               
               Core's
               not
               found
               ,
            
             
               Shall
               be
               kick'd
               out
               without
               a
               tast
               :
            
             
               Since
               we
               're
               case-harden'd
               honest
               men
               ,
            
             
               Which
               makes
               their
               Crew
               mad
               ,
            
             
               But
               us
               Loyal
               hearts
               full
               glad
               ,
            
             
               That
               the
               King
               enjoys
               His
               own
               again
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Plot
             and
             Plotters
             confounded
             ;
             or
             ,
             the
             down-fall
             of
             Whiggism
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             Ah
             Jenny
             !
             't
             is
             your
             Eyn
             do
             kill
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               THe
               Plot
               (
               God
               wot
               )
            
             
               Is
               now
               broke
               out
               ,
            
             
               Confound
               those
               brought
               it
               in
               ;
            
             
               Let
               them
               be
               Damn'd
               ,
            
             
               (
               Besides
               being
               sham'd
               ,
               )
            
             
               Of
               their
               King-killing
               sin
               ;
            
             
               Down
               ,
               down
               with
               their
               General
            
             
               Council
               and
               Collonel
               ,
            
             
               Joyner
               and
               Cobler
               of
               State
               ,
            
             
               Their
               Members
               of
               Parliament
            
             
               Of
               the
               new
               Rump
               ,
            
             
               Let
               all
               Repent
               too
               late
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Oh
               now
               you
               Whigs
            
             
               Led
               up
               this
               Jig
               ,
            
             
               What
               is
               't
               you
               'l
               lead
               up
               next
               ?
            
             
             
               Why
               saith
               I
               hear
            
             
               To
               Tyburn
               you
               gang
               ,
            
             
               For
               being
               beside
               your
               Text
               ▪
            
             
               To
               Tyburn
               the
               High-born
               ,
            
             
               As
               well
               as
               the
               Cobler
               ,
            
             
               Concern'd
               in
               Plot
               so
               dire
               ,
            
             
               Must
               
                 Hickle-te
                 Pickle-te
              
            
             
               Swing
               on
               a
               Row
               ;
            
             
               Pray
               God
               I
               am
               no
               Lyer
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Did
               ever
               Fools
            
             
               Set
               up
               such
               Tools
            
             
               That
               durst
               not
               stand
               the
               sho●k
            
             
               Of
               being
               made
               ,
            
             
               Or
               being
               marr'd
               ?
            
             
               A
               pox
               on
               such
               Bully-Rocks
               !
            
             
               Fy
               ,
               fy
               ,
               fy
               ,
               fy
               ,
            
             
               Fy
               ,
               fy
               for
               shame
               ,
            
             
               Such
               Heroes
               run
               the
               pit
               ,
            
             
               It
               shews
               ,
               God
               knows
               ,
            
             
               Their
               fear
               of
               blow●
               ,
            
             
               And
               eke
               their
               want
               of
               wit.
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               The
               King
               God
               bless
               ,
            
             
               The
               Queen
               no
               less
               ,
            
             
               The
               Duke
               and
               Dutchess
               too
               ;
            
             
               The
               Lady
               Anne
               ,
            
             
               with
               Her
               good
               Man
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               the
               
                 Royal
                 Crew
              
               :
            
             
               Let
               those
               that
               love
            
             
               The
               King
               be
               bless'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               those
               that
               hate
               Him
               curs'd
               ;
            
             
               Let
               Tories
               swim
            
             
               In
               Claret
               ,
               and
            
             
               The
               Whigs
               be
               choakt
               with
               thirst
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             Whig
             upon
             Whig
             ;
             or
             a
             Pleasant
             dismal
             SONG
             on
             the
             old
             Plotters
             newly
             found
             out
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             O
             hone
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               BEloved
               hearken
               all
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               To
               my
               sad
               Rhimes
               that
               ,
               shall
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               Be
               found
               in
               Dity
               sad
               ,
            
             
               Which
               makes
               Me
               almost
               mad
               ,
            
             
               But
               Tories
               hearts
               full
               glad
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Essex
               has
               cut
               his
               Throat
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               Russel
               is
               Guilty
               found
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               Walcot
               being
               of
               the
               Crew
               ,
            
             
               And
               Hone
               the
               Joyner
               too
               ,
            
             
               Must
               give
               the
               Devil
               his
               due
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Rumsey
               swears
               heartily
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               West
               swears
               He
               does
               not
               lie
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               L.
               
                 H
                 —
                 d
              
               vows
               by
               's
               Troth
               ,
            
             
               That
               they
               are
               good
               Men
               both
               ,
            
             
               And
               take
               the
               self
               same
               Oath
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               I
               heard
               some
               People
               say
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               M
               —
               th
               is
               fled
               away
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
             
               And
               some
               do
               not
               stick
               to
               say
               ,
            
             
               If
               He
               falls
               in
               their
               way
               ,
            
             
               He
               will
               have
               damn'd
               fair
               play
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Armstrong
               and
               Gray
               Got
               wot
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               And
               Ferguson
               the
               Scot
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               Are
               all
               run
               God
               knows
               where
               ,
            
             
               '
               Cause
               stay
               they
               dare
               not
               here
               ,
            
             
               To
               fix
               the
               Grand
               Affair
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Juries
               (
               alass
               )
               are
               thus
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               There
               's
               no
               Ignoramus
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               But
               You
               'l
               have
               Justice
               done
               ,
            
             
               To
               evr'y
               mothers
               Son
               ,
            
             
               And
               be
               Hang'd
               one
               by
               one
               .
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Now
               how
               like
               Fools
               we
               look
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               Had
               we
               not
               better
               took
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               Unto
               our
               Trades
               and
               Wives
               ,
            
             
               And
               have
               kept
               in
               our
               Hives
               ,
            
             
               Which
               might
               have
               sav'd
               our
               Lives
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               The
               King
               He
               says
               ,
               that
               all
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
             
               That
               are
               found
               Guilty
               ,
               shall
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               Die
               by
               the
               Ax
               or
               Rope
               ,
            
             
               As
               they
               dy'd
               for
               the
               Pope
               ;
            
             
               Brethren
               there
               is
               no
               Hope
               .
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               The
               Sisters
               left
               behind
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               Must
               with
               Vile
               Tories
               Grind
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               And
               still
               be
               at
               their
               Call
               ,
            
             
               To
               play
               at
               Up-tails-all
               ;
            
             
               Nay
               ,
               to
               be
               Poxt
               and
               all
               .
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               The
               Tories
               now
               will
               Drink
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               The
               Kings
               Health
               with
               our
               Chink
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
             
               Queen
               ,
               Duke
               and
               Dutchess
               too
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               the
               Loyal
               Crew
               .
            
             
               
                 Jerney
                 Morblew
                 ,
                 Morblew
              
               .
            
             
               
                 O
                 hone
                 ,
                 O
                 hone
              
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Whigs
             Droun'd
             in
             an
             Honest
             Tory
             Health
             .
          
           
             To
             a
             pleusant
             Tune
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               WEalth
               breeds
               
                 Care
                 ;
                 Love
                 ,
                 Hope
              
               and
               Fear
               ;
            
             
               What
               does
               Love
               or
               Bus'ness
               here
               ,
            
             
               While
               
               Bacchus's
               Navy
               doth
               appear
               ?
            
             
               Fight
               on
               ,
               and
               fear
               not
               sinking
               :
            
             
               Fill
               it
               briskly
               to
               the
               Brim
               ,
            
             
               Till
               the
               flying
               Top-sails
               swim
               ,
            
             
             
               We
               owe
               the
               first
               Discovery
               to
               Him
            
             
               Of
               this
               great
               World
               of
               Drinking
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Grave
               Cabals
               ,
               who
               States
               Refine
               ,
            
             
               Mingle
               their
               Debates
               with
               Wine
               ;
            
             
               Caeres
               and
               the
               God
               o'
               th'
               Vine
            
             
               Make
               every
               great
               Commander
               :
            
             
               Let
               sober
               Sots
               small
               Beer
               subdue
               ,
            
             
               The
               Wise
               and
               Valiant
               Wine
               do
               woe
               ;
            
             
               The
               Staggarite
               had
               the
               Honour
               too
            
             
               To
               be
               Drunk
               with
               Alexander
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               
                 Stand
                 to
                 your
                 Arms
              
               !
               and
               now
               advance
               ▪
            
             
               A
               health
               to
               the
               English
               King
               of
               France
               ,
            
             
               And
               to
               the
               next
               of
               
                 Boon
                 Esprance
              
            
             
               By
               Bacchus
               and
               Apollo
               :
            
             
               Thus
               in
               State
               I
               lead
               the
               Van
               ;
            
             
               
                 Fall
                 in
                 your
                 place
                 by
                 the
                 Right-hand-man
              
               !
            
             
               
                 Beat
                 Drum
                 !
                 march
                 on
                 !
                 dub
                 a
                 dub
                 ,
                 ran
                 dan
                 !
              
            
             
               He
               's
               a
               Whig
               that
               will
               not
               follow
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               
                 Face
                 about
                 to
                 the
                 Right
              
               again
               ,
            
             
               Britains
               Admiral
               of
               the
               Main
               ,
            
             
               York
               ,
               and
               His
               Illustrious
               Train
            
             
               Crown
               the
               days
               Conclusion
               :
            
             
               But
               a
               Halter
               stop
               his
               Throat
            
             
               Who
               brought
               in
               the
               foremost
               Vote
               ,
            
             
               And
               of
               all
               that
               did
               promote
            
             
               The
               Mystery
               of
               Exclusion
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Next
               to
               Denmark's
               War-like
               Prince
               ▪
            
             
               Let
               the
               following
               Health
               commence
               ;
            
             
               To
               the
               Nymph
               whose
               Influence
            
             
               Brought
               the
               Hero
               hither
               :
            
             
             
               May
               their
               Race
               the
               Tribe
               annoy
               ,
            
             
               Who
               the
               Grandsire
               would
               destroy
               ,
            
             
               And
               get
               every
               year
               a
               Boy
            
             
               Whilst
               they
               are
               together
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               To
               the
               
                 Royal
                 Family
              
            
             
               Let
               us
               close
               in
               Bumpers
               three
               ;
            
             
               May
               the
               Ax
               and
               ●alter
               be
            
             
               The
               Pledge
               of
               every
               Roundhead
               :
            
             
               To
               all
               Loyal
               Hearts
               pursue
               ,
            
             
               Who
               to
               the
               Monarch
               dare
               prove
               true
               ;
            
             
               But
               for
               Him
               they
               call
               
                 ●rue
                 blew
              
               ,
            
             
               Let
               him
               be
               confounded
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             An
             excellent
             new
             Song
             on
             the
             late
             Victories
             over
             the
             Turks
             .
          
           
             To
             a
             very
             Pleasant
             New
             Tune
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               HArk
               !
               the
               thundring
               Canons
               roar
               ,
            
             
               ecchoing
               from
               the
               German
               shore
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               joyful
               News
               comes
               o'●
               ▪
            
             
               The
               Turks
               are
               all
               confounded
               ;
            
             
               Lorrain
               comes
               ,
               they
               run
               ,
               they
               run
               ;
            
             
               Charge
               your
               Horse
               through
               the
               grand
               half-moon
            
             
               We
               'l
               quarter
               give
               to
               none
               ,
            
             
               Since
               Staremberg
               is
               wounded
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Close
               your
               Ranks
               ,
               and
               each
               brave
               Soul
            
             
               Take
               a
               lusty
               flowing
               Bowl
               ,
            
             
               A
               grand
               Carouse
               to
               th'
               
                 Royal
                 ●●le
              
               ,
            
             
               The
               Empires
               brave
               Defender
               ;
            
             
               No
               man
               leave
               his
               Post
               by
               stealth
               ,
            
             
               Plunder
               the
               
                 Grand
                 Visiens
              
               Wealth
               ,
            
             
               But
               drink
               a
               Helmet
               full
               to
               th'
               Health
               ▪
            
             
               Of
               the
               second
               Alexander
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Mahomet
               was
               a
               sober
               Dog
               ,
            
             
               A
               
                 small
                 Beer
              
               drouzy
               senseless
               rogue
               ,
            
             
               
                 The
                 Juice
                 of
                 the
                 Grape
                 so
                 much
                 in
                 vogue
              
            
             
               To
               forbid
               to
               those
               Adore
               him
               ;
            
             
               Had
               he
               but
               allow'd
               the
               Vine
               ,
            
             
               Given'em
               leave
               to
               carouze
               in
               Wine
            
             
               The
               Turk
               had
               safely
               past
               the
               Rhine
               ,
            
             
               And
               conquer'd
               all
               before
               him
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               With
               dull
               Tea
               they
               sought
               in
               vain
               ,
            
             
               Hopeless
               Vict'ry
               to
               obtain
               ,
            
             
               Where
               sprighty
               Wine
               fills
               ev'ry
               Vein
               ;
            
             
               Success
               must
               needs
               attend
               him
               ;
            
             
               Our
               Brains
               ,
               (
               like
               our
               Canons
               )
               warm
            
             
               With
               often
               Firing
               ,
               feels
               no
               harm
               ,
            
             
               While
               the
               sober
               sot
               flies
               the
               Alarm
               ,
            
             
               No
               Lawrel
               can
               befriend
               him
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Christians
               thus
               with
               
                 Conquests
                 Crown'd
              
               ,
            
             
               Conquest
               with
               the
               Glass
               goes
               round
               ,
            
             
               Weak
               Coffee
               can't
               keep
               its
               ground
               ,
            
             
               Against
               the
               force
               of
               Claret
               :
            
             
               Whilst
               we
               give
               them
               thus
               the
               Foyl
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               
                 Pagan
                 Troops
              
               Recoyl
               ,
            
             
               The
               Valiant
               Poles
               divide
               the
               Spoyl
               ,
            
             
               And
               in
               brisk
               Nectar
               share
               it
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Infidels
               are
               now
               o'recome
               ,
            
             
               
                 But
                 the
                 most
                 Christian
                 Turks
                 at
                 home
              
            
             
               Watching
               the
               Fate
               of
               Christendom
               ,
            
             
               But
               all
               his
               hopes
               are
               shallow
               ;
            
             
               Since
               the
               Poles
               have
               led
               the
               Dance
               ,
            
             
               Let
               English
               Caesar
               now
               advance
               ,
            
             
             
               And
               if
               he
               sends
               a
               Fleet
               to
               France
               ,
            
             
               He
               's
               a
               Whig
               that
               will
               not
               follow
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Tangiers
             Lamentation
             on
             the
             Demolishing
             and
             Blowing
             up
             of
             the
             
               Town
               ,
               Castle
            
             and
             Citadel
             ▪
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Tangier
               March.
            
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               LEt
               the
               Moors
               repine
               ,
            
             
               Their
               hopes
               resign
               ,
            
             
               Now
               the
               Pagan
               Troops
               are
               cheated
               ▪
            
             
               Let
               Foot
               and
               Horse
            
             
               Disband
               their
               Force
               ,
            
             
               Since
               Tangier
               is
               defeated
               :
            
             
               Alas
               Tangier
               !
               what
               sudden
               Doom
            
             
               Hath
               wrought
               this
               alteration
               ,
            
             
               That
               thus
               thy
               March
               should
               now
               become
            
             
               Thy
               fatal
               Lamentation
               ?
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Now
               ,
               alas
               Tangier
               !
            
             
               That
               cost
               so
               dear
            
             
               In
               Money
               ,
               Lives
               ,
               and
               Fortunes
               ,
            
             
               See
               how
               the
               States
               ,
            
             
               The
               kinder
               Fates
               ,
            
             
               For
               thy
               own
               Fate
               importunes
               :
            
             
               Had
               this
               been
               plotted
               by
               the
               Moors
               ,
            
             
               Alas
               !
               it
               were
               no
               matter
               ;
            
             
               But
               blown
               up
               thus
               by
               thy
               own
               Store
               ,
            
             
               Thou●dst
               better
               swem
               in
               Water
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               The
               old
               Port
               ,
               Tangier
               ,
            
             
               Where
               for
               good
               Cheer
            
             
               We
               never
               paid
               Extortion
               ;
            
             
               Which
               ,
               whilst
               it
               stood
               ,
            
             
               War
               once
               thought
               good
            
             
               To
               be
               a
               Monarchs
               Portion
               .
            
             
             
               Whilst
               English
               Hearts
               Thy
               Walls
               possest
               ,
            
             
               They
               scorn'd
               e'r
               to
               surrender
               ,
            
             
               Now
               to
               the
               Foe
               is
               left
               a
               Nest
            
             
               For
               Serpents
               to
               engender
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Alas
               !
               what
               now
            
             
               Must
               the
               Sea-men
               do
               ,
            
             
               When
               they
               come
               ashore
               to
               Lord
               it
               ,
            
             
               For
               a
               little
               Fresh
               Store
               ,
            
             
               And
               a
               little
               Fresh
               Whore
               ?
            
             
               Which
               Tangier
               still
               afforded
               ▪
            
             
               No
               Ambuscade
               of
               Treacherous
               Moor
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               shall
               Ben
               Otter's
               Highness
            
             
               Court
               any
               more
               the
               British
               Shoar
               ,
            
             
               To
               try
               the
               Ladies
               kindness
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               It
               would
               grieve
               your
               heart
               ,
            
             
               Should
               I
               impart
            
             
               The
               Gold
               and
               precious
               Matter
            
             
               That
               lies
               opprest
            
             
               In
               every
               Chest
            
             
               Drown'd
               underneath
               the
               Water
               ;
            
             
               But
               now
               the
               Mold
               that
               forc'd
               the
               Main
               ,
            
             
               The
               Mold
               so
               gay
               and
               bonny
               ,
            
             
               Is
               with
               the
               Chests
               blown
               up
               again
               ▪
            
             
               But
               ne'r
               a
               Cross
               of
               Money
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Of
               how
               many
               Souls
               ,
            
             
               And
               large
               Punch-bowls
               ,
            
             
               Has
               this
               been
               the
               undoing
               ?
            
             
               How
               many
               Tun
            
             
               Of
               precious
               Coyn
            
             
               Lie
               buried
               in
               the
               Ruine
               ?
            
             
               Had
               this
               been
               done
               some
               years
               ago
               ,
            
             
             
               Of
               Horsemen
               and
               Postillions
               ,
            
             
               'T
               had
               sav'd
               some
               thou
               and
               Lives
               the
               blow
               ,
            
             
               And
               sav'd
               besides
               some
               Millions
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               When
               the
               Pile
               took
               fire
            
             
               Above
               the
               Spire
               ,
            
             
               I
               wish
               (
               for
               th'
               good
               o'
               th'
               Nation
               )
            
             
               The
               Walls
               well
               cramm'd
               ,
            
             
               With
               Rebels
               ramm'd
            
             
               Of
               the
               ●ssociation
               :
            
             
               All
               Bethells
               of
               a
               Commonwealth
               ,
            
             
               Each
               sullen
               Whig
               and
               Trimmer
               ,
            
             
               That
               boggle
               at
               a
               
                 Loyal
                 Health
              
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               will
               not
               bawk
               a
               Brimmer
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Now
               Heav'n
               preserve
            
             
               (
               While
               Rebels
               starve
               )
            
             
               The
               King
               and
               's
               Royal
               Brother
               ,
            
             
               While
               Traytors
               fly
               ,
            
             
               And
               others
               die
               ,
            
             
               Impeaching
               one
               another
               :
            
             
               That
               Gracious
               Prince
               that
               values
               more
            
             
               His
               Subjects
               Lives
               and
               Pleasure
               ,
            
             
               Than
               all
               the
               Wealth
               of
               Africks
               shoar
               ,
            
             
               And
               Tangiers
               buried
               Treasure
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             History
             of
             Whiggism
             ,
             From
             their
             Rise
             ,
             to
             their
             late
             horrid
             and
             unparallel'd
             Conspiracy
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               When
               the
               Stormy
               Winds
               do
               Blow
               .
            
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               YOu
               Calvinists
               of
               England
               ,
            
             
               Who
               surfeit
               with
               your
               Ease
               ,
            
             
               And
               strive
               to
               make
               us
               Whigland
               ,
            
             
               To
               breed
               a
               foul
               Disease
               :
            
             
             
               Hearken
               you
               painted
               Saints
               ,
            
             
               For
               we
               will
               let
               you
               know
               ,
            
             
               Oh
               ,
               the
               Cares
               and
               the
               Fears
            
             
               That
               by
               you
               Whigs
               do
               grow
               !
            
          
           
             
               The
               first
               of
               your
               pretensions
            
             
               When
               that
               you
               did
               begin
               ,
            
             
               Were
               gloss'd
               with
               good
               Intentions
               ,
            
             
               But
               false
               at
               Heart
               within
               :
            
             
               No
               Faith
               in
               you
               was
               ever
               found
               ,
            
             
               That
               Truth
               we
               plainly
               know
               ,
            
             
               
                 Oh
                 the
                 Cares
                 and
                 the
                 Fears
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 by
                 you
              
               Whigs
               
                 do
                 grow
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               Queen
               Elizabeth
               she
               did
               descry
               ,
            
             
               And
               soon
               found
               what
               you
               were
               ;
            
             
               She
               made
               fit
               Laws
               against
               you
            
             
               By
               Parliament
               appear
               ;
            
             
               Which
               late
               you
               'd
               have
               Repealed
               ,
            
             
               But
               just
               Charles
               too
               well
               did
               know
               ,
            
             
               
                 All
                 the
                 Cares
                 and
                 the
                 Fears
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 by
                 you
              
               Whigs
               
                 do
                 grow
              
               !
            
          
           
             
               Such
               Locusts
               in
               the
               Nation
            
             
               King
               James
               could
               never
               love
               ;
            
             
               Wherefore
               he
               thought
               discretion
            
             
               T'
               advise
               his
               Son
               t'disprove
            
             
               Of
               all
               your
               false
               pretended
               Zeal
               ;
            
             
               For
               wisely
               he
               did
               know
               ,
            
             
               
                 Oh
                 ,
                 the
                 Cares
                 and
                 the
                 Fears
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 by
                 you
              
               Whigs
               
                 do
                 grow
              
               !
            
          
           
             
               When
               best
               of
               Kings
               and
               Princes
            
             
               Did
               give
               your
               hearts
               desire
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               you
               were
               not
               contented
               ,
            
             
               To
               th'
               Crown
               you
               did
               aspire
               ;
            
             
             
               You
               said
               ,
               
                 you
                 'd
                 make
                 him
                 Great
              
               ,
            
             
               Indeed
               you
               did
               do
               so
               ;
            
             
               
                 But
                 oh
                 ,
                 the
                 Cares
                 and
                 the
                 Fears
              
            
             
               
                 Attends
                 such
                 Winds
                 that
                 blow
              
               !
            
          
           
             
               On
               the
               Mitre
               you
               did
               trample
            
             
               To
               make
               your selves
               more
               high
               ,
            
             
               With
               greater
               force
               to
               give
               the
               stroke
            
             
               Against
               His
               Majesty
               :
            
             
               Ah!
               false
               and
               trayterous
               Tekelites
               ,
            
             
               Such
               ways
               to
               let
               us
               know
            
             
               
                 The
                 great
                 Cares
                 and
                 the
                 Fears
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 by
                 you
              
               Whigs
               
                 do
                 grow
              
               !
            
          
           
             
               The
               Whig
               he
               then
               stood
               rampant
               ,
            
             
               To
               us
               he
               gave
               his
               Laws
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               such
               he
               dare
               not
               vaunt
               on
               't
               ,
            
             
               So
               sharp
               we
               felt
               his
               Claws
               :
            
             
               YOu
               then
               laid
               open
               what
               you
               were
               ,
            
             
               And
               smartly
               made
               us
               know
            
             
               
                 Oh
                 ,
                 the
                 Cares
                 and
                 the
                 Fears
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 by
                 you
              
               Whigs
               
                 do
                 grow
              
               !
            
          
           
             
               The
               Blessed
               Martyrs
               Royal
               Son
               ,
            
             
               Whom
               Heav'n
               guarded
               sure
               ,
            
             
               And
               made
               us
               happy
               by
               's
               Return
               ,
            
             
               Him
               you
               could
               not
               endure
               :
            
             
               Against
               His
               Life
               you
               did
               conspire
               ,
            
             
               And
               Mighty
               James
               also
               ;
            
             
               
                 Oh
                 ,
                 the
                 Cares
                 and
                 the
                 Fears
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 by
                 you
              
               Whigs
               
                 do
                 grow
              
               !
            
          
           
             
               Peace
               ,
               Plenty
               ,
               and
               all
               that
               's
               good
               ,
            
             
               Through
               His
               Conduct
               we
               have
               :
            
             
               Ungrateful
               Souls
               !
               to
               seek
               his
               Blood
               ▪
            
             
               Who
               seeks
               us
               for
               to
               save
               ;
            
             
             
               And
               by
               your
               late
               Rebellious
               ways
            
             
               Again
               to
               make
               us
               know
               ,
            
             
               
                 Oh
                 ,
                 the
                 Cares
                 and
                 the
                 Fears
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 by
                 you
              
               Whigs
               
                 do
                 grow
              
               !
            
          
           
             
               With
               furious
               Zeal
               you
               do
               inflame
               ,
            
             
               And
               cause
               our
               Countreys
               burn
               :
            
             
               You
               work
               Confusion
               ,
               but
               the
               blame
            
             
               On
               Innocents
               you
               turn
               ▪
            
             
               Your
               holy
               Masque
               is
               dropping
               off
               ,
            
             
               God
               grant
               it
               may
               do
               so
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 stop
                 the
                 Cares
                 and
                 the
                 Fears
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 by
                 you
              
               Whigs
               
                 do
                 grow
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               May
               
                 Colledge
                 ,
                 Rouse
              
               ,
               and
               Hone
               ,
               their
               Fate
            
             
               On
               Traytors
               all
               attend
               :
            
             
               What
               though
               i●
               seems
               a
               little
               late
               ?
            
             
               Yet
               still
               we
               know
               your
               end
               .
            
             
               ●ust
               Vengeance
               does
               not
               sleep
               ,
            
             
               Though
               you
               do
               think
               it
               so
               ;
            
             
               
                 You
                 'll
                 have
                 your
                 shares
                 of
                 the
                 Cares
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 by
                 you
              
               Whigs
               
                 do
                 grow
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               Long
               live
               great
               Charles
               our
               pious
               King
            
             
               Who
               cares
               when
               we
               do
               sleep
               ,
            
             
               To
               keep
               still
               safe
               under
               his
               Wing
            
             
               From
               Ravenous
               Wolves
               his
               Sheep
               :
            
             
               He
               us
               preserves
               from
               Bears
               Clutch
               ▪
            
             
               The
               Lyons
               Jaw
               also
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 from
                 all
                 Cares
                 and
                 all
                 Fears
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 by
                 you
              
               Whigs
               
                 do
                 grow
              
            
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             
               Whigs
               ▪
            
             hard
             Heart
             the
             cause
             of
             the
             hard
             Frost
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             Oh
             London
             !
             Th'adst
             better
             have
             built
             new
             Bordello's
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               YE
               Whigs
               and
               Dissenters
               ,
               I
               charge
               you
               attend
               ,
            
             
               Here
               is
               a
               sad
               story
               ,
               as
               ever
               was
               told
               :
            
             
               The
               River
               of
               Thames
               ,
               that
               once
               was
               your
               Friend
               ,
            
             
               Is
               frozen
               quite
               over
               with
               Ice
               very
               cold
               ;
            
             
               And
               Fish
               which
               abounded
               ,
            
             
               Tho'
               they
               can't
               be
               drownded
               ,
            
             
               For
               lack
               of
               their
               Liquor
               ,
               I
               fear
               are
               confounded
            
             
               Then
               leave
               your
               Rebellious
               &
               damn'd
               Presbytering
               ,
            
             
               Or
               you
               may
               be
               glad
               of
               Poor-Jack
               &
               Red-herring
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Now
               ,
               had
               it
               been
               frozen
               with
               Brimstone
               and
               Fire
               ,
            
             
               The
               wonder
               had
               been
               much
               deeper
               at
               bottom
               ;
            
             
               Tho'
               some
               do
               believe
               your
               Sins
               do
               require
            
             
               A
               Punishment
               great
               as
               e'r
               fell
               upon
               Sodom
               :
            
             
               But
               then
               the
               poor
               Fish
            
             
               Had
               been
               dress'd
               to
               your
               Dish
               ,
            
             
               And
               ,
               stead
               of
               a
               Plague
               ,
               you
               had
               then
               had
               your
               wish
               ;
            
             
               
                 Pikes
                 ,
                 Flounders
              
               ,
               together
               with
               Gudgeons
               and
               Roaches
               ,
            
             
               Had
               served
               for
               the
               Luxury
               of
               these
               Debauche●s
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               But
               ,
               alas
               !
               to
               instruct
               ye
               this
               Frost
               now
               is
               sent
               ,
            
             
               As
               if
               it
               would
               shew
               ye
               your
               Consciences
               harden'd
               ;
            
             
               And
               if
               each
               Mothers-child
               make
               not
               hast
               to
               repent
               ,
            
             
               How
               the
               Devil
               d'
               ye
               think
               ye
               shall
               ever
               be
               pardon'd
            
             
               'T
               is
               a
               very
               sad
               Case
               ,
            
             
               As
               ever
               yet
               was
               ,
            
             
               That
               the
               River
               should
               suffer
               for
               every
               Ass
               !
            
             
             
               Poor
               Thames
               !
               thou
               mayst
               curse
               the
               foul
               Lake
               of
               Geneva
               ,
            
             
               For
               whose
               faults
               Thou
               dost
               penance
               ,
               sans
               hope
               of
               Reprieve-a
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               This
               Thames
               ,
               (
               O
               ye
               Whigs
               !
               )
               brought
               ye
               Plenty
               &
               Pride
               ,
            
             
               So
               ye
               harden'd
               your
               hearts
               with
               your
               Silver
               and
               Gold
            
             
               But
               if
               ever
               ye
               hope
               to
               redeem
               Time
               or
               Tide
               ,
            
             
               ●ot
               must
               your
               Repentance
               ,
               your
               Zeal
               must
               be
               cold
               ;
            
             
               Your
               damn'd
               hungry
               Zeal
            
             
               For
               rank
               Commonweal
            
             
               Will
               hurry
               ye
               headlong
               all
               down
               to
               the
               Deel
               ;
            
             
               Then
               melt
               your
               hard
               hearts
               ,
               and
               your
               tears
               spread
               abroad
               .
            
             
               As
               ever
               ye
               hope
               that
               your
               Thames
               shall
               be
               Thaw'd
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Make
               hast
               ,
               and
               be
               soon
               reconcil'd
               to
               the
               Truth
               ,
            
             
               Or
               you
               may
               lament
               it
               ,
               both
               old
               men
               and
               young
               ;
            
             
               For
               ,
               suppose
               ev'ry
               Shop
               should
               be
               turn'd
               to
               a
               Booth
            
             
               Oh
               ,
               were
               it
               not
               sad
               to
               be
               told
               with
               a
               tongue
               !
            
             
               Should
               Cheapside
               advance
            
             
               Up
               to
               Pety-France
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 Londons
                 Guild-hall
              
               up
               to
               Westminster
               dance
               ;
            
             
               O
               ,
               what
               would
               become
               of
               your
               wealthy
               brave
               Chamber
               ,
            
             
               If
               it
               were
               forc'd
               so
               far
               Westward
               to
               clamber
               ?
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               
                 C●ck
                 shops
              
               with
               
                 rost
                 Victuals
              
               ,
               and
               Taverns
               with
               Wine
               ,
            
             
               Already
               are
               seen
               on
               the
               River
               with
               plenty
               ,
            
             
               ●hich
               are
               fill'd
               ev'ry
               morning
               before
               ye
               can
               dine
               ,
            
             
               By
               Two's
               and
               by
               Three
               's
               ,
               I
               may
               truly
               say
               Twenty
               ;
            
             
               
                 Jack
                 ,
                 Tom
                 ,
                 Will
              
               ,
               and
               Hary
               .
            
             
               
                 Nan
                 ,
                 Sue
                 ,
                 Doll
              
               ,
               and
               Mary
               ,
            
             
               Come
               there
               to
               devour
               Plum-Cakes
               and
               Canary
               :
            
             
             
               And
               if
               with
               their
               Dancing
               &
               Wine
               they
               be
               tir'd
               ,
            
             
               For
               a
               Tester
               a
               piece
               there
               's
               a
               Coach
               to
               be
               hir'd
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               There
               's
               
                 Ginger-bread
                 ,
                 Small-Cole
              
               ,
               and
               
                 hot
                 Pudding-pies
              
               ,
            
             
               With
               
                 Bread
                 &
                 Cheese
                 ,
                 Brandy
              
               &
               good
               
                 Ale
                 &
                 Beer
              
               :
            
             
               Besides
               the
               Plum-Cakes
               too
               ,
               there
               's
               large
               
                 Cakes
                 of
                 Ice
              
               ,
            
             
               Enough
               to
               invite
               him
               that
               will
               come
               here
               ;
            
             
               All
               which
               does
               betide
            
             
               To
               punish
               your
               Pride
               ;
            
             
               Y'
               are
               plagu'd
               now
               with
               Ice
               ,
               '
               cause
               you
               love
               to
               back
               -
               slide
               :
            
             
               Methinks
               if
               should
               warn
               you
               to
               alter
               your
               station
               .
            
             
               For
               y
               'ave
               hitherto
               built
               on
               a
               
                 slippery
                 Foundation
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Ye
               Merchants
               to
               Greenland
               ,
               now
               leave
               off
               your
               sailing
               ,
            
             
               And
               for
               your
               Tr●in-Oyl
               you●selves
               never
               solicit
               ;
            
             
               For
               there
               is
               no
               fear
               of
               your
               Merchandise
               failing
               ,
            
             
               Since
               the
               Whales
               ,
               I●m
               afraid
               ,
               mean
               to
               give
               us
               a
               visit
               :
            
             
               The
               great
               Leviathan
            
             
               May
               sail
               to
               England
               ,
            
             
               To
               see
               a
               worse
               Monster
               the
               Presbyterian
               .
            
             
               Was
               ever
               a
               Vengeance
               so
               wonderful
               shewn
               ,
            
             
               That
               a
               River
               so
               great
               should
               be
               turn'd
               to
               a
               Town
               ?
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Swearers
             Chorus
             to
             the
             Presbyterian
             Plot.
             
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               The
               merry
               Beggers
            
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               THere
               was
               a
               Monstruous
               Doctor
               ;
            
             
               This
               Doctor
               had
               no
               Peer
               ,
            
             
               A
               Rogue
               from
               his
               Cradle
            
             
               And
               bred
               to
               Lie
               and
               Swear
               ;
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Swearing
               
                 we
                 will
                 go
                 ,
                 will
                 go
                 ,
                 will
                 go
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Swearing
               
                 we
                 will
                 go
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               A
               Bag
               for
               my
               Pilgrims
               ▪
            
             
               Another
               for
               
                 Black
                 Bills
              
               ,
            
             
             
               Ten
               thousand
               
                 blank
                 Commissions
              
            
             
               To
               move
               as
               many
               Hills
               :
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Swearing
               
                 we
                 will
                 go
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               A
               Bag
               for
               my
               Sallery
               ,
            
             
               From
               every
               Fool
               suborns
               ,
            
             
               Three
               brawny
               Bums
               to
               follow
               me
               ,
            
             
               And
               bugger
               them
               by
               turns
               :
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Bugg
               ring
               
                 we
                 will
                 go
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               A
               Bag
               for
               my
               Plunder
               ,
            
             
               Sir
               
               William's
               on
               the
               scent
               ;
            
             
               The
               Pole
               did
               n●er
               so
               thunder
            
             
               In
               the
               Grand
               Vizier's
               Tent
               :
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Pundring
               
                 we
                 will
                 go
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               A
               Bag
               for
               my
               Necklace
               ,
            
             
               Another
               for
               my
               Plate
               ;
            
             
               And
               all
               shall
               be
               Fish
            
             
               That
               comes
               in
               
               Waller's
               Net
               ;
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Plund'ring
               
                 we
                 will
                 go
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               A
               Bag
               for
               my
               Pistols
               ▪
            
             
               And
               
                 Consecrated
                 Knives
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               one
               for
               Tormentillio's
               ,
            
             
               T'fright
               Fools
               out
               of
               their
               Lives
               :
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Plotting
               
                 we
                 will
                 go
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               A
               Bag
               for
               the
               Parson
               ,
            
             
               Another
               for
               
                 Don
                 John
              
               ;
            
             
               Though
               I
               swore
               like
               a
               Whoreson
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               still
               I
               did
               swear
               on
               :
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Swearing
               
                 we
                 will
                 go
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Through
               four
               and
               twenty
               Key-holes
            
             
               I
               sally'd
               like
               a
               Witch
               ,
            
             
               And
               through
               as
               many
               Brick-walls
            
             
               I
               'll
               swear
               I
               went
               through-stitch
               :
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Swearing
               
                 I
                 did
                 go
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               To
               Lambeth
               we
               will
               go
               ,
            
             
               Where
               we
               first
               made
               the
               Plot
               ;
            
             
               While
               Prance
               and
               I
               can
               swear
               and
               lie
               ,
            
             
               They
               all
               shall
               go
               to
               pot
               :
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Plotting
               
                 we
                 will
                 go
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               Then
               we
               'l
               to
               Godfrey
               go
               ,
            
             
               And
               find
               Him
               kill'd
               o'
               th'
               spot
               ,
            
             
               And
               swear
               the
               Papists
               did
               it
               ,
            
             
               To
               make
               a
               Popish-Plot
               :
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Murd'ring
               
                 we
                 will
                 go
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               11.
               
            
             
               A
               Gown
               I
               have
               for
               shew
            
             
               Amongst
               the
               Clergy
               grave
               ,
            
             
               And
               ,
               when
               I
               please
               ,
               a
               Cloak
            
             
               To
               hide
               the
               double
               Knave
               :
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Plotting
               
                 we
                 will
                 go
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               12.
               
            
             
               I
               had
               a
               pretty
               knack
               ,
            
             
               To
               Wheedle
               ,
               Swear
               and
               Lye
               ,
            
             
               By
               the
               Rebellious
               Rabble
            
             
               How
               much
               admir'd
               was
               I
               !
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Swearing
               
                 we
                 will
                 go
              
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               13.
               
            
             
               In
               fair
               London
               Town
            
             
               I
               live
               ,
               and
               pay
               no
               Rent
               ;
            
             
               The
               Brethren
               they
               provide
               for
               me
               ,
            
             
             
               And
               I
               am
               well
               content
               :
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Swearing
               
                 we
                 will
                 go
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               14.
               
            
             
               Of
               all
               Occupations
            
             
               The
               Swearer
               is
               most
               blest
               ;
            
             
               For
               when
               he
               swears
               most
               falsly
               ,
            
             
               He
               's
               always
               paid
               the
               best
               :
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Swearing
               
                 we
                 will
                 go
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               15.
               
            
             
               I
               fear
               no
               Plot
               against
               me
               ,
            
             
               Although
               the
               Whigs
               rebel
               ;
            
             
               Then
               who
               would
               be
               honest
               ,
            
             
               Since
               such
               Rogues
               fare
               so
               well
               ?
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Plotting
               
                 we
                 will
                 go
                 ,
                 will
                 go
                 ,
                 will
                 go
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Plotting
               
                 we
                 will
                 go
              
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             New
             SONG
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             I
             'll
             tell
             thee
             ,
             Dick
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               I
               Hil
               tell
               thee
               ,
               Tom
               ,
               the
               strangest
               story
               ,
            
             
               Because
               thou
               art
               an
               honest
               Tory
               ;
            
             
               'T
               is
               News
               beyond
               expressions
               :
            
             
               Zich
               zights
               are
               no
               where
               to
               be
               zeen
            
             
               In
               any
               Lond
               ,
               (
               
                 God
                 zave
                 the
                 Queen
              
               )
            
             
               But
               at
               our
               Quarter-Sessions
               .
            
          
           
             
               Vor
               Rogues
               I
               zaw
               in
               zich
               a
               place
               ,
            
             
               As
               wou'd
               the
               Gibbet
               quite
               disgrace
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               pity
               it
               shou'd
               want
               'em
               :
            
             
               But
               how
               the
               Devil
               they
               came
               there
               ,
            
             
               List
               ,
               Tom
               ,
               and
               I
               hil
               in
               brief
               declare
            
             
               And
               how
               they
               did
               recant
               'em
               ,
            
          
           
             
               When
               I
               was
               late
               at
               London
               Town
               ,
            
             
               To
               zee
               zome
               zights
               e●r
               I
               went
               down
               ,
            
             
               To
               White-hall
               I
               did
               venture
               ;
            
             
               And
               having
               on
               my
               best
               Array
               ,
            
             
             
               As
               vine
               as
               on
               a
               Holy-day
               ,
            
             
               Zoors
               I
               made
               bold
               to
               enter
               .
            
          
           
             
               Up
               stairs
               I
               went
               ,
               which
               were
               as
               brooad
               ,
            
             
               And
               Dirty
               too
               as
               any
               Rooad
               ,
            
             
               Or
               as
               the
               streets
               o'
               th'
               Zity
               .
            
             
               Hadst
               thou
               been
               there
               ,
               thou
               wouldst
               have
               said
            
             
               His
               Majesty
               had
               kept
               no
               Maid
               ,
            
             
               Gods
               zooks
               ,
               and
               that
               's
               a
               pity
               .
            
          
           
             
               When
               I
               was
               up
               ,
               I
               did
               discern
            
             
               A
               Chamber
               bigger
               than
               a
               Barn
               ,
            
             
               Where
               I
               did
               see
               Voke
               stand
               ,
            
             
               That
               I
               was
               well
               near
               vrighted
               quite
               ,
            
             
               It
               was
               so
               strange
               and
               grim
               a
               zight
               ,
            
             
               With
               long
               things
               in
               their
               hand
               .
            
          
           
             
               Their
               Cloathing
               cannot
               well
               be
               told
               ,
            
             
               on
               which
               were
               things
               of
               beaten
               Gold
            
             
               Upon
               their
               Back
               and
               Breast
               ;
            
             
               I
               doft
               my
               Hat
               when
               I
               came
               in
               ,
            
             
               Quoth
               I
               ,
               
                 Pray
                 which
                 of
                 you's
                 the
                 King
              
               ?
            
             
               Which
               made
               a
               woundy
               Jest
               .
            
          
           
             
               At
               last
               came
               by
               a
               Gentlemon
               ,
            
             
               Who
               made
               me
               zoon
               to
               understond
            
             
               I
               need
               not
               be
               avear'd
               ;
            
             
               Quoth
               he
               ,
               Come
               on
               ,
               and
               vollow
               me
               ,
            
             
               I
               hil
               shew
               thee
               straight
               His
               Majesty
               ;
            
             
               Vor
               thease
               are
               but
               His
               Guard.
               
            
          
           
             
               But
               ,
               Tom
               ,
               not
               any
               Wake
               or
               Vair
            
             
               Can
               shew
               zich
               numbers
               as
               are
               there
               ,
            
             
               Still
               cringing
               low
               ,
               and
               bowing
               ,
            
             
               That
               I
               may
               zwear
               ,
               and
               tell
               no
               lie
               ,
            
             
               They
               wearier
               are
               ,
               than
               Thou
               or
               I
            
             
               With
               Thrashing
               or
               with
               Plowing
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               No
               Ants
               do
               vaster
               lead
               or
               drive
               ,
            
             
               Or
               Bees
               buz
               to
               or
               fro'
               the
               Hive
               ,
            
             
               I
               ma●l
               they
               were
               not
               dizzy
               ;
            
             
               And
               zure
               the
               Nations
               great
               Avairs
            
             
               Lay
               heavily
               upon
               their
               Cares
               ,
            
             
               They
               look'd
               zo
               wise
               and
               busie
               .
            
          
           
             
               At
               last
               came
               in
               His
               Majesty
               ,
            
             
               Not
               taller
               much
               than
               Thou
               or
               I
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               ,
               whatzoe'r
               I
               ail'd
               ,
            
             
               With
               only
               gazing
               on
               his
               Vace
               ,
            
             
               I
               trembl'd
               like
               a
               Love-zick
               Lass
            
             
               Just
               on
               the
               point
               to
               yield
               .
            
          
           
             
               He
               look'd
               ,
               methought
               ,
               above
               the
               rest
               ,
            
             
               Tho
               not
               by
               half
               zo
               vinely
               drest
               ,
            
             
               Which
               made
               me
               vall
               a
               zwearing
               ,
            
             
               A
               Pox
               upon
               the
               Parliament
               ,
            
             
               That
               will
               not
               let
               us
               pay
               him
               Rent
               ,
            
             
               Gold's
               only
               for
               his
               wearing
            
          
           
             
               A
               Ribbon
               vine
               came
               cross
               avore
               ,
            
             
               Zich
               as
               our
               Landlords
               bridemen
               wore
            
             
               At
               end
               of
               which
               was
               hung
            
             
               A
               curious
               thing
               ,
               that
               shone
               as
               bright
            
             
               As
               
               Maudlin's
               eyes
               ,
               or
               morning
               light
               ,
            
             
               When
               guilded
               by
               the
               Zun
               ,
            
          
           
             
               But
               now
               the
               news
               ,
               I
               hil
               tell
               thee
               Truth
               ,
            
             
               Hard
               by
               hi●
               zide
               there
               stood
               a
               Youth
               ,
            
             
               That
               look●d
               as
               trim
               and
               gay
               ,
            
             
               As
               if
               de
               had
               not
               guilty
               bin
            
             
               Of
               wishing
               e'r
               to
               be
               a
               King
               ,
            
             
               Unless
               a
               King
               of
               May.
               
            
          
           
             
               It
               was
               the
               zame
               our
               Vicar
               zed
            
             
               Vor
               Treason
               shou'd
               have
               last
               his
               Head
               ,
            
             
               Vor
               which
               ●ive
               hundred
               Pound
            
             
             
               By
               Proclamation
               offer'd
               was
            
             
               To
               any
               that
               shou'd
               take
               his
               Grace
            
             
               In
               any
               Kerson
               ground
               .
            
          
           
             
               Won
               Zunday
               morn
               ,
               thou
               maist
               remember
               ,
            
             
               I
               think
               the
               twantieth
               of
               Zeptember
               ,
            
             
               Our
               Parson
               read
               a
               thing
               ,
            
             
               How
               this
               zame
               Spark
               ,
               (
               a
               vengeance
               on
               him
               !
               )
            
             
               With
               vorty
               moor
               ,
               did
               take
               upon
               him
            
             
               To
               kill
               our
               Gracious
               King.
               
            
          
           
             
               But
               scant
               the
               vrighted
               harmless
               Zwain
               ,
            
             
               That
               meets
               a
               Wolf
               upon
               the
               Plain
               ,
            
             
               Was
               so
               agast
               with
               vear
               :
            
             
               Wounds
               !
               if
               His
               Majesty
               (
               quoth
               I
               )
            
             
               Does
               keep
               no
               better
               Company
               ,
            
             
               I
               hil
               stay
               no
               longer
               here
               .
            
          
           
             
               With
               that
               ,
               the
               Mon
               that
               brought
               me
               in
            
             
               By
               th'
               Jacket
               pull'd
               me
               back
               again
               ;
            
             
               Quoth
               he
               ,
               Pray
               hear
               ye
               reason
               ;
            
             
               He
               was
               a
               What-d'ye-cal't
               ,
               't
               is
               true
               ,
            
             
               But●s
               Pardon
               makes
               him
               vree
               as
               you
            
             
               Vrom
               Knavery
               or
               Treason
               .
            
          
           
             
               Whaw
               ,
               whaw
               !
               quoth
               I
               ,
               a
               pretty
               Nick
               ,
            
             
               To
               make
               Rogues
               honest
               by
               a
               trick
            
             
               Zo
               often
               try'd
               in
               vain
               :
            
             
               As
               if
               my
               Bull
               shou'd
               gore
               me
               once
               ▪
            
             
               I
               'd
               trust
               the
               zenseless
               Beast
               with
               Horns
            
             
               To
               gore
               me
               o'r
               agen
               .
            
          
           
             
               I
               hil
               e'en
               to
               Devonshire
               agen
               ,
            
             
               Where
               honest
               men
               are
               honest
               men
               ,
            
             
               And
               Rogues
               are
               hang'd
               v●r
               Rogues
               .
            
             
               Ods
               wounds
               !
               were
               I
               His
               Majesty
               ,
            
             
               E'r
               zich
               a
               Zon
               shou'd
               counten●nc●d
               be
               ,
            
             
               Chi'd
               prize
               him
               as
               my
               Dogs
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             Vnfortunate
             Jockey
             ;
             or
             ,
             Jenneys
             Lamentation
             for
             the
             loss
             of
             Jockey
             .
          
           
             A
             pleasant
             Tune
             ,
             sung
             in
             the
             Play
             call'd
             ,
             The
             Royalist
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               TWa
               bony
               Lads
               were
               Sawny
               and
               Jockey
               ,
            
             
               Sawny
               was
               lewd
               ,
               and
               Jockey
               unluckey
               ,
            
             
               Sawney
               was
               tall
               ,
               well
               favour'd
               ,
               and
               witty
               ,
            
             
               But
               I
               'se
               in
               my
               heart
               thought
               Jockey
               more
               prety
            
             
               For
               when
               he
               su'd
               me
               ,
               woo'd
               me
               ,
               and
               view'd
               me
               ,
            
             
               Never
               was
               lad
               so
               like
               to
               undo
               me
               ,
            
             
               Fie
               I
               cry'd
               ,
               and
               almost
               dy'd
               ,
            
             
               Lest
               Jockey
               should
               gang
               and
               come
               no
               more
               to
               me
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Jockey
               would
               love
               ,
               but
               he
               would
               not
               marry
               ,
            
             
               And
               I'se
               had
               a
               dread
               that
               I'se
               should
               miscary
            
             
               His
               cunning
               Tongue
               with
               wit
               was
               so
               guilded
               ,
            
             
               That
               I'se
               was
               afraid
               my
               heart
               would
               have
               yielded
            
             
               For
               daily
               he
               press'd
               me
               ,
               kiss'd
               me
               ,
               and
               bless'd
               me
               ,
            
             
               Lost
               was
               the
               hour
               methought
               when
               he
               mist
               me
               ,
            
             
               
                 Crying
                 ,
                 denying
              
               ,
               and
               sighing
               ,
               I
               woo'd
               him
               ,
            
             
               And
               muckle
               ado
               I
               had
               to
               get
               fro
               him
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               But
               cruel
               Fate
               rob'd
               me
               of
               my
               Jewel
               ,
            
             
               For
               Sawny
               would
               make
               him
               fight
               in
               Duel
               ,
            
             
               And
               down
               in
               a
               Dale
               with
               Cypress
               surrounded
               ,
            
             
               Ha!
               there
               to
               his
               death
               poor
               Jockey
               was
               wounded
            
             
               But
               when
               he
               thrill'd
               him
               ,
               fell'd
               him
               ,
               kill'd
               him
               ,
            
             
               Who
               could
               express
               my
               grief
               that
               beheld
               him
               ?
            
             
               Raging
               ,
               I
               tore
               my
               Hair
               for
               to
               bind
               him
               ,
            
             
               And
               vow'd
               and
               swore
               ne'r
               to
               stay
               behind
               him
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               I
               sigh'd
               and
               sob'd
               until
               I
               was
               weary
               ,
            
             
               To
               think
               my
               poor
               Jockey
               should
               so
               miscarry
               ,
            
             
               And
               never
               was
               any
               in
               such
               a
               sad
               taking
            
             
             
               As
               hapless
               Jenny
               ,
               whose
               heart
               is
               still
               a
               king
               ,
            
             
               To
               think
               how
               I
               crost
               him
               ,
               tost
               him
               &
               lost
               him
               ;
            
             
               Too
               late
               it
               was
               to
               coyn
               words
               to
               accost
               him
               ,
            
             
               Alone
               then
               I
               sate
               lamenting
               and
               crying
               ,
            
             
               Still
               wishing
               each
               minute
               that
               I
               were
               a
               dying
               .
            
          
           
             
               5
            
             
               Ah!
               Jockey
               since
               thou
               behind
               thee
               hast
               left
               me
               ,
            
             
               And
               death
               of
               all
               joys
               and
               all
               comforts
               bereft
               me
               ,
            
             
               Thy
               destiny
               I
               will
               lament
               very
               mickle
            
             
               And
               down
               my
               pale
               cheeks
               
                 salt
                 Tears
              
               they
               shall
               trickle
               ;
            
             
               To
               ease
               me
               of
               trouble
               each
               bubble
               shall
               double
               ,
            
             
               To
               think
               of
               my
               Jockey
               so
               Loyal
               and
               Noble
               ,
            
             
               I
               'se
               grieve
               for
               to
               think
               that
               those
               eyes
               are
               benighted
            
             
               Wherein
               mournful
               Jenny
               so
               much
               once
               delighted
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               That
               blow
               oh
               Sawny
               was
               base
               and
               unlucky
               ,
            
             
               That
               robbed
               poor
               Jenny
               of
               her
               dearest
               Jockey
               ,
            
             
               A
               bony
               boon
               Youth
               't
               was
               known
               he
               was
               ever
            
             
               To
               please
               his
               poor
               Jenny
               was
               still
               his
               endeavor
               ;
            
             
               But
               't
               was
               fortune
               uncertain
               ,
               our
               parting
               ,
            
             
               Procured
               &
               caused
               this
               breaking
               &
               smarting
               ,
            
             
               But
               whilst
               I
               do
               live
               't
               is
               resolved
               by
               Jenny
               ,
            
             
               For
               Jockeys
               dear
               sake
               ne'r
               to
               lig
               with
               any
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               This
               Jenny
               for
               Jockey
               lay
               sighing
               and
               weeping
               ,
            
             
               Oft
               wringing
               her
               hands
               while
               others
               was
               sleeping
            
             
               But
               Sawney
               to
               see
               her
               thus
               strangely
               distressed
               ,
            
             
               For
               the
               loss
               of
               her
               Love
               ,
               his
               heart
               was
               oppressed
               ,
            
             
               Tho'
               this
               deluder
               ,
               view'd
               her
               ,
               and
               sued
               her
               ,
            
             
               'T
               was
               all
               but
               in
               vain
               ,
               for
               she
               call'd
               him
               Intruder
            
             
               And
               said
               ,
               if
               you
               die
               for
               my
               Love
               I
               will
               mock
               ye
               ,
            
             
               For
               you
               were
               the
               cause
               of
               the
               death
               of
               my
               Jockey
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               That
               bony
               brave
               Scot
               hath
               left
               nene
               behind
               him
               ,
            
             
             
               That
               like
               to
               himself
               was
               worthy
               of
               minding
               ,
            
             
               ●is
               Fathers
               delight
               ,
               and
               the
               joy
               of
               his
               Mother
               ;
            
             
               And
               Scotland
               before
               ne'r
               bred
               sike
               another
               ,
            
             
               When
               I
               think
               on
               his
               beauty
               ,
               let
               duty
               confute
               ye
               .
            
             
               Death
               never
               before
               had
               sike
               a
               great
               booty
               ,
            
             
               For
               all
               that
               do
               know
               him
               ,
               do
               sigh
               &
               bewail
               him
               ,
            
             
               But
               Oceans
               of
               Tears
               now
               can
               little
               avail
               him
               .
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               Ah!
               Jockey
               there
               's
               nene
               that
               are
               left
               to
               inherit
            
             
               The
               tythe
               of
               thy
               Virtues
               ,
               thou
               wonderful
               merit
               ,
            
             
               But
               whilst
               I
               do
               live
               thou
               shalt
               not
               be
               forgotten
               ,
            
             
               He
               sing
               out
               thy
               praise
               when
               thy
               carkass
               is
               rotten
            
             
               For
               thou
               wert
               the
               
                 fairest
                 ,
                 rarest
              
               ,
               and
               dearest
               ,
            
             
               And
               now
               thou
               art
               dead
               like
               a
               Saint
               thou
               appearest
               ,
            
             
               I
               'll
               have
               on
               thy
               Tomb-stone
               these
               Verses
               inserted
               ,
            
             
               
                 Here
                 lies
                 hopeless
              
               Jockey
               ,
               
                 who
                 was
                 so
                 true
                 hearted
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               And
               when
               this
               thy
               Motto
               shall
               fairly
               be
               written
               ,
            
             
               There
               's
               none
               shall
               read
               but
               with
               grief
               shall
               be
               smitten
            
             
               And
               say
               't
               was
               pity
               that
               one
               so
               
                 true
                 hearted
              
            
             
               Should
               by
               cruel
               death
               from
               his
               Jenny
               be
               parted
               .
            
             
               And
               thus
               I
               with
               
                 weeping
                 ,
                 creeping
              
               ,
               and
               peeping
            
             
               Look
               into
               thy
               Grave
               where
               thou
               dost
               lie
               sleeping
            
             
               Till
               sighing
               my self
               I
               have
               brought
               to
               my
               end
               ,
            
             
               To
               show
               that
               poor
               Jenny
               was
               Jockeys
               true
               Friend
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Winchester
             Wedding
             ;
             or
             ,
             Ralph
             of
             Redding
             ,
             and
             
               Black
               Bess
            
             of
             the
             Green.
             
          
           
             To
             a
             new
             Country
             Dance
             :
             or
             ,
             the
             
               King
               's
               Jigg●
            
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               AT
               Winchester
               was
               a
               Wedding
               ,
            
             
               the
               like
               was
               never
               seen
            
             
               Twixt
               lusty
               Ralph
               of
               Redding
               ,
            
             
               and
               bony
               black
               Bess
               of
               the
               Green
               ▪
            
             
             
               The
               Fidlers
               were
               Crowding
               before
               ,
            
             
               each
               Lass
               was
               as
               fine
               as
               a
               Queen
               ,
            
             
               There
               was
               a
               Hundred
               and
               more
               ,
            
             
               for
               all
               the
               Country
               came
               in
               :
            
             
               Brisk
               Robin
               led
               Rose
               so
               fair
               ,
            
             
               she
               lookt
               like
               a
               Lilly
               o'th'Vale
               ,
            
             
               And
               Ruddy-fac'd
               Harry
               led
               Mary
               ,
            
             
               And
               Roger
               led
               bouncing
               Nell
               .
            
          
           
             
               2
            
             
               With
               Tommy
               came
               smiling
               Katy
               ,
            
             
               he
               helpt
               her
               over
               the
               Stile
               ,
            
             
               And
               swore
               there
               was
               none
               so
               pretty
               ,
            
             
               in
               forty
               and
               forty
               long
               mile
               :
            
             
               Kit
               gave
               a
               Green
               Gown
               to
               Betty
               ,
            
             
               and
               lent
               her
               his
               hand
               to
               rise
               .
            
             
               But
               Jenny
               was
               jeer'd
               by
               Watty
               ,
            
             
               for
               looking
               blew
               under
               the
               eyes
               :
            
             
               Thus
               merrily
               chatting
               all
               ,
            
             
               they
               pass'd
               to
               the
               Bride-house
               along
            
             
               With
               Jonny
               and
               pretty
               fac'd
               Nanny
               ,
            
             
               the
               fairest
               of
               all
               the
               Throng
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               The
               Bridegroom
               came
               out
               to
               meet
               'em
               ,
            
             
               afraid
               the
               Dinner
               was
               spoil'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               usher'd
               'em
               in
               to
               Treat
               'em
               ,
            
             
               with
               Bak'd
               ,
               and
               Roasted
               ,
               and
               Boyl●d
               ;
            
             
               The
               Lads
               were
               so
               frolick
               and
               jolly
               ,
            
             
               for
               each
               had
               his
               Love
               by
               his
               side
               ,
            
             
               But
               Willy
               was
               Melancholly
               ,
            
             
               for
               he
               had
               a
               mind
               to
               the
               Bride
               :
            
             
               Then
               Philip
               begins
               her
               Health
               ,
            
             
               and
               turns
               a
               Beer-Glass
               on
               his
               Thumb
               ,
            
             
               But
               Jenkin
               was
               reckon'd
               for
               Drinking
               ,
            
             
               the
               best
               in
               Christendom
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               4.
               
            
             
               And
               now
               they
               had
               Din'd
               ,
               advancing
            
             
               into
               the
               midst
               of
               the
               Hall
               ,
            
             
               The
               Fidlers
               struck
               up
               for
               Dancing
               ,
            
             
               and
               Jeremy
               led
               up
               the
               Brawl
               ;
            
             
               But
               Margery
               kept
               a
               quarter
               ,
            
             
               a
               Lass
               that
               was
               proud
               of
               her
               pelf
               ,
            
             
               '
               Cause
               Arthur
               had
               stoln
               her
               Garter
               ,
            
             
               and
               swore
               he
               would
               tye
               it
               himself
               :
            
             
               She
               strugl'd
               and
               blusht
               ,
               and
               frown'd
               ,
            
             
               and
               ready
               with
               anger
               to
               Cry
               ,
            
             
               '
               Cause
               Arthur
               with
               tying
               her
               Garter
               ,
            
             
               had
               slip'd
               his
               hand
               too
               high
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               And
               now
               for
               throwing
               the
               Stocking
               ,
            
             
               the
               Bride
               away
               was
               led
               ,
            
             
               The
               Bridegroom
               got
               drunk
               was
               knocking
            
             
               for
               Candles
               to
               light
               'em
               to
               Bed
               :
            
             
               But
               Robbin
               that
               found
               him
               silly
               ,
            
             
               most
               friendly
               took
               him
               aside
               ,
            
             
               The
               vvhile
               that
               his
               Wife
               vvith
               Willy
               ,
            
             
               vvas
               playing
               at
               Hoopers-hide
               ;
            
             
               And
               novv
               the
               vvarm
               Game
               begins
               ,
            
             
               the
               
                 Critical
                 minute
              
               vvas
               come
               ,
            
             
               And
               Chatting
               ,
               and
               Billing
               ,
               and
               Kissing
               ,
            
             
               vvent
               merily
               round
               the
               Room
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Pert
               Stephen
               vvas
               kind
               to
               Betty
               ,
            
             
               and
               blith
               as
               a
               Bird
               in
               the
               Spring
               ,
            
             
               And
               ●ommy
               vvas
               so
               to
               Katy
               ,
            
             
               and
               Wedded
               her
               vvith
               a
               
                 Rush
                 Ring
              
               :
            
             
               Sukey
               that
               Danc'd
               at
               the
               Cushion
               ,
            
             
               an
               hour
               from
               the
               Room
               had
               been
               gone
               ,
            
             
               And
               Barnaby
               knevv
               by
               her
               blushing
               ,
            
             
             
               that
               some
               other
               Dance
               had
               been
               done
               ;
            
             
               And
               thus
               of
               Fifty
               fair
               Maids
               ,
            
             
               that
               came
               to
               the
               Wedding
               vvith
               Men
               ,
            
             
               Scarce
               five
               of
               the
               Fifty
               vvas
               left
               ye
               ,
            
             
               that
               so
               did
               return
               again
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             Narrative
             of
             the
             Old
             Plot
             ,
             being
             a
             New
             SONG
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Some
               say
               the
               ●apists
               had
               a
               Plot
               ,
            
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               WHen
               Traytors
               did
               at
               Pop●ry
               rail
               ,
            
             
               Because
               it
               taught
               Confession
               :
            
             
               When
               Bankrupts
               bawl'd
               for
               Property
               ,
            
             
               And
               Bastards
               for
               Succession
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               When
               Tony
               durst
               espouse
               the
               Cause
               ,
            
             
               Spight
               of
               his
               Pox
               and
               Gout
               :
            
             
               When
               Speaking
               Williams
               purg'd
               the
               House
            
             
               By
               
                 spewing
                 Members
              
               out
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               When
               Hunt
               a
               
                 twy-fac't
                 Pamphlet
              
               wrote
               ,
            
             
               the
               Embleme
               of
               his
               Soul
               :
            
             
               When
               Oats
               swore
               whom
               he
               pleas'd
               in
               's
               Plot
               ▪
            
             
               And
               reign'd
               without
               Controul
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               When
               
                 L
                 —
                 ce
              
               too
               lampoon'd
               the
               Court
               ,
            
             
               And
               libell'd
               Cats
               and
               Doggs
               :
            
             
               When
               Witnesses
               ,
               like
               Mushroms
               ,
               sprung
            
             
               Out
               of
               the
               
                 Irish
                 Boggs
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Then
               Perkin
               thought
               't
               was
               time
               to
               prove
            
             
               His
               Claim
               to
               Kingship
               fair
               ;
            
             
               And
               'faith
               t
               is
               sit
               the
               
                 Peeples
                 Son
              
            
             
               Should
               be
               the
               
                 Peoples
                 Heir
              
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               6.
               
            
             
               So
               fill'd
               with
               Zeal
               He
               and
               his
               Knight
            
             
               Caress
               and
               Court
               the
               Rout
               ;
            
             
               And
               my
               
                 Lord
                 Duke
              
               goes
               up
               and
               down
            
             
               To
               shew
               his
               Grace
               about
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Tho'
               
                 F
                 —
                 d
              
               Lord
               
                 G
                 —
                 y
              
               would
               not
               ingage
            
             
               Upon
               that
               
                 idle
                 score
              
               ;
            
             
               For
               He
               would
               have
               a
               Common-wealth
               ,
            
             
               As
               well
               as
               
                 Common
                 whore
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               He
               envy●d
               his
               
                 old
                 Friend
              
               a
               Crown
            
             
               But
               why
               I
               can't
               devise
               ;
            
             
               For
               's
               Grace
               had
               grac't
               his
               Lordships
               head
            
             
               With
               Horns
               of
               
                 noble
                 Size
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               Then
               Johnson
               wrote
               his
               
                 Patrons
                 Creed
              
               ,
            
             
               A
               Doctrine
               fetch
               't
               from
               Hell
               :
            
             
               'T
               was
               Christian-like
               to
               disobey
               ,
            
             
               And
               Gospel
               to
               Rebel
               .
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               Julian
               his
               Pattern
               and
               his
               Text
               ;
            
             
               A
               meaner
               Theam
               He
               scorns
               :
            
             
               First
               represents
               Him
               at
               the
               Desk
               ,
            
             
               And
               then
               Apostate
               turns
               .
            
          
           
             
               11.
               
            
             
               Like
               his
               ,
               his
               
                 Patrons
                 Zeal
              
               grew
               high
               ,
            
             
               Th'
               Exclusion
               to
               advance
               ;
            
             
               And
               the
               
                 right
                 Heir
              
               must
               be
               debarr'd
               ,
            
             
               For
               fear
               of
               Rome
               and
               France
               .
            
          
           
             
               12.
               
            
             
               The
               
                 Zealous
                 Commons
              
               then
               resolv'd
               ,
            
             
               
                 (
                 And
                 they
                 knew
                 what
                 they
                 did
                 )
              
            
             
               By
               whomsoe're
               the
               King
               should
               fall
               ,
            
             
               The
               Papists
               throats
               should
               bleed
               ▪
            
          
           
             
             
               13.
               
            
             
               So
               murd'ring
               Ponyards
               off
               are
               slipt
            
             
               Into
               a
               guiltless
               hand
               :
            
             
               And
               Innocence
               is
               sacrific'd
               ,
            
             
               Whilst
               
                 Malefactors
                 stand
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               14.
               
            
             
               By
               
               Hell's
               Assistance
               then
               they
               fram'd
            
             
               Their
               Damn'd
               Association
               :
            
             
               And
               
                 Worthy
                 Men
              
               ,
               and
               
                 Men
                 Worthy
              
               ,
            
             
               Divided
               all
               the
               Nation
            
          
           
             
               15.
               
            
             
               Fools
               oft
               and
               Madmen
               leave
               the
               less
               ,
            
             
               And
               choose
               the
               
                 greater
                 evil
              
               :
            
             
               Thus
               They
               for
               fear
               of
               Popery
               ,
            
             
               Run
               head-long
               to
               the
               Devil
               .
            
          
           
             
               16.
               
            
             
               At
               last
               the
               
                 Loyal
                 Souls
              
               propose
            
             
               To
               ease
               their
               Sovereign's
               Cares
               ;
            
             
               If
               
                 He
                 'll
                 sit
                 down
              
               ,
               and
               first
               remove
            
             
               Their
               Jealousies
               and
               Fears
               .
            
          
           
             
               17.
               
            
             
               Just
               the
               
                 old
                 Trick
              
               and
               
                 Sham
                 Device
              
            
             
               Of
               Belzebub
               their
               Sire
               :
            
             
               He
               but
               fall
               down
               and
               worship
               Them
               ,
            
             
               They
               'll
               grant
               his
               
                 hearts
                 desire
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               18.
               
            
             
               Nay
               Lives
               and
               Fortunes
               then
               shall
               be
            
             
               Entirely
               all
               his
               own
               ;
            
             
               If
               He
               will
               fairly
               once
               disclaim
            
             
               A
               Brother
               and
               a
               Crown
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             Praise
             of
             the
             Dairy-Maid
             ,
             with
             a
             Lick
             at
             the
             Cream-pot
             ,
             or
             Fading
             Rose
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Packington's
               Pound
            
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               LEt
               Wine
               turn
               a
               Spark
               ,
               &
               Ale
               huff
               like
               a
               Hector
               .
            
             
               Let
               Pluto
               drink
               Coffee
               ,
               &
               Jove
               his
               rich
               Nector
               .
            
             
               Neither
               Cider
               nor
               Sherry
               ,
            
             
               Metheglin
               nor
               Perry
               ,
            
             
               Shall
               more
               make
               me
               Drunk
               ,
               which
               the
               vulgar
               call
               Merry
               :
            
             
               These
               Drinks
               o're
               my
               Fancy
               no
               more
               shall
               prevail
            
             
               But
               I
               'll
               take
               a
               full
               soop
               at
               the
               mery
               Milk-Pail
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               In
               praise
               of
               a
               Dairy
               I
               purpose
               to
               sing
               ;
            
             
               But
               all
               things
               in
               order
               ;
               first
               
                 God
                 save
                 the
                 King
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               Queen
               I
               may
               say
               ,
            
             
               That
               ev'ry
               May-day
               ,
            
             
               Has
               many
               fair
               Dairy-Maids
               all
               fine
               and
               gay
               .
            
             
               Assist
               me
               ,
               fair
               Dam'sels
               to
               finish
               this
               Theme
               ,
            
             
               And
               inspire
               my
               fancy
               with
               
                 Strawberries
                 &
                 Cream
              
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               The
               first
               of
               fair
               Dairy-Maids
               ,
               if
               you
               'll
               believe
               ,
            
             
               Was
               
               Adam's
               own
               Wife
               ,
               your
               Great-grand-mother
               Eve
               ;
            
             
               She
               milk'd
               many
               a
               Cow
               ,
            
             
               As
               well
               she
               knew
               how
               ,
            
             
               Tho'
               Butter
               was
               then
               not
               so
               cheap
               as
               't
               is
               now
               ;
            
             
               She
               hoarded
               no
               Butter
               nor
               Cheese
               on
               a
               Shelf
               ,
            
             
               For
               the
               Butter
               and
               Cheese
               in
               those
               days
               made
               it self
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               In
               that
               Age
               or
               Time
               there
               was
               no
               damn'd
               Money
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               the
               Children
               of
               Israel
               fed
               on
               Milk
               &
               Honey
               ;
            
             
               No
               Queen
               you
               could
               see
            
             
               Of
               the
               highest
               Degree
               ,
            
             
               But
               would
               milk
               the
               
                 brown
                 Cow
              
               with
               the
               meanest
               she
            
             
             
               Their
               Lambs
               gave
               them
               Cloathing
               ,
               their
               Cows
               gave
               them
               Meat
               .
            
             
               In
               a
               plentiful
               Peace
               all
               their
               Joys
               were
               compleat
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               But
               now
               of
               the
               making
               of
               Cheese
               we
               shall
               treat
               ,
            
             
               That
               Nurser
               of
               Subjects
               ,
               bold
               Britains
               chief
               Meat
               .
            
             
               When
               they
               first
               begin
               it
               ,
            
             
               To
               see
               how
               the
               Rennet
            
             
               Begets
               the
               first
               Curd
               ,
               you
               wou'd
               wonder
               what
               's
               in
               it
               .
            
             
               Then
               from
               the
               blue
               Whey
               ,
               when
               they
               put
               the
               Curds
               by
               .
            
             
               They
               look
               just
               like
               Amber
               ,
               or
               Clouds
               in
               the
               Sky
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Your
               
                 Turkey
                 Sherbet
              
               ,
               and
               
                 Arabian
                 Tea
              
               ,
            
             
               Is
               Dish-water-stuff
               to
               a
               Dish
               of
               new
               Whey
               ;
            
             
               For
               it
               cools
               Head
               and
               Brains
               ,
            
             
               Ill
               Vapours
               it
               drains
               ,
            
             
               And
               tho'
               your
               Guts
               rumble
               ,
               't
               will
               ●e'r
               hurt
               your
               Brains
               .
            
             
               Court-Ladies
               i'
               th
               morning
               will
               drink
               a
               whole
               Pottle
               ,
            
             
               And
               send
               out
               their
               Pages
               with
               Tankard
               &
               Bottle
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Thou
               Daughter
               of
               Milk
               ,
               and
               Mother
               of
               Butter
               ,
            
             
               Sweet
               Cream
               ,
               thy
               due
               praises
               how
               shall
               I
               utter
               !
            
             
               For
               when
               at
               the
               best
               ,
            
             
               A
               thing
               's
               well
               exprest
               ,
            
             
               We
               are
               apt
               to
               reply
               ,
               
                 That
                 's
                 the
                 Cream
                 of
                 the
                 Jest
              
               :
            
             
               Had
               I
               been
               a
               Mouse
               ,
               I
               believe
               in
               my
               Soul
            
             
               I
               had
               long
               since
               been
               drown'd
               in
               a
               Cream-Bowl
               .
            
          
           
             
               8
            
             
               The
               
                 Elixir
                 of
                 Milk
              
               ,
               the
               
               Dutch-mens
               delight
               ,
            
             
               By
               motion
               and
               tumbling
               thou
               bringest
               to
               light
               ;
            
             
               But
               Oh
               ,
               the
               soft
               Stream
            
             
               That
               remains
               of
               the
               Cream
               !
            
             
             
             
             
             
             
               Old
               Morpheus
               ne'r
               tasted
               so
               sweet
               in
               a
               Dream
               ;
            
             
               It
               removes
               all
               Obstructions
               ,
               depresses
               the
               Spleen
               ,
            
             
               And
               makes
               an
               old
               Bawd
               like
               a
               Wench
               of
               Fifteen
               .
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               Amongst
               the
               rare
               Virtues
               that
               Milk
               does
               produce
            
             
               A
               thousand
               more
               Dainties
               are
               daily
               in
               use
               ;
            
             
               For
               a
               Pudding
               I
               'll
               tell
               ye
               ,
            
             
               E'r
               it
               goes
               in
               the
               Belly
               ,
            
             
               Must
               have
               good
               Milk
               ,
               both
               the
               Cream
               &
               the
               Jelly
               ;
            
             
               For
               a
               dainty
               fine
               Pudding
               without
               Cream
               or
               Milk
            
             
               Is
               like
               a
               
               Citizen's
               Wife
               without
               Satten
               or
               Silk
               .
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               In
               the
               Virtues
               of
               Milk
               there
               's
               more
               to
               be
               muster'd
            
             
               The
               charming
               delights
               of
               Cheese-Cake
               and
               Custard
               ;
            
             
               For
               at
               Totenam-Court
            
             
               You
               can
               have
               no
               Sport
               ,
            
             
               Unless
               you
               give
               Custards
               and
               Cheese-Cakes
               for
               't
               :
            
             
               And
               what
               's
               
                 Jack
                 Pudding
              
               that
               makes
               us
               to
               laugh
               ,
            
             
               Unless
               he
               hath
               got
               a
               great
               Custard
               to
               quaff
               .
            
          
           
             
               11.
               
            
             
               Both
               Pan-Cakes
               &
               Fritters
               of
               Milk
               have
               good
               store
            
             
               But
               a
               
                 Devonshire
                 Whit-pot
              
               requires
               much
               more
               .
            
             
               No
               state
               you
               can
               ●hink
               ,
            
             
               Tho'
               you
               study
               and
               wink
               ,
            
             
               From
               the
               lusty
               Sack-posset
               to
               poor
               Posset-drink
               ;
            
             
               But
               
               Milk's
               the
               Ingredient
               ,
               tho'
               
               Sack
               's
               ne'r
               the
               worse
               ;
            
             
               For
               't
               is
               Sack
               makes
               the
               Man
               ,
               tho'
               Milk
               makes
               the
               Nurse
               ,
            
          
           
             
               12.
               
            
             
               But
               now
               I
               shall
               treat
               of
               a
               Dish
               that
               is
               cool
               ,
            
             
               A
               rich
               
                 clouted
                 Cream
              
               ,
               or
               a
               Goose-berry-Fool
               ;
            
             
               A
               Lady
               I
               heard
               tell
               ,
            
             
               Not
               far
               off
               did
               dwell
               ,
            
             
               Made
               her
               Husband
               a
               Fool
               ,
               and
               yet
               pleas'd
               him
               full
               well
               :
            
             
             
               Give
               thanks
               to
               the
               Dairy
               then
               every
               Lad
               ,
            
             
               That
               from
               good-natur'd
               Women
               such
               Fools
               may
               be
               had
               .
            
          
           
             
               13.
               
            
             
               When
               the
               Dam'sel
               has
               got
               the
               Cows
               Teat
               in
               her
               hand
            
             
               How
               she
               merily
               sings
               ,
               while
               smiling
               I
               stand
            
             
               Then
               with
               pleasure
               I
               rub
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               impatient
               I
               crub
               ,
            
             
               When
               I
               think
               of
               the
               Blessings
               of
               a
               Syllabub
               :
            
             
               Oh
               
                 Dairy-maids
                 ,
                 Milk-maids
              
               ,
               such
               Bliss
               ne'r
               oppose
               .
            
             
               If
               e'r
               you
               'll
               be
               happy
               ;
               I
               speak
               under
               the
               Rose
               .
            
          
           
             
               14.
               
            
             
               This
               Rose
               was
               a
               Maiden
               once
               of
               your
               Profession
               ,
            
             
               Till
               the
               Rake
               and
               the
               Spade
               had
               taken
               possession
               ;
            
             
               At
               length
               it
               was
               said
               ,
            
             
               That
               one
               Mr.
               Edmond
            
             
               did
               both
               dig
               and
               sow
               in
               her
               
                 Parsley
                 bed
              
               ;
            
             
               But
               the
               Fool
               for
               his
               labour
               deserves
               not
               a
               Rush
               ,
            
             
               For
               grafting
               a
               Thistle
               upon
               a
               Rose-bush
               .
            
          
           
             
               15.
               
            
             
               Now
               
                 Milk
                 Maids
              
               ,
               take
               warning
               by
               this
               Maidens
               fall
               .
            
             
               Keep
               what
               is
               your
               own
               ,
               and
               then
               you
               keep
               all
               ;
            
             
               Mind
               well
               your
               Milk-pan
               ,
            
             
               And
               ne'r
               touch
               a
               man
               ,
            
             
               And
               you
               'll
               still
               be
               a
               Maid
               ,
               let
               him
               do
               what
               he
               can
               .
            
             
               I
               am
               your
               Well-wisher
               ,
               then
               list
               to
               my
               word
               ,
            
             
               And
               give
               no
               more
               Milk
               than
               the
               Cow
               can
               afford
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             new
             SONG
             Sung
             before
             the
             
               Loyal
               Livery-Men
            
             in
             Wistminster-hall
             July
             the
             19
             th
             .
             16●
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               HArk
               !
               how
               Noll
               &
               
               B●adshaw's
               Heads
               above
               us
            
             
               Cry
               ,
               come
               ,
               come
               ,
               ye
               Whigs
               that
               love
               us
               :
            
             
               Come
               ,
               ye
               faithful
               Sons
               ,
               fall
               down
               ,
               and
               adore
               ye
            
             
               Your
               Fathers
               ,
               whose
               Glory
            
             
             
               Was
               to
               kill
               Kings
               before
               ye
               ;
            
             
               From
               Treason
               &
               Plots
               let
               your
               
                 grave
                 Heads
              
               adjourn
               ,
            
             
               And
               our
               glorious
               Pinacle
               adorn
               .
            
             
               What
               though
               the
               Scaffolds
               all
               are
               down
               here
               ,
            
             
               To
               entertain
               the
               Friends
               of
               the
               Crown
               here
               ?
            
             
               We
               ,
               whose
               Lives
               &
               whose
               Fortunes
               Great
               Charles
               will
               maintain
               ,
            
             
               For
               Monarchy-haters
               ,
            
             
               Damn'd
               Associators
               ,
            
             
               
                 Whigs
                 ,
                 Bastards
              
               and
               Traytors
               ,
            
             
               We
               'll
               build
               'em
               ,
               we
               'll
               build
               'em
               again
               ,
            
             
               Let
               the
               infamous
               
                 Cut
                 threats
              
               of
               Princes
               be
               shamm'd
               all
               .
            
             
               Their
               black
               Souls
               be
               damn'd
               all
               ,
            
             
               Their
               Blunderbuss
               ramm'd
               all
            
             
               With
               Brimstone
               and
               Fire
               infernal
               ;
            
             
               The
               Gods
               that
               look
               o'r
               Him
            
             
               Did
               by
               Wonders
               restore
               Him
               ,
            
             
               Their
               Angels
               sate
               round
               Him
            
             
               That
               hour
               they
               Crown'd
               Him
               ,
            
             
               And
               were
               listed
               His
               Guards
               Eternal
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               How
               ,
               like
               Jove
               ,
               the
               Monarch
               of
               Great-Britain
            
             
               Drives
               the
               Gyant-Sons
               of
               Titan
               !
            
             
               Down
               ye
               Rebel-Crew
               ;
               ye
               Slaves
               ,
               lie
               under
               :
            
             
               See!
               Charles
               with
               His
               Thunder
            
             
               Has
               dash'd
               'em
               all
               asunder
               ;
            
             
               Down
               from
               His
               bright
               Heav'n
               the
               Aspirers
               are
               hurl'd
               ,
            
             
               Lost
               in
               the
               common
               Rubbish
               of
               the
               World
               :
            
             
               See
               ,
               how
               the
               God
               returns
               Victorious
               !
            
             
               And
               to
               make
               His
               Tryumph
               still
               more
               Glorious
               ,
            
             
               See
               ,
               the
               whole
               Hosts
               of
               Heav'n
               the
               proud
               Conquerour
               meet
               .
            
             
               The
               Stars
               burn
               all
               brighter
               ,
            
             
               The
               Sun
               mounts
               uprighter
               ,
            
             
               Whilst
               his
               Steeds
               gallop
               lighter
               ,
            
             
               To
               see
               ,
               see
               their
               Jove
               made
               so
               Great
               :
            
             
             
               With
               the
               brands
               &
               the
               stings
               of
               a
               Conscience
               disloyal
            
             
               From
               the
               fiery
               Tryal
               ,
            
             
               Let
               the
               
                 Coward
                 Slaves
              
               flie
               all
               ,
            
             
               Leave
               Vengeance
               and
               Gibbets
               behind
               'em
               ;
            
             
               Whilst
               the
               great
               Desperadoes
            
             
               All
               turn'd
               Renegadoes
               ,
            
             
               With
               their
               old
               Friends
               took
               napping
               ,
            
             
               In
               some
               Cole-hole
               at
               Wapping
            
             
               Shall
               Charles
               and
               His
               Justice
               find
               '
               em
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Let
               the
               malice
               of
               
                 Fanatick
                 Roundhead
              
            
             
               (
               Hatch'd
               in
               Hell
               )
               be
               still
               confounded
               ;
            
             
               The
               
                 Royal
                 Brothers
              
               no
               Storm
               e're
               sever
               ,
            
             
               But
               new
               Wonders
               deliver
               ,
            
             
               And
               their
               Heirs
               Reign
               for
               ever
               ,
            
             
               On
               Englands
               bright
               Throne
               sit
               till
               Times
               last
               Sand
               runs
               ,
            
             
               And
               stop
               their
               
                 Glories
                 Chariot
              
               with
               the
               Suns
               .
            
             
               Then
               for
               
               Charles's
               second
               Restauration
               ,
            
             
               Snatch'd
               from
               the
               Jaws
               of
               the
               Imps
               of
               Damnation
               ,
            
             
               We
               with
               Feastings
               &
               Revels
               will
               chear
               up
               our
               Souls
            
             
               For
               the
               safety
               of
               Caesar
               ,
            
             
               In
               Joy
               ,
               and
               in
               Pleasure
               ,
            
             
               Till
               our
               Hearts
               shall
               o're-flow
               like
               our
               Bowls
               .
            
             
               For
               a
               Health
               to
               Great
               Charles
               ,
               let
               the
               Goblets
               be
               crown'd
               there
               ,
            
             
               The
               Huzza
               go
               round
               there
               ,
            
             
               To
               the
               Skies
               let
               it
               sound
               there
               ,
            
             
               Up
               to
               th'
               Throne
               of
               Great
               
               Charles's
               Protector
               ,
            
             
               Till
               the
               pleas'd
               Gods
               that
               see
               ,
               Boys
               ,
            
             
               Grow
               as
               Merry
               as
               we
               ,
               Boys
               ,
            
             
               Joyn
               their
               Spheres
               in
               the
               Chorus
               ,
            
             
               Make
               their
               whole
               Heav'ns
               out-roar
               us
               ,
            
             
               And
               pledge
               us
               in
               Bumpers
               of
               Nectar
               .
            
          
        
         
         
         
         
         
           
           
             A
             Narrative
             of
             the
             Popish-Plot
             ,
             shewing
             the
             cunning
             contrivance
             thereof
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             Packington
             's
             Pound
             .
          
           
             
               The
               Contents
               of
               the
               First
               Part.
               
            
             
               How
               Sir
               Godfrey
               is
               kill'd
               ,
               his
               Body
               they
               hide
               ,
            
             
               Which
               brought
               out
               in
               Chair
               ,
               a
               Horseback
               does
               ride
               ;
            
             
               How
               Jesuits
               disguis'd
               our
               Houses
               to
               fire
               ;
            
             
               How
               subtly
               they
               Plot
               ,
               and
               the
               King's
               death
               conspire
               ;
            
             
               Of
               divers
               great
               Lords
               drawn
               in
               ,
               to
               their
               Bane
               ,
            
             
               An
               Irish
               Army
               ,
               and
               Pilgrims
               from
               Spain
               .
            
             
               
                 1.
                 
              
               
                 GOod
                 People
                 ,
                 I
                 pray
                 you
                 ,
                 give
                 ear
                 unto
                 me
                 .
              
               
                 A
                 Story
                 so
                 strange
                 you
                 have
                 never
                 been
                 told
              
               
                 How
                 the
                 
                   Jesuit
                   ,
                   Devil
                
                 and
                 Pope
                 did
                 agree
              
               
                 Our
                 State
                 to
                 destroy
                 ,
                 and
                 Religion
                 so
                 old
                 :
              
               
                 To
                 murder
                 our
                 King
                 ,
              
               
                 A
                 most
                 horrible
                 thing
                 !
              
               
                 But
                 first
                 of
                 Sir
                 Godfrey
                 his
                 death
                 I
                 must
                 sing
                 ;
              
               
                 For
                 howe'r
                 they
                 disguiss't
                 ,
                 we
                 plainly
                 can
                 see
                 ,
              
               
                 Who
                 murdr'd
                 that
                 Knight
                 ,
                 no
                 good
                 Christian
                 cou'd
                 be
                 .
              
               
                 
                   The
                   truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                   if
                   any
                   man
                   doubt
                   ,
                
              
               
                 
                   We
                   have
                   Witnesses
                   ready
                   to
                   swear
                   it
                   all
                   out
                   .
                
              
            
             
               
                 2.
                 
              
               
                 At
                 
                   Somerset
                   house
                
                 ,
                 there
                 is
                 plain
                 to
                 be
                 seen
              
               
                 A
                 Gate
                 which
                 will
                 lead
                 you
                 into
                 the
                 back-Court
                 ;
              
               
                 This
                 place
                 for
                 the
                 Murder
                 most
                 sitting
                 did
                 seem
                 ,
              
               
                 For
                 thither
                 much
                 People
                 do
                 freely
                 resort
                 :
              
               
                 His
                 Body
                 they
                 toss'd
              
               
                 From
                 Pillar
                 to
                 ●ost
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 shifted
                 
                   so
                   often
                
                 ,
                 t
                 'had
                 like
                 t'
                 have
                 been
                 lost
                 ;
              
               
                 To
                 which
                 with
                 dark-Lanthorn
                 the
                 Jesuits
                 did
                 go
                 ,
              
               
                 But
                 no
                 ways
                 distrusted
                 our
                 honest
                 Bedlow
                 .
              
               
                 
                   The
                   truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                
                 ,
                 &c
              
            
             
               
               
                 3.
                 
              
               
                 Lest
                 such
                 close
                 Contrivements
                 at
                 length
                 might
                 take
                 air
                 ,
              
               
                 When
                 as
                 his
                 dead
                 Body
                 corrupted
                 did
                 grow
                 ,
              
               
                 They
                 quickly
                 did
                 find
                 an
                 
                   invisible
                   Chair
                
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 set
                 him
                 on
                 Horse-back
                 to
                 ride
                 at
                 Sohoe
                 :
              
               
                 His
                 
                   own
                   Sword
                
                 to
                 th'
                 Hilt.
              
               
                 To
                 add
                 to
                 their
                 Guilt
                 ,
              
               
                 They
                 thrust
                 through
                 his
                 Body
                 ,
                 but
                 
                   no
                   blood
                   was
                   spilt
                
                 ;
              
               
                 T'
                 have
                 it
                 thought
                 he
                 was
                 kill'd
                 by
                 a
                 Thief
                 they
                 did
                 mean
                 ,
              
               
                 So
                 they
                 left
                 
                   all
                   's
                   Money
                
                 ,
                 and
                 
                   made
                   his
                   Shoes
                   clean
                
                 .
              
               
                 
                   The
                   truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                
                 &c.
                 
              
            
             
               
                 4.
                 
              
               
                 To
                 shew
                 now
                 th'
                 excess
                 of
                 
                   Jesuitical
                   Rage
                
                 ,
              
               
                 They
                 this
                 
                   Loyal
                   City
                
                 to
                 ruine
                 would
                 bring
                 ,
              
               
                 '
                 Cause
                 you
                 Citizens
                 are
                 so
                 religious
                 and
                 sage
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 ever
                 much
                 noted
                 as
                 true
                 to
                 your
                 King
                 :
              
               
                 T'
                 your
                 Houses
                 they
                 go
              
               
                 With
                 Fire
                 and
                 with
                 Tow
                 ,
              
               
                 Then
                 pilfer
                 your
                 Goods
                 ,
                 &
                 't
                 is
                 well
                 you
                 '
                 scape
                 so
                 ;
              
               
                 Y'have
                 seen
                 how
                 they
                 once
                 set
                 the
                 Town
                 all
                 in
                 flame
                 ;
              
               
                 Yet
                 't
                 is
                 their
                 best
                 Refuge
                 ,
                 if
                 we
                 believe
                 Fame
                 .
              
               
                 
                   The
                   Truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                
                 ,
                 &c.
                 
              
            
             
               
                 5.
                 
              
               
                 By
                 
                 Bedlow's
                 Narration
                 is
                 shewn
                 you
                 most
                 clear
                 ,
              
               
                 How
                 Jesuits
                 disguss●d
                 into
                 Houses
                 will
                 creep
                 ;
              
               
                 In
                 a
                 
                 Porter's
                 or
                 
                 Carman's
                 Frock
                 they
                 appear
                 ,
              
               
                 Nay
                 ,
                 will
                 not
                 disdain
                 to
                 cry
                 
                   Chimney
                   sweep
                
                 ;
              
               
                 Or
                 sell
                 you
                 
                   Small
                   Cole
                
                 ,
              
               
                 Then
                 drop
                 in
                 some
                 hole
              
               
                 A
                 Fire-Ball
                 ,
                 or
                 thrust
                 it
                 up
                 by
                 a
                 long
                 Pole.
              
               
                 But
                 I
                 now
                 must
                 relate
                 a
                 more
                 tragical
                 thing
                 ,
              
               
                 How
                 these
                 Villains
                 conspir'd
                 to
                 Murder
                 our
                 King.
              
               
                 
                   The
                   Truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                
                 ,
                 &c.
                 
              
            
             
               
               
                 6.
                 
              
               
                 At
                 the
                 White-horse
                 in
                 April
                 was
                 their
                 main
                 Consul●
                 ▪
              
               
                 Where
                 a
                 Writing
                 these
                 Plotters
                 wickedly
                 frame
                 ;
              
               
                 The
                 Death
                 of
                 our
                 Sovereign
                 was
                 the
                 result
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 which
                 
                   at
                   least
                   Forty
                
                 all
                 signed
                 their
                 name
                 :
              
               
                 They
                 would
                 not
                 do
                 that
                 ,
              
               
                 In
                 the
                 place
                 where
                 they
                 sat
                 ,
              
               
                 Trusty
                 Oates
                 must
                 convey't
                 from
                 this
                 man
                 to
                 that
                 ;
              
               
                 To
                 make
                 sure
                 work
                 ,
                 
                   by
                   Poyson
                
                 the
                 Deed
                 must
                 be
                 done
              
               
                 And
                 
                   by
                   a
                   long
                   Dagger
                
                 ,
                 and
                 
                   shot
                   from
                   a
                   Gun.
                
              
               
                 
                   The
                   truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                
                 .
                 &c.
                 
              
            
             
               
                 7.
                 
              
               
                 For
                 fear
                 at
                 St.
                 Omers
                 their
                 Oates
                 might
                 be
                 miss'd
                 ,
              
               
                 They
                 agreed
                 with
                 the
                 Devil
                 t'
                 appear
                 in
                 his
                 place
                 ,
              
               
                 In
                 a
                 Body
                 of
                 Air
                 ,
                 (
                 believe
                 't
                 if
                 you
                 list
                 )
              
               
                 Which
                 lookt
                 just
                 like
                 Oats
                 ▪
                 &
                 mov'd
                 with
                 the
                 same
                 grace
                 .
              
               
                 'T
                 cou'd
                 Plot
                 ,
                 it
                 cou'd
                 Cant
                 ,
              
               
                 Turn
                 eyes
                 like
                 a
                 Saint
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 of
                 our
                 great
                 Doctor
                 no
                 feature
                 did
                 want
                 :
              
               
                 Thus
                 hundreds
                 might
                 swear
                 they
                 
                   saw
                   Oates
                
                 ev'ry
                 day
              
               
                 But
                 true
                 Oats
                 was
                 here
                 ,
                 and
                 the
                 Devil
                 say
                 they
                 .
              
               
                 
                   The
                   truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                
                 ,
                 &c.
                 
              
            
             
               
                 8.
                 
              
               
                 From
                 
                   Father
                   Oliva
                   Commissions
                
                 did
                 come
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 raise
                 a
                 
                   great
                   Army
                
                 much
                 Treasure
                 is
                 spent
                 ;
              
               
                 The
                 
                   old
                   Man
                
                 did
                 once
                 think
                 to
                 take
                 Post
                 from
                 Rome
              
               
                 For
                 to
                 ride
                 at
                 the
                 head
                 of
                 them
                 was
                 his
                 intent
                 ;
              
               
                 Lord
                 Bellas
                 was
                 sit
              
               
                 (
                 Who
                 can
                 deny
                 it
                 ?
              
               
                 To
                 command
                 in
                 his
                 place
                 ,
                 when
                 his
                 Gout
                 wou'd
                 permit
                 ;
              
               
                 Lord
                 Stafford
                 was
                 proper'st
                 to
                 trust
                 with
                 their
                 pay
              
               
                 Old
                 Ratcliffe
                 to
                 range
                 them
                 in
                 Battle-Array
                 .
              
               
                 
                   The
                   truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                
                 ,
                 &c.
                 
              
            
             
               
               
                 9.
                 
              
               
                 Th'
                 High-Treasurers
                 place
                 the
                 L.
                 Powis
                 did
                 please
                 ,
              
               
                 (
                 Men
                 of
                 
                   desp'rate
                   Fortunes
                
                 oft
                 venture
                 too
                 far
                 ;
                 )
              
               
                 Lord
                 Peters
                 would
                 hazard
                 Estate
                 ,
                 and
                 his
                 Ease
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 Life
                 for
                 the
                 Pope
                 too
                 ,
                 in
                 this
                 holy
                 War
                 ;
              
               
                 Lord
                 Ar'ndel
                 ,
                 of
                 old
              
               
                 So
                 war-like
                 and
                 bold
                 ,
              
               
                 Made
                 choice
                 of
                 a
                 
                   Chancellors
                   Gown
                
                 we
                 are
                 told
                 ;
              
               
                 All
                 these
                 did
                 conspire
                 with
                 the
                 Lord
                 Castlemain
                 ,
              
               
                 Who
                 now
                 his
                 good
                 Dutchess
                 will
                 ne'r
                 catch
                 again
              
               
                 
                   The
                   Truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                
                 ,
                 &c.
                 
              
            
             
               
                 10.
                 
              
               
                 Great
                 store
                 of
                 wild
                 Irish
                 ,
                 both
                 civil
                 and
                 wise
                 ,
              
               
                 Designed
                 to
                 joyn
                 with
                 the
                 Pilgrims
                 of
                 Spain
                 ;
              
               
                 Many
                 thousands
                 being
                 ready
                 all
                 in
                 good
                 guise
                 ,
              
               
                 Had
                 vow'd
                 a
                 long
                 Pilgrimage
                 over
                 the
                 Main
                 ;
              
               
                 To
                 arm
                 well
                 this
                 Host
              
               
                 When
                 it
                 came
                 on
                 our
                 Coast
                 ,
              
               
                 
                   Black
                   Bills
                   forty
                   thousand
                
                 are
                 sent
                 by
                 the
                 Post
                 ,
              
               
                 This
                 Army
                 lay
                 privately
                 on
                 the
                 
                   Sea
                   shore
                
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 no
                 man
                 e'r
                 heard
                 of
                 'em
                 since
                 or
                 before
                 .
              
               
                 
                   The
                   Truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                
                 ,
                 &c.
                 
              
            
          
           
             
               The
               Second
               PART
               .
               The
               Contents
               of
               the
               second
               Part.
               
            
             
               
                 
                   Of
                   Arms
                   under-ground
                   for
                   Horse
                   and
                   for
                   Foot
                   ,
                
              
               
                 
                   The
                   King
                   almost
                   kill'd
                   ,
                   but
                   Gun
                   will
                   not
                   shoot
                   ,
                
              
               
                 
                   For
                   which
                
                 Pickring
                 
                   is
                   whip'd
                   .
                   All
                   of
                   them
                   swear
                
              
               
                 
                   To
                   be
                   true
                   to
                   the
                
                 Plot
                 ;
                 yet
                 Oats
                 ,
                 
                   not
                   for
                   Fear
                
                 ,
              
               
                 
                   But
                   Revenge
                   ,
                   being
                   turn'd
                   away
                   ,
                   and
                   well
                   hang●d
                   ,
                
              
               
                 
                   Discovers
                   them
                   all
                   ;
                   the
                
                 Jesuits
                 
                   are
                   hang'd
                
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 1.
                 
              
               
                 The
                 Plot
                 being
                 thus
                 subtly
                 contriv'd
                 ,
                 as
                 you
                 hear
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 God
                 knows
                 how
                 many
                 this
                 Secret
                 th'
                 impart
                 ;
              
               
               
                 Some
                 famous
                 for
                 Cheats
                 ,
                 yet
                 their
                 Faith
                 they
                 don't
                 fear
              
               
                 To
                 tie
                 a
                 Knave
                 fast
                 they
                 had
                 found
                 a
                 new
                 Art.
              
               
                 
                   They
                   swore
                   on
                   a
                   Book
                
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 Sacrament
                 took
                 ;
              
               
                 But
                 you
                 'll
                 find
                 ,
                 if
                 into
                 their
                 grave
                 Authors
                 you
                 look
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 forswear●s
                 no
                 sin
                 (
                 as
                 th'
                 Recorder
                 well
                 notes
                 )
              
               
                 Nor
                 
                   Treason
                   ,
                   Rebellion
                
                 ,
                 nor
                 
                   cutting
                   of
                   Throats
                
                 .
              
               
                 
                   The
                   Truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                
                 ,
                 &c.
                 
              
            
             
               
                 2.
                 
              
               
                 Still
                 blinded
                 by
                 Zeal
                 ,
                 and
                 inveigl'd
                 by
                 Hope
                 ,
              
               
                 Store
                 of
                 Arms
                 they
                 provide
                 for
                 Fight
                 &
                 Defence
                 ;
              
               
                 The
                 Lords
                 must
                 command
                 as
                 Vice-Roys
                 of
                 the
                 Pope
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 all
                 over
                 England
                 they
                 raise
                 Peter-pence
                 :
              
               
                 Their
                 Letters
                 they
                 send
              
               
                 By
                 Bedlow
                 their
                 Friend
                 ,
              
               
                 Or
                 else
                 by
                 the
                 Post
                 ,
                 to
                 shew
                 what
                 they
                 intend
                 ;
              
               
                 Some
                 hundreds
                 Oats
                 saw
                 ,
                 which
                 the
                 
                 Jesuits
                 ●id
                 write
              
               
                 'T
                 is
                 a
                 wonder
                 not
                 one
                 of
                 them
                 e'r
                 came
                 to
                 light
                 .
              
               
                 
                   The
                   truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                
                 ,
                 &c.
                 
              
            
             
               
                 3.
                 
              
               
                 Pounds
                 
                   two
                   hundred
                   thousand
                
                 they
                 to
                 Ireland
                 sent
                 ,
              
               
                 
                   Fifteen
                   thousand
                
                 to
                 Wakeman
                 for
                 Potions
                 and
                 Pills
                 ,
              
               
                 
                   Forty
                   thousand
                
                 in
                 Fire-works
                 we
                 guess
                 that
                 they
                 spent
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 at
                 least
                 
                   ten
                   thousand
                
                 for
                 the
                 '
                 foresaid
                 Black-Bills
              
               
                 
                   Fifteen
                   hundred
                
                 more
              
               
                 Grove
                 shou'd
                 have
                 ,
                 they
                 swore
                 ,
              
               
                 Four
                 Gentleman-Russians
                 deserved
                 Fourscore
                 ;
              
               
                 Pious
                 Pickering
                 they
                 knew
                 was
                 of
                 Masses
                 more
                 fond
                 ;
              
               
                 And
                 for
                 
                   thirty
                   thousand
                
                 they
                 gave
                 him
                 a
                 Bond.
              
               
                 
                   They
                   truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                
                 ,
                 &c.
                 
              
            
             
               
                 4
              
               
                 These
                 two
                 ,
                 to
                 kill
                 the
                 King
                 by
                 promises
                 won
                 ,
              
               
                 Had
                 now
                 watch●d
                 for
                 some
                 years
                 in
                 St.
                 
                   James's
                   Park
                
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 Pickering
                 (
                 who
                 never
                 yet
                 
                   shot
                   off
                   a
                   Gun
                
                 )
              
               
               
                 Was
                 about
                 to
                 take
                 aim
                 ,
                 for
                 he
                 had
                 a
                 fair
                 mark
                 ;
              
               
                 Just
                 going
                 to
                 begin't
                 ,
              
               
                 He
                 
                   missed
                   his
                   Flint
                
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 looking
                 in
                 Pan
                 ,
                 there
                 was
                 no
                 Powder
                 in
                 't
                 ;
              
               
                 For
                 which
                 he
                 their
                 Pardon
                 does
                 humbly
                 beseech
                 ,
              
               
                 Yet
                 had
                 
                   thirty
                   good
                   lashes
                
                 upon
                 his
                 bare
                 Breech
                 .
              
               
                 
                   The
                   truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                
                 ,
                 &c.
                 
              
            
             
               
                 5
              
               
                 But
                 a
                 sadder
                 mischance
                 to
                 the
                 Plot
                 did
                 befall
                 ,
              
               
                 For
                 Oats
                 their
                 
                   main
                   Engine
                
                 fail'd
                 ,
                 when
                 it
                 came
                 to
                 't
              
               
                 No
                 marvel
                 indeed
                 if
                 he
                 cozen'd
                 them
                 all
                 ,
              
               
                 Who
                 turn'd
                 him
                 a
                 begging
                 and
                 beat
                 him
                 to
                 boot
                 .
              
               
                 He
                 wheeling
                 about
                 ,
              
               
                 The
                 whole
                 Party
                 did
                 rout
              
               
                 And
                 from
                 lurking
                 holes
                 did
                 ferret
                 them
                 out
                 ,
              
               
                 Till
                 running
                 himself
                 blind
                 ;
                 he
                 
                   none
                   of
                   them
                   knew
                
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 fainting
                 at
                 Councel
                 ,
                 he
                 could
                 not
                 swear
                 true
                 .
              
               
                 
                   The
                   truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                
                 ,
                 &c.
                 
              
            
             
               
                 6.
                 
              
               
                 To
                 strengthen
                 our
                 Doctor
                 ,
                 brave
                 
                 Bedlow's
                 brought
                 in
                 ,
              
               
                 A
                 more
                 
                   credible
                   Witness
                
                 was
                 not
                 above-ground
                 ;
              
               
                 He
                 vows
                 and
                 protests
                 ,
                 what
                 e'r
                 he
                 had
                 been
                 ,
              
               
                 He
                 wou'd
                 not
                 
                   swear
                   false
                
                 now
                 for
                 
                   five
                   hundred
                   pound
                
              
               
                 And
                 why
                 should
                 we
                 swear
                 ,
              
               
                 They
                 falsly
                 would
                 swear
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 damn
                 their
                 own
                 Souls
                 ,
                 and
                 to
                 lose
                 by
                 it
                 here
                 ;
              
               
                 For
                 Oats
                 ,
                 who
                 before
                 had
                 no
                 peny
                 in
                 Purse
              
               
                 Discov'ring
                 the
                 Plot
                 ,
                 was
                 
                   seven
                   hundred
                   pound
                   worse
                
                 .
              
               
                 
                   The
                   truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                
                 ,
                 &c.
                 
              
            
             
               
                 7
                 ▪
              
               
                 Two
                 Witnesses
                 more
                 were
                 let
                 loose
                 from
                 the
                 Jayl
                 ,
              
               
                 Though
                 one
                 ,
                 't
                 is
                 confest
                 ,
                 did
                 
                   run
                   back
                   from
                   his
                   word
                
                 ;
              
               
                 (
                 In
                 danger
                 of
                 life
                 a
                 good
                 man
                 may
                 be
                 frail
                 )
              
               
                 And
                 th'
                 other
                 they
                 slander
                 for
                 
                   cheating
                   his
                   Lord
                
                 ▪
              
               
               
                 T'
                 each
                 one
                 of
                 these
                 men
              
               
                 The
                 Jesuits
                 brought
                 Ten
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 disprove
                 em
                 in
                 time
                 &
                 in
                 place
                 ;
                 but
                 what
                 then
                 ?
              
               
                 One
                 Circumstance
                 lately
                 was
                 sworn
                 most
                 clear
                 ,
              
               
                 By
                 a
                 Man
                 who
                 in
                 hopes
                 has
                 
                   four
                   hundred
                   a
                   year
                
                 .
              
               
                 
                   The
                   truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                
                 ,
                 &c.
                 
              
            
             
               
                 8.
                 
              
               
                 Besides
                 't
                 was
                 oft
                 urg'd
                 ,
                 we
                 must
                 always
                 suppose
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 murder
                 the
                 King
                 a
                 great
                 Plot
                 there
                 has
                 been
                 ;
              
               
                 And
                 who
                 to
                 contrive
                 it
                 so
                 likely
                 as
                 those
              
               
                 Who
                 Murder
                 and
                 Treasons
                 do
                 hold
                 for
                 no
                 sin
                 ;
              
               
                 Things
                 being
                 thus
                 plain
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 plead
                 was
                 in
                 vain
                 ,
              
               
                 The
                 Jury
                 instructed
                 again
                 and
                 again
                 ,
              
               
                 Did
                 find
                 them
                 all
                 Guilty
                 ,
                 &
                 to
                 shew
                 't
                 was
                 well
                 done
              
               
                 The
                 People
                 gave
                 a
                 Shout
                 for
                 Victory
                 won
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 9.
                 
              
               
                 'T
                 is
                 strange
                 how
                 these
                 Jesuits
                 ,
                 so
                 subtle
                 and
                 wise
                 ,
              
               
                 Should
                 all
                 the
                 Pope
                 be
                 so
                 basely
                 trepann'd
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 hang
                 with
                 much
                 comfort
                 when
                 he
                 shall
                 advise
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 go
                 to
                 the
                 Devil
                 too
                 at
                 his
                 command
                 .
              
               
                 He
                 may
                 give
                 them
                 leave
              
               
                 To
                 lye
                 and
                 deceive
                 ;
              
               
                 But
                 what
                 when
                 the
                 Rope
                 does
                 of
                 Life
                 them
                 bereave
              
               
                 Can
                 his
                 Holiness
                 ,
                 think
                 you
                 ,
                 dispense
                 with
                 that
                 pain
              
               
                 Or
                 by
                 his
                 Indulgences
                 raise
                 them
                 again
                 ?
              
               
                 
                   The
                   truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                
                 ,
                 &c.
                 
              
            
             
               
                 1O
                 .
              
               
                 Yet
                 ,
                 like
                 
                   Mad
                   men
                
                 ,
                 of
                 Life
                 and
                 Contempt
                 they
                 express
              
               
                 And
                 of
                 their
                 own
                 happiness
                 careless
                 appear
                 ;
              
               
                 For
                 Life
                 and
                 for
                 Money
                 not
                 one
                 wou'd
                 confess
                 ,
              
               
                 They
                 'd
                 rather
                 be
                 Damn'd
                 than
                 be
                 Rich
                 &
                 live
                 here
                 .
              
               
                 But
                 surely
                 they
                 rav'd
                 ,
              
               
                 When
                 God
                 they
                 out-brav'd
                 ,
              
               
               
                 And
                 thought
                 to
                 renounce
                 him
                 the
                 way
                 to
                 be
                 sav'd
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 with
                 Lies
                 in
                 their
                 mouths
                 go
                 to
                 Heav'n
                 in
                 a
                 string
              
               
                 So
                 prosper
                 all
                 Traytors
                 ,
                 and
                 
                   God
                   save
                   the
                   King.
                
              
               
                 
                   The
                   truth
                   of
                   my
                   Story
                
                 ,
                 &c.
                 
              
               
                 
                   Concordat
                   cum
                   Kecordo
                   Cl.
                   Par.
                
                 
              
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             general
             Sale
             of
             
               Rebellious
               Houshold-Stuff
            
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Old
               Simon
               the
               King.
            
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               REbellion
               hath
               broken
               up
               House
               ,
            
             
               And
               hath
               left
               me
               old
               Lumber
               to
               sell
               ;
            
             
               Come
               hither
               and
               take
               your
               choice
               ;
            
             
               I
               'le
               promise
               to
               use
               you
               well
               .
            
             
               Will
               you
               buy
               the
               old
               
               Speaker's
               Chair
               ,
            
             
               Which
               was
               warm
               ,
               and
               easie
               to
               sit-in
               ,
            
             
               And
               often-times
               hath
               been
               made
               clean
               ,
            
             
               When
               as
               it
               was
               fouler
               than
               sitting
               ,
            
             
               
                 Says
                 old
              
               Symon
               
                 the
                 King
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Says
                 old
              
               Symon
               
                 the
                 King
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 thread-bare
                 Cloaths
                 ,
                 and
                 his
                 mamsy
                 Nose
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 Sing
                 hey
                 ding
                 ,
                 ding
                 ,
                 a
                 ding
                 ding
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Will
               you
               buy
               any
               Bacon-flitches
               ?
            
             
               They
               're
               the
               fattest
               that
               ever
               were
               spent
               ;
            
             
               They
               're
               the
               sides
               of
               the
               Old
               Committees
               ,
            
             
               Fed
               up
               with
               th'
               
                 Long
                 Parliament
              
               .
            
             
               Here
               's
               a
               pair
               of
               Bellows
               and
               Tongs
               ,
            
             
               And
               for
               a
               small
               matter
               I
               'll
               sell
               'em
               ;
            
             
               They
               're
               made
               of
               the
               Presbyters
               Lungs
               ,
            
             
               To
               blow
               up
               the
               Coals
               of
               Rebellion
               ,
            
             
               
                 Says
                 old
              
               Symon
               
                 the
                 King
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               I
               had
               thought
               to
               have
               given
               them
               once
            
             
               To
               some
               Black-Smith
               for
               his
               Forge
               ;
            
             
             
               But
               ,
               now
               I
               have
               consider'd
               on
               't
               ,
            
             
               They
               're
               Consecrated
               to
               the
               Church
               ;
            
             
               For
               I
               'll
               give
               them
               to
               some
               Choir
               ,
            
             
               To
               make
               the
               Organs
               to
               rore
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               little
               Pipes
               squeak
               higher
            
             
               Than
               ever
               they
               did
               before
               ,
            
             
               
                 Says
                 old
              
               Symon
               
                 the
                 King
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Here
               's
               a
               couple
               of
               Stools
               for
               sale
               ,
            
             
               The
               one
               square
               ,
               and
               t'other
               is
               round
               ;
            
             
               Betwixt
               them
               both
               ,
               the
               Tail
            
             
               Of
               the
               RVMP
               fell
               unto
               the
               ground
               .
            
             
               Will
               you
               buy
               the
               States
               Council-Table
               ,
            
             
               Which
               was
               made
               of
               the
               good
               Wain
               -
               Scot
               ;
            
             
               The
               frame
               was
               a
               tottering
               Babel
               ,
            
             
               To
               uphold
               the
               Independent-Plot
               ?
            
             
               
                 Says
                 old
              
               Symon
               
                 the
                 King
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Here
               's
               the
               Beesom
               of
               Reformation
               ,
            
             
               Which
               should
               have
               made
               clean
               the
               Floor
               ;
            
             
               But
               it
               swept
               the
               Wealth
               out
               of
               th'
               Nation
               ,
            
             
               And
               left
               us
               Dirt
               good
               store
               .
            
             
               Will
               you
               buy
               the
               States
               Spinning-wheel
               ,
            
             
               Which
               spun
               for
               the
               Ropers
               Trade
               ?
            
             
               But
               better
               it
               had
               stood
               still
               ,
            
             
               For
               now
               it
               has
               spun
               a
               fair
               Threed
               ,
            
             
               
                 Says
                 old
              
               Symon
               
                 the
                 King
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Here
               's
               a
               very
               good
               Clyster-pipe
               ,
            
             
               Which
               was
               made
               of
               a
               Butchers
               stump
               ;
            
             
               And
               oft-times
               it
               hath
               been
               us'd
            
             
               To
               cure
               the
               Colds
               of
               the
               RVMP
               .
            
             
               Here
               's
               a
               lump
               of
               Pilgrims-Salve
               ,
            
             
               Which
               once
               was
               a
               Justice
               of
               Peace
               ,
            
             
             
               Who
               Nol
               and
               the
               Devil
               did
               serve
               ;
            
             
               But
               now
               it
               is
               come
               to
               This
               ,
            
             
               
                 Says
                 old
              
               Symon
               
                 the
                 King
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Here
               's
               a
               Roll
               of
               
                 States
                 Tobacco
              
               ,
            
             
               If
               any
               Good
               Fellow
               will
               take
               it
               :
            
             
               It
               's
               neither
               Virginia
               nor
               Spanish
               ,
            
             
               But
               I
               'll
               tell
               you
               how
               they
               do
               make
               it
               ;
            
             
               'T
               is
               Covenant
               mixt
               with
               Engagement
               ,
            
             
               With
               an
               Abjuration-Oath
               ;
            
             
               And
               many
               of
               them
               that
               did
               take
               it
            
             
               Complain
               it
               is
               foul
               in
               the
               mouth
               ,
            
             
               
                 Says
                 old
              
               Symon
               
                 the
                 King
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Yet
               the
               Ashes
               may
               happily
               serve
            
             
               To
               Cure
               the
               Scab
               of
               the
               Nation
               ,
            
             
               When
               they
               have
               an
               Itch
               to
               serve
            
             
               A
               Rebellion
               by
               Innovation
               .
            
             
               A
               Lanthorn
               here
               is
               be
               bought
               ,
            
             
               The
               like
               was
               scarce
               e'r
               begotten
               ;
            
             
               For
               many
               a
               Plot
               't
               has
               found
               out
               ,
            
             
               Before
               they
               ever
               were
               thought
               on
               ,
            
             
               
                 Says
                 old
              
               Symon
               the
               King
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               Will
               you
               buy
               the
               
               Rump
               ●s
               great
               Saddle
            
             
               Which
               once
               did
               carry
               the
               Nation
               ?
            
             
               And
               here
               's
               the
               Bitt
               and
               the
               Bridle
               ,
            
             
               And
               Curb
               of
               Dissimulation
            
             
               Here
               's
               the
               Breeches
               of
               the
               Rump
               ,
            
             
               With
               a
               fair
               dissembling
               Cloak
               ,
            
             
               And
               a
               Presbyterian
               Jump
               ,
            
             
               With
               an
               Independant
               Smock
               ,
            
             
               
                 Says
                 old
              
               Symon
               
                 the
                 King
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
             
               10.
               
            
             
               Here
               's
               
               Oliver's
               Brewing-Vessels
               .
            
             
               And
               here
               's
               his
               Dray
               and
               his
               Slings
               ,
            
             
               Here
               's
               
               Hewson's
               Aul
               and
               his
               Bristles
               ,
            
             
               With
               divers
               other
               odd
               things
               .
            
             
               And
               what
               doth
               the
               Price
               belong
            
             
               To
               all
               these
               matters
               before-ye
               ?
            
             
               I
               'le
               sell
               them
               all
               for
               an
               
                 Old
                 Song
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               so
               I
               do
               end
               my
               story
               ,
            
             
               
                 Says
                 old
              
               Symon
               
                 the
                 King
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Says
                 old
              
               Symon
               
                 the
                 King
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 his
                 thread
                 bare
                 Cloaths
                 ,
                 and
                 his
                 mainsey
                 Nose
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 Sing
                 hey
                 ding
                 ,
                 ding
                 ,
                 a
                 ding
                 ding
                 .
              
            
          
        
         
           
             Advice
             to
             the
             City
             :
             or
             ,
             the
             Whigs
             Loyalty
             .
          
           
             To
             a
             Theorbo
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               REmember
               ye
               Whigs
               what
               was
               formerly
               done
               ,
            
             
               Remember
               your
               Mischiefs
               in
               Forty
               and
               One
               ,
            
             
               When
               Friend
               oppos'd
               Friend
               ,
               and
               Father
               the
               Son
               ,
            
             
               Then
               ,
               then
               the
               Old
               Cause
               
                 went
                 rarely
                 on
              
               ;
            
             
               The
               Cap
               sat
               aloft
               ,
               
                 and
                 low
                 was
                 the
              
               Crown
               ,
            
             
               The
               Rable
               got
               up
               ,
               and
               the
               Nobles
               went
               down
               ;
            
             
               Lay
               Elders
               in
               Tubs
               ,
            
             
               Rul'd
               Bishops
               in
               Robes
               ,
            
             
               Who
               mourn'd
               the
               sad
               Fate
            
             
               And
               dreadful
               Disaster
               ,
            
             
               Of
               their
               Royal
               Master
               ,
            
             
               By
               Rebels
               betray'd
               .
            
             
               Then
               London
               
                 be
                 wise
                 ,
                 and
                 baffle
                 their
                 Power
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 let
                 them
                 play
                 the
              
               old
               Game
               
                 no
                 more
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 Hang
                 ,
                 hang
                 up
                 the
              
               Sheri●●●
            
             
               
                 Th●
                 Ba●
                 〈◊〉
                 in
                 Power
              
               ,
            
             
               Those
               〈…〉
               ,
            
             
               
                 Thos●
                 Rats
                 of
              
               the
               ●ower
               ,
            
             
             
               
                 Whose
                 Canting
                 Tales
                 the
                 Rable
                 believes
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 In
                 a
                 hurry
                 ▪
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 never
                 sorry
                 ▪
              
            
             
               
                 Merily
                 they
                 still
                 go
                 on
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Fy
                 for
                 shame
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 We
                 're
                 too
                 tame
                 ,
                 since
                 they
                 claim
                 the
                 combat
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 Tan
                 ,
                 ta
                 ,
                 ra
                 ,
                 ra
                 ,
                 ra
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 Tan
                 ,
                 ta
                 ,
                 ra
                 ,
                 ra
                 ,
                 ra
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 Dub
                 ,
                 a
                 dub
                 ,
                 and
                 let
                 the
                 Drum
                 beat
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 The
                 strong
              
               Militia
               
                 guard
                 the
                 Throne
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               When
               Faction
               possesses
               the
               popular
               Voice
               ,
            
             
               The
               Cause
               is
               supply'd
               still
               with
               Non-sense
               &
               noise
               ;
            
             
               And
               Toney
               their
               Speaker
               ,
               the
               Rabble
               leads
               on
               ,
            
             
               He
               knows
               if
               we
               prosper
               ,
               that
               he
               must
               run
               .
            
             
               Carolina
               must
               be
               his
               next
               Station
               of
               ease
               ,
            
             
               And
               London
               be
               rid
               of
               her
               worst
               Disease
               .
            
             
               From
               Plots
               and
               from
               Spies
               ,
            
             
               From
               Treason
               and
               Lies
               ,
            
             
               We
               shall
               ever
               be
               free
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               Law
               shall
               be
               able
               ,
            
             
               To
               punish
               a
               Rebel
            
             
               As
               cunning
               as
               he
               .
            
             
               Then
               London
               
                 be
                 wise
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Rebellion
               ne'er
               wanted
               a
               Loyal
               pretence
               ;
            
             
               These
               Villains
               swear
               all
               's
               for
               the
               good
               of
               their
               Prince
               :
            
             
               Oppose
               our
               Elections
               ,
               to
               shew
               what
               they
               dare
               ,
            
             
               And
               losing
               their
               Charter
               ,
               Arrest
               the
               
                 Lord
                 Mayor
              
               .
            
             
               Fool
               Jenks
               was
               the
               first
               o'
               th'
               Cuckoldly
               Crew
               ,
            
             
               With
               Ellis
               ,
               and
               Jeykel
               ,
               and
               Hubland
               the
               Jew
               .
            
             
               Fam'd
               Sparks
               of
               the
               Town
               ,
            
             
               For
               Wealth
               and
               Renown
               ,
            
             
             
               Give
               the
               Devil
               his
               due
               ,
            
             
               And
               such
               as
               we
               fear
               ,
            
             
               Had
               their
               Sovereign
               been
               there
               ,
            
             
               Th
               'had
               Arrested
               Him
               too
               .
            
             
               Then
               London
               
                 be
                 wise
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
        
         
           
             
               Blanket
               Fair
            
             ,
             or
             the
             History
             of
             Temple-street
             .
             Being
             a
             Relation
             of
             the
             merry
             Pranks
             plaid
             on
             the
             River
             of
             Thames
             during
             the
             great
             Frost
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Packington's
               Pound
            
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               COme
               listen
               a
               while
               (
               though
               the
               Weather
               be
               cold
               )
            
             
               In
               your
               Pockets
               &
               Plackets
               your
               Hands
               you
               may
               hold
               .
            
             
               I●ll
               tell
               you
               a
               Story
               as
               t●ue
               as
               t
               is
               rare
               ,
            
             
               Of
               a
               River
               turn'd
               into
               a
               
                 Bartholomew
                 Fair.
              
            
             
               Since
               old
               Christmas
               lust
            
             
               There
               has
               been
               such
               a
               Frost
               ,
            
             
               That
               the
               Thames
               has
               by
               half
               the
               whole
               Nation
               been
               crost
               .
            
             
               O
               Scullers
               I
               pity
               your
               fate
               of
               Extreams
               ,
            
             
               Each
               Land-man
               is
               now
               become
               free
               of
               the
               Thames
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               'T
               is
               some
               
                 ●a●land
                 Acquaintance
              
               of
               Conjurer
               Oates
               ,
            
             
               That
               has
               ty'd
               up
               your
               Hands
               &
               imprison'd
               your
               Boats
            
             
               You
               know
               he
               was
               ever
               a
               friend
               to
               the
               Crew
            
             
               Of
               all
               that
               to
               Admiral
               James
               has
               bin
               true
               .
            
             
               Where
               Sculls
               once
               did
               Row
            
             
               Men
               walk
               to
               and
               fro
               ,
            
             
               But
               e're
               four
               months
               are
               ended
               '
               will
               hardly
               be
               so
               .
            
             
               Should
               your
               hopes
               of
               a
               Tha●
               by
               this
               weather
               be
               crost
               ,
            
             
               Your
               Fortunes
               would
               soon
               be
               as
               hard
               as
               the
               Frost
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               In
               
                 Roast
                 Beef
              
               and
               Brand
               ▪
               much
               money
               is
               spent
            
             
               In
               Booths
               made
               of
               Blankets
               that
               pay
               no
               Ground-rent
            
             
             
               With
               old
               fashion'd
               Chimneys
               the
               Rooms
               are
               secur'd
            
             
               And
               the
               Houses
               from
               danger
               of
               Fire
               ensur'd
               .
            
             
               The
               chief
               place
               you
               meet
            
             
               Is
               call'd
               Temple-street
               ,
            
             
               If
               you
               do
               not
               believe
               me
               ,
               then
               you
               may
               go
               see
               't
               .
            
             
               From
               the
               Temple
               the
               Students
               do
               thither
               resort
               ,
            
             
               Who
               were
               always
               great
               Patrons
               of
               Revels
               &
               sport
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               The
               citizen
               comes
               with
               his
               Daughter
               or
               Wife
               ,
            
             
               And
               swears
               he
               ne'r
               saw
               such
               a
               sight
               in
               his
               life
               :
            
             
               The
               Prentices
               starv'd
               at
               home
               for
               want
               of
               O●als
               ,
            
             
               To
               catch
               them
               a
               heat
               do
               flock
               thither
               in
               shoals
               ,
            
             
               While
               the
               Country
               Squire
            
             
               Does
               stand
               and
               admire
            
             
               At
               the
               wondrous
               conjunction
               of
               Water
               and
               Fire
               .
            
             
               Strait
               comes
               an
               arch
               Wag
               ,
               a
               young
               
                 Son
                 of
                 a
                 Whore
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               lays
               the
               
                 Squires
                 head
              
               where
               his
               
               heels
               ●ere
               before
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               The
               
                 Rotterdam
                 Dutchman
              
               with
               fleet
               cutting
               Scates
               ,
            
             
               To
               pleasure
               the
               crowd
               shews
               his
               tricks
               &
               his
               feats
               ,
            
             
               Who
               like
               a
               Rope-dancer
               (
               for
               all
               his
               sharp
               Steels
               )
            
             
               His
               Brains
               and
               activity
               lie
               in
               his
               Heels
               .
            
             
               Here
               are
               all
               things
               like
               fate
            
             
               Are
               in
               slippery
               state
               ,
            
             
               From
               the
               sole
               of
               the
               Foot
               to
               the
               crown
               of
               the
               Pate
               .
            
             
               While
               the
               Rabble
               in
               Sledges
               run
               giddily
               round
               ,
            
             
               And
               nought
               but
               a
               circle
               of
               folly
               is
               found
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Here
               Damsels
               are
               handed
               like
               Nymphs
               in
               the
               Bath
               ,
            
             
               By
               Gentlemen-Vshers
               with
               Legs
               like
               a
               Lath
               ;
            
             
               They
               slide
               to
               a
               Tune
               ,
               and
               cry
               give
               me
               your
               Hand
               ,
            
             
               When
               the
               tottering
               Fops
               are
               scarce
               able
               to
               stand
               .
            
             
               Then
               with
               fear
               and
               with
               care
            
             
               They
               arrive
               at
               the
               Fair
               ,
            
             
             
               Where
               Wenches
               sell
               Glasses
               &
               
                 crackt
                 Earthen
                 ware
              
               ;
            
             
               To
               shew
               that
               the
               World
               ,
               &
               the
               pleasures
               it
               brings
               ,
            
             
               Are
               made
               up
               of
               brittle
               and
               
                 slippery
                 things
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               A
               Spark
               of
               the
               Bar
               with
               his
               Cane
               and
               his
               Muff
               ,
            
             
               One
               day
               went
               to
               treat
               his
               new
               rigg'd
               Kitchinstuff
               ,
            
             
               Let
               slip
               from
               her
               Gallant
               ,
               the
               gay
               Damsel
               try'd
            
             
               (
               As
               oft
               she
               had
               done
               in
               the
               Country
               )
               to
               slide
               ,
            
             
               In
               the
               way
               lay
               a
               stump
               ,
            
             
               That
               with
               a
               damn'd
               Thump
               ,
            
             
               She
               broke
               both
               her
               Shooe-strings
               &
               cripl'd
               her
               Rump
               .
            
             
               The
               heat
               of
               her
               Buttocks
               made
               such
               a
               great
               thaw
               .
            
             
               She
               had
               like
               to
               have
               drowned
               the
               man
               of
               the
               Law.
               
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               All
               you
               that
               are
               warm
               both
               in
               Body
               and
               Purse
               ,
            
             
               I
               give
               you
               this
               warning
               for
               better
               or
               worse
               ,
            
             
               Be
               not
               there
               in
               the
               Moonshine
               pray
               take
               my
               advice
            
             
               For
               
                 slippery
                 things
              
               have
               been
               done
               on
               the
               Ice
               .
            
             
               Maids
               there
               have
               been
               said
            
             
               To
               lose
               Maiden-head
               ,
            
             
               And
               Sparks
               from
               full
               Pockets
               gone
               empty
               to
               Bed.
            
             
               If
               their
               Brains
               and
               their
               Bodies
               had
               not
               been
               too
               warm
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               forty
               to
               one
               they
               had
               come
               to
               less
               harm
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Freezland-Fair
             ,
             or
             the
             
               Icey
               Bear-Garden
            
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
             Packington's
             Pound
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               I
               'Ll
               tell
               ye
               a
               Tale
               tho'
               before
               't
               was
               in
               Print
               )
            
             
               If
               you
               make
               nothing
               on
               't
               ,
               than
               the
               Devil
               is
               in
               't
            
             
               'T
               is
               no
               tale
               of
               a
               Tub
               ,
               nor
               the
               Plotting
               of
               Treason
               ,
            
             
               But
               of
               very
               
                 strange
                 things
              
               have
               been
               done
               this
               
                 strange
                 Season
              
               .
            
             
               Ye
               know
               there
               's
               a
               Brook
               ,
            
             
               No
               ,
               no
               ,
               I
               mistook
               ,
            
             
             
               For
               I
               could
               not
               find
               it
               ,
               tho'
               long
               I
               did
               look
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               I
               do
               not
               question
               ,
               for
               all
               these
               odd
               freaks
               ,
            
             
               We
               shall
               find
               it
               again
               when-e're
               the
               Frost
               breaks
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               If
               ye
               do
               believe
               what
               was
               told
               us
               by
               Oats
               ,
            
             
               Ye
               never
               again
               will
               have
               use
               of
               your
               Boats
               ;
            
             
               Without
               ye
               do
               now
               imploy
               th'
               Wheelers
               to
               do
               't
               ,
            
             
               Ye
               never
               ne'r
               will
               be
               able
               to
               bring
               all
               about
               .
            
             
               He
               talkt
               of
               a
               Plot
               ,
            
             
               Believe
               it
               ,
               or
               not
               ,
            
             
               To
               blow
               up
               the
               Thames
               ,
               and
               to
               do
               't
               on
               the
               Spot
               ;
            
             
               Then
               either
               the
               Doctor
               must
               now
               be
               believ'd
               ,
            
             
               Or
               else
               the
               Doctor
               and
               we
               are
               deceiv'd
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               No
               Water
               I
               see
               which
               does
               fairly
               incline
               ,
            
             
               To
               make
               me
               believe
               that
               he
               has
               Sprung
               his
               Mine
               ;
            
             
               Tho'
               that
               did
               not
               do
               what
               the
               Doctor
               intended
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               he
               may
               for
               one
               thing
               be
               said
               to
               be
               commended
               :
            
             
               He
               said
               that
               the
               Pope
               ,
            
             
               Pray
               mind
               ,
               't
               is
               a
               Trope
               ,
            
             
               Wou'd
               send
               us
               his
               Bulls
               ,
               by
               the
               way
               of
               the
               Hope
               ;
            
             
               And
               tho'
               for
               the
               sight
               we
               have
               all
               along
               bin
               waiting
            
             
               I
               t'other
               day
               saw
               on
               the
               Ice
               a
               Bull-baiting
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               I
               hope
               you
               'll
               believe
               me
               ,
               't
               was
               a
               fine
               Sight
               ,
            
             
               As
               ever
               I
               saw
               on
               a
               
                 Queen
                 Besses
              
               Night
               ;
            
             
               Tho'
               I
               must
               confess
               I
               saw
               no
               such
               Dogs
               there
               ,
            
             
               As
               us'd
               to
               attend
               on
               th'
               Infallible
               Chair
               .
            
             
               Yet
               there
               were
               some
               Men.
            
             
               Whom
               I
               knew
               again
               ,
            
             
               Who
               bawl'd
               as
               they
               did
               ,
               when
               they
               
                 chose
                 Aldermen
              
               .
            
             
               And
               Faith
               it
               had
               bin
               a
               most
               excellent
               Show
               .
            
             
               Had
               there
               bin
               but
               some
               Crackers
               and
               Serpents
               to
               throw
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Another
               thing
               pleas'd
               me
               ,
               as
               I
               hope
               for
               Life
               ,
            
             
               I
               saw
               of
               a
               Man
               that
               had
               gotten
               a
               Wife
            
             
               To
               see
               the
               rare
               W●imsies
               ,
               the
               Woman
               was
               sick
               ,
            
             
               So
               never
               suspected
               a
               
                 slippery
                 Trick
              
               :
            
             
               But
               when
               she
               came
               there
               ,
            
             
               The
               Ice
               wou'd
               not
               bear
               ,
            
             
               But
               whether
               't
               was
               
                 his
                 fault
              
               or
               hers
               ,
               I
               can't
               swear
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               thus
               far
               is
               true
               ,
               had
               he
               lost
               his
               Wife
               ,
            
             
               He
               then
               might
               have
               pray'd
               for
               a
               Frost
               all
               his
               life
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               There
               's
               very
               fine
               Tricks
               ,
               &
               new
               subject
               for
               Laughter
               ,
            
             
               For
               there
               you
               may
               take
               a
               Coach
               and
               go
               by
               Water
               ,
            
             
               So
               get
               a
               Tarpauling
               too
               ,
               as
               you
               are
               Jogging
               ,
            
             
               Tho'
               a
               Nymph
               t'other
               day
               for
               it
               got
               a
               good
               Flogging
               .
            
             
               There
               was
               an
               old
               Toast
               ,
            
             
               Of
               Beef
               had
               a
               Roast
               ,
            
             
               Which
               fell
               into
               th'
               Sellar
               ,
               and
               fairly
               was
               lost
               .
            
             
               O
               see
               in
               old
               Proverbs
               sometimes
               there
               is
               truth
               ,
            
             
               A
               man
               is
               not
               sure
               of
               his
               Meat
               till
               in
               's
               Mouth
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               But
               I
               had
               forgot
               my
               chief
               bus●ness
               I
               swear
               ,
            
             
               To
               give
               an
               Account
               of
               new
               
                 Temple
                 street
              
               Fair
               ;
            
             
               Where
               most
               of
               the
               Students
               do
               daily
               resort
               ,
            
             
               To
               shew
               the
               great
               love
               they
               had
               always
               for
               sport
               .
            
             
               Who
               oft
               give
               a
               Token
               ,
            
             
               I
               hope
               't
               may
               be
               spoken
               ,
            
             
               To
               Whore
               in
               a
               Mask
               ,
               who
               squeaks
               like
               a
               Pig
               a
               Poke
               in
            
             
               To
               see
               such
               
                 crack't
                 Vessels
              
               sail
               is
               a
               new
               matter
               ,
            
             
               Who
               have
               bin
               so
               shatter'd
               between
               Wind
               &
               Water
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Like
               Babel
               this
               
               Fair
               's
               not
               built
               with
               Brick
               or
               stone
            
             
               Though
               here
               I
               believe
               is
               as
               great
               Confusion
               ;
            
             
               Now
               Blanckets
               are
               forc'd
               double
               Duty
               to
               pay
               ,
            
             
             
               On
               Beds
               all
               the
               night
               ,
               and
               for
               Houses
               all
               day
               ;
            
             
               But
               there
               's
               something
               more
               ,
            
             
               Some
               people
               deplore
               ,
            
             
               Their
               carelesly
               leaving
               open
               Sellar
               door
               ,
            
             
               Which
               puts
               me
               in
               mind
               of
               
                 Jack
                 Presbyter's
              
               trick
               ,
            
             
               Who
               from
               Pulpit
               descends
               the
               like
               way
               to
               
                 old
                 Nick
              
               ,
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               Come
               all
               ye
               young
               Damsels
               both
               swarthy
               and
               fair
               ,
            
             
               This
               is
               the
               best
               place
               to
               put
               off
               your
               
                 Crackt
                 Ware
              
               ;
            
             
               Here
               's
               Chapmen
               good
               store
               who
               too
               't
               stifly
               will
               stand
               ,
            
             
               And
               scorn
               to
               put
               Coin
               that
               is
               false
               in
               your
               Hand
               :
            
             
               While
               you
               're
               there
               abiding
               ,
            
             
               And
               on
               the
               
                 Ice
                 Gliding
              
               ,
            
             
               Let
               'em
               say
               what
               they
               will
               ,
               't
               is
               but
               a
               back-sliding
               :
            
             
               But
               if
               ye
               shou'd
               Prove
               ,
               then
               say
               I
               am
               a
               Prophet
               ,
            
             
               Tho'
               t
               is
               a
               
                 slippery
                 trick
              
               there
               shall
               come
               no
               more
               of
               it
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               There
               's
               many
               more
               Tricks
               ,
               but
               too
               long
               to
               be
               told
               ,
            
             
               Which
               are
               not
               all
               new
               ,
               tho'
               there
               's
               none
               of
               'em
               old
            
             
               There
               's
               the
               Fellow
               that
               Printeth
               the
               
                 Old
                 Bailey
                 Trial
              
            
             
               Who
               to
               all
               the
               dull
               Printers
               does
               give
               a
               Denyal
               ;
            
             
               He
               'll
               Print
               for
               a
               S●ce
               ,
            
             
               (
               For
               that
               is
               his
               price
            
             
               Your
               Name
               (
               that
               you
               brag
               may
               't
               was
               done
               )
               on
               the
               Ice
               .
            
             
               And
               Faith
               I
               do
               think
               it
               a
               very
               fine
               thing
               ,
            
             
               So
               my
               
               Tale's
               at
               an
               end
               ,
               but
               first
               ,
               
                 God
                 save
                 the
                 King
              
               ,
            
          
        
         
           
             Toney's
             Soliloquies
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               The
               Lamentation
               of
               a
               bad
               Market
               .
            
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               WHen
               the
               Plot
               I
               first
               invented
               ,
            
             
               I
               was
               ravisht
               in
               conceit
               ,
            
             
               To
               see
               its
               Frame
               so
               well
               cemented
               ,
            
             
               Varnish'd
               over
               with
               Deceit
               .
            
             
             
               It
               was
               an
               Infant
               of
               my
               Spirit
               ,
            
             
               Nay
               ,
               the
               Darling
               of
               my
               Soul
               ,
            
             
               If
               its
               contrivance
               be
               a
               Merit
               ,
            
             
               By
               Jove
               the
               Cooper
               did
               well
               Boul.
               
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               For
               to
               give
               this
               Engine
               Motion
               ,
            
             
               To
               arrive
               where
               it
               did
               tend
               ,
            
             
               I
               fill'd
               the
               Vulgar
               ears
               with
               '
               Notions
               ,
            
             
               And
               Gospel
               of
               my
               
                 Oaten
                 Friend
              
               ;
            
             
               I
               antedated
               all
               Transactions
               ,
            
             
               Distinguisht
               Stiles
               of
               New
               and
               Old
               ,
            
             
               In
               the
               State
               I
               made
               such
               Fractions
               ;
            
             
               Some
               I
               Bought
               ,
               and
               some
               I
               Sold.
               
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               The
               Mobile
               I
               so
               distemper'd
               ,
            
             
               With
               the
               Magick
               of
               my
               Care
               ,
            
             
               None
               but
               wou'd
               his
               Soul
               have
               ventur'd
            
             
               Where
               brave
               Toney
               bore
               a
               Share
               ;
            
             
               Have
               I
               not
               in
               Abomination
            
             
               Held
               the
               Miter
               and
               
                 Lawn
                 Sleeves
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               Itcht
               at
               a
               second
               Sequestration
               ,
            
             
               To
               pull
               down
               such
               
                 Ghostly
                 Theeves
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Have
               I
               not
               Taught
               the
               Sanhedrim
               ▪
            
             
               To
               Imperate
               and
               not
               Obey
               ?
            
             
               Th'
               had
               Genuflections
               done
               to
               them
               ,
            
             
               Which
               men
               to
               
                 Crowned
                 Heads
              
               do
               pay
               .
            
             
               Then
               would
               I
               Barter
               for
               Repeal
            
             
               O'
               th
               Five
               and
               Thirtieth
               of
               Q.
               Bess
               ,
            
             
               To
               make
               a
               way
               for
               Commonweal
               ,
            
             
               (
               The
               Centre
               of
               our
               Happiness
               .
               )
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               How
               many
               hot
               and
               high
               Debates
               ,
            
             
               In
               favour
               of
               th'
               
                 Exclusive
                 Bill
              
               ,
            
             
             
               I
               bandy'd
               'twixt
               the
               two
               Estates
               ,
            
             
               Th'
               effects
               of
               my
               depraved
               will
               !
            
             
               By
               Subornation
               ,
               to
               the
               Block
            
             
               I
               brought
               ,
               a
               
                 Loyal
                 Noble
                 Peer
              
               ;
            
             
               And
               trusted
               others
               to
               that
               Lock
               ,
            
             
               Which
               cost
               my
               Buck
               and
               me
               so
               dear
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               In
               fine
               ,
               poor
               profligated
               Wretch
               ,
            
             
               For
               to
               indulge
               my
               Minion
               Spight
               ,
            
             
               My
               Seared
               Conscience
               I
               did
               stretch
               ,
            
             
               And
               did
               
                 Old
                 Rowley's
              
               Guards
               Indict
            
             
               I
               did
               espouse
               all
               Wickedness
               ,
            
             
               And
               only
               lov'd
               what
               's
               
                 purely
                 Evil
              
               ;
            
             
               In
               that
               alone
               was
               my
               excess
               ;
            
             
               Then
               take
               thy
               own
               
                 Associate
                 ,
                 Devil
              
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             
               Rejoyce
               in
               Tryumph
            
             ,
             Or
             a
             Plaudite
             on
             the
             Ottamens
             defeat
             at
             Vienna
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Hark
               how
               the
               thundring
               Connons
               roar
               .
            
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               I
               'M
               glad
               to
               hear
               the
               Cannons
               roar
            
             
               Resounding
               from
               the
               German
               shoar
               ,
            
             
               Better
               News
               than
               heretofore
               ,
            
             
               That
               Babels
               Beast
               is
               wounded
               ;
            
             
               The
               Christians
               brave
               ,
               both
               all
               and
               some
            
             
               Charge
               with
               the
               Horse
               and
               Kettle-Drum
               ,
            
             
               The
               Enemy
               of
               Christendom
               ,
            
             
               Till
               ●urks
               are
               quite
               confounded
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               The
               King
               of
               Poland
               (
               in
               a
               Phraise
               )
            
             
               The
               great
               Grand-Seigneur
               did
               amaze
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               noise
               his
               Siege
               did
               raise
               ,
            
             
               Couragious
               Solymannus
               !
            
             
               (
               If
               you
               resolve
               to
               come
               again
               )
            
             
             
               You
               must
               recruit
               both
               might
               and
               main
               ,
            
             
               Or
               else
               it
               will
               be
               all
               in
               vain
               ,
            
             
               To
               think
               that
               thy'l
               trepan
               us
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               His
               Christian
               Majesty
               of
               France
            
             
               Doth
               Booty
               play
               ,
               the
               Germans
               dance
               ,
            
             
               And
               he
               doth
               laugh
               at
               our
               mischance
               ,
            
             
               Himself
               he
               dare
               not
               venter
               ;
            
             
               But
               Pimp
               the
               Beast
               ,
               and
               
                 Babels
                 Whore
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               he
               ●o-peep
               stands
               at
               the
               door
               ,
            
             
               While
               the
               wanton
               Cannon
               roar
               ,
            
             
               Then
               
               Hector-like
               he
               'l
               enter
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               But
               spite
               on
               Turk
               ,
               and
               Great
               Mogul
               ,
            
             
               And
               Pox
               upon
               the
               
                 Scarlet
                 Trull
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               we
               Poppie
               too
               dare
               pull
               ,
            
             
               If
               Charles
               be
               our
               Commander
               ;
            
             
               For
               though
               He
               Neutral
               seem
               to
               be
               ,
            
             
               He
               can
               command
               both
               Land
               and
               Sea
               ,
            
             
               And
               over-throw
               the
               big-look'd
               Three
               ,
            
             
               And
               trace
               brave
               Alexander
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Then
               let
               no
               rancor
               joyn'd
               with
               hate
            
             
               Make
               Ruptures
               in
               the
               Church
               or
               State
               ,
            
             
               But
               all
               submit
               to
               Divine
               Fate
               ,
            
             
               And
               keep
               within
               our
               Border
               ;
            
             
               Let
               none
               old
               England
               then
               forsake
               ,
            
             
               (
               Since
               Crowns
               and
               Kingdoms
               lye
               at
               Stake
               )
            
             
               If
               Forreign
               War
               to
               undertake
               ,
            
             
               Till
               Charles
               get
               further
               Order
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               The
               Germans
               tall
               that
               heretofore
               ,
            
             
               They
               Captive
               took
               one
               Bull
               and
               Boar
               ,
            
             
               The
               Minotaurus
               of
               a
               Whore
               ,
            
             
             
               Did
               roar
               like
               any
               Thunder
               ;
            
             
               Then
               
                 P.
                 P.
              
               how
               could
               this
               be
            
             
               The
               Great
               Gibralter
               of
               the
               Sea
               ?
            
             
               Whose
               Army
               was
               to
               Fight
               with
               thee
            
             
               And
               force
               the
               World
               to
               wonder
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               But
               Ottomon
               pray
               get
               you
               gone
               ,
            
             
               We
               Christians
               do
               but
               draw
               you
               on
               ;
            
             
               We
               'l
               greater
               Booty
               have
               ,
               or
               none
               ,
            
             
               And
               if
               you
               'l
               not
               prevent
               it
               ;
            
             
               If
               ever
               you
               turn
               your
               Face
               this
               way
            
             
               We
               'l
               make
               the
               
                 Cannon
                 musick
              
               play
               ,
            
             
               And
               you
               shall
               Dance
               the
               English
               Hay
               ,
            
             
               Till
               all
               your
               bones
               lament
               it
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Our
               Royal
               James
               will
               make
               you
               know
            
             
               The
               sharpness
               of
               a
               
                 York-shire
                 Ho
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               prove
               by
               Land
               ,
               and
               Sea
               your
               Foe
            
             
               If
               Charles
               command
               to
               do
               it
               ;
            
             
               Both
               
                 England
                 ,
                 Scotland
                 ,
                 Dutch
              
               and
               Dane
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               his
               Islands
               of
               the
               M●●h
            
             
               Will
               not
               be
               able
               to
               refrain
               ;
            
             
               If
               he
               once
               say
               do
               it
               .
            
          
           
             
               9
            
             
               Then
               fill
               the
               Piss-pot
               to
               the
               Swine
               ,
            
             
               Heap
               me
               a
               rousing
               Glass
               of
               Wine
               ,
            
             
               The
               dancing
               Thames
               shall
               pledge
               the
               Rhine
            
             
               And
               Tyber
               shall
               be
               Praeses
               ;
            
             
               Then
               here
               's
               to
               Charles
               that
               rules
               the
               Main
               ,
            
             
               To
               
                 Poland
                 ,
                 Holland
                 ,
                 Scot
              
               and
               Dane
               ,
            
             
               To
               Germany
               ,
               and
               brave
               Lorrain
               ;
            
             
               But
               pray
               you
               
                 po●us
                 ne
                 sis
              
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             Cupid
             turn'd
             Musqueteer
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Which
               no
               body
               can
               deny
            
             .
          
           
             ALas
             what
             's
             is
             like
             to
             become
             of
             the
             Plot
          
           
             Now
             
             To●ey
             ●s
             dead
             ,
             and
             Titus
             is
             go●
          
           
             In
             so
             fair
             a
             prospect
             of
             going
             to
             Pot
             ?
          
           
             
               Which
               no
               body
               can
               deny
            
             .
          
           
             They
             say
             he
             has
             lately
             reviv'd
             an
             old
             trick
             ,
          
           
             Which
             he
             us'd
             as
             a
             Med'cine
             when
             he
             was
             Love
             sick
             ,
          
           
             Page
             ,
             Bayliff
             or
             Bum
             to
             take
             in
             the
             Nick
             ,
          
           
             
               Which
               no
               body
               can
               deny
            
             .
          
           
             Now
             Titus
             for
             one
             of
             his
             Saints
             Tutelars
             ,
          
           
             Had
             got
             a
             young
             Fellow
             as
             Brawny
             as
             Mars
             ,
          
           
             With
             a
             thousand
             invincible
             Charms
             in
             his
             A
             —
          
           
             
               Which
               no
               body
               can
               deny
            
             .
          
           
             A
             large
             pair
             of
             Buttocks
             as
             ever
             was
             seen
             ,
          
           
             With
             a
             delicate
             Nut-brown
             hole
             between
             ,
          
           
             And
             rascally
             Cupid
             lay
             lurking
             Within
             .
          
           
             
               Which
               no
               body
               can
               deny
            
             .
          
           
             Whence
             Centinel-like
             with
             his
             Gun
             in
             his
             hand
             ,
          
           
             He
             spy'd
             out
             the
             Doctor
             &
             charg'd
             him
             to
             stand
             ,
          
           
             Not
             doubting
             but
             He
             would
             obey
             his
             command
          
           
             
               Which
               no
               body
               can
               deny
            
             .
          
           
             But
             he
             disobey'd
             ;
             which
             when
             Cupid
             espy'd
             ,
          
           
             He
             quickly
             presented
             :
             Have-at-you
             he
             cry'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             lodg'd
             him
             a
             Bullet
             in
             his
             left
             side
             ,
          
           
             
               Which
               no
               body
               can
               deny
            
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             'T
             is
             true
             he
             was
             arm'd
             (
             as
             Poets
             have
             told
             )
          
           
             With
             only
             a
             Bowe
             and
             a
             Quiver
             of
             old
             ,
          
           
             And
             Arrows
             for
             Love
             ,
             which
             were
             headed
             with
             Gold
             ,
          
           
             
               Which
               no
            
             &c.
             
          
           
             Which
             still
             he
             does
             use
             ,
             as
             h'
             has
             formerly
             done
             ,
          
           
             When
             th'
             old
             way
             of
             Loving
             he
             means
             to
             drive
             on
          
           
             But
             for
             this
             
               new
               way
            
             he
             makes
             use
             of
             a
             Gun
             ,
          
           
             
               Which
               no
            
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
           
             The
             Gun
             went
             off
             bounce
             ,
             yet
             the
             Dr.
             n'er
             started
          
           
             Which
             was
             some
             effect
             of
             his
             being
             stout-hearted
             ,
          
           
             For
             he
             only
             thought
             that
             the
             Fellow
             had
             farted
             ,
          
           
             
               Which
               no
               body
               can
               deny
            
             .
          
           
             But
             quickly
             he
             found
             he
             had
             cause
             to
             repent
             it
             ,
          
           
             For
             Cupid
             had
             poison'd
             the
             shot●e●r
             he
             sent
             it
             ,
          
           
             With
             somthing
             so
             strong
             ,
             you
             might
             easily
             
               scent
               it
            
             .
          
           
             
               Which
               no
               body
               can
               deny
            
             .
          
           
             This
             poison
             so
             basely
             debases
             Loves
             Fires
             ,
          
           
             That
             the
             foulest
             of
             object
             ▪
             ●he
             Lover
             admires
             ,
          
           
             And
             so
             it
             inclin'd
             the
             good
             
             Doctor
             's
             Desires
             ,
          
           
             
               Which
               no
               body
               can
               deny
            
             .
          
           
             For
             he
             fell
             in
             love
             (
             't
             is
             a
             kind
             of
             a
             Riddle
             )
          
           
             Immediately
             with
             this
             great
             Fellows
             Bumfiddle
             ;
          
           
             But
             chiefly
             he
             s●irkt
             at
             the
             Slit
             in
             the
             middle
             ,
          
           
             
               Which
               no
               body
               can
               deny
            
             .
          
           
             Quoth
             he
             in
             a
             rage
             ,
             
               What
               a
               plague
               have
               you
               done
               ?
            
          
           
             Your
             Barrel
             is
             foul
             ,
             I
             'll
             lay
             Twenty
             to
             One
             ;
          
           
             But
             I
             have
             a
             Rammer
             will
             scour
             your
             Gun
             ,
          
           
             
               Which
               no
               body
               can
               deny
            
             .
          
           
             Nay
             ,
             never
             refuse
             ,
             but
             leave
             off
             your
             winking
             ;
          
           
             There
             's
             no
             body
             near
             ,
             &
             't
             is
             just
             to
             my
             thinking
             ,
          
           
             That
             I
             shou'd
             chastize
             you
             thus
             for
             your
             stinking
          
           
             
               Which
               no
               body
               can
               deny
            
             .
          
           
             So
             down
             went
             the
             Breeches
             ,
             and
             he
             fell
             to
             work
             ;
          
           
             About
             him
             he
             laid
             ,
             as
             he
             had
             been
             a
             Turk
             :
          
           
             And
             so
             this
             great
             bus'ness
             was
             done
             with
             a
             Jerk
             ,
          
           
             
               Which
               no
               body
               can
               deny
            
             .
          
           
             And
             truly
             the
             bus'ness
             was
             great
             in
             its
             kind
             ;
          
           
             For
             the
             Fellow
             was
             very
             well
             scour'd
             behind
             ,
          
           
             And
             the
             Dr.
             was
             eas'd
             both
             in
             Body
             and
             Mind
             ,
          
           
             
               Which
               no
               body
               can
               deny
            
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             
               No
               Protestent-Plot
            
             ;
             or
             ,
             the
             Whigs
             Loyalty
             With
             the
             
             Doctor
             's
             New
             Discovery
             ,
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               HElls
               restless
               Factious
               Agents
               still
               Plot
               on
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 Eighty
                 Three
              
               smells
               rank
               of
               
                 Forty
                 One
              
               ;
            
             
               The
               Royal
               Martyrs
               Foes
               pursue
               his
               Son
               ,
            
             
               Who
               seek
               their
               Lives
               with
               Blunderbuss
               and
               Guns
               ;
            
             
               The
               Infernal
               Regicides
               so
               inflam'd
               with
               Zeal
               ,
            
             
               Are
               for
               killing
               King
               &
               Duke
               ,
               t'
               Erect
               a
               Commonweal
            
             
               This
               is
               the
               daily
               Trade
               &
               practice
               of
               our
               Modern
               Whiggs
               ,
            
             
               Tho'
               they
               're
               always
               baffled
               in
               their
               
                 damn'd
                 Intrigues
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               What!
               Ho!
               cryes
               Titus
               ,
               rise
               ye
               sleepy
               Heads
               ,
            
             
               Unless
               you
               'l
               all
               be
               Murder'd
               in
               your
               Beds
               ;
            
             
               Fierce
               Hannibal
               of
               France
               is
               at
               your
               Gate
               ,
            
             
               Come
               Rascals
               ,
               Mutiny
               e'er
               't
               is
               too
               late
               :
            
             
               The
               
                 Spanish
                 Pilgrims
              
               once
               hir'd
               to
               cut
               your
               Throats
            
             
               Are
               Landed
               now
               at
               
                 Milford
                 Haven
              
               ,
               believe
               your
               Saviour
               Oats
               ;
            
             
               And
               the
               
                 Horrid
                 Popish
                 Army
              
               ,
               that
               were
               hid
               under
               Ground
               ,
            
             
               Are
               ,
               I
               'll
               take
               my
               Oath
               ,
               within
               a
               
                 Trumpets
                 Sound
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               See
               there
               ,
               a
               
                 Fighting
                 Army
              
               in
               the
               Air
               !
            
             
               But
               now
               it
               vanishes
               ,
               and
               disappears
               ;
            
             
               A
               Spectre
               told
               strange
               Things
               to
               Honest
               Bess
               ,
            
             
               Which
               much
               amaz'd
               the
               
                 Hatfield
                 Prophetess
              
               ;
            
             
               I
               told
               'em
               true
               at
               first
               ,
               what
               
                 Black
                 Designs
              
               would
               be
            
             
               Carry●d
               on
               against
               the
               King
               ,
               and
               Royal
               Alban●
               ,
            
             
               By
               the
               
                 discontended
                 Whiggs
              
               ;
               but
               
                 Rebel
                 Tony
              
               since
               ,
            
             
               Made
               me
               contradict
               my
               former
               evidence
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               I
               've
               lost
               my
               
                 Swearing
                 Trade
              
               ,
               now
               by
               this
               Hand
               ,
            
             
             
               Must
               I
               be
               forc'd
               to
               starve
               ,
               or
               leave
               the
               Land●
            
             
               My
               injur'd
               Prince
               has
               long
               since
               on
               me
               frown'd
               ,
            
             
               For
               Perjuries
               against
               his
               Life
               and
               Crown
               :
            
             
               I
               'll
               follow
               
                 Rumbold
                 ,
                 Wade
                 ,
                 Nelthrop
                 ,
                 Walcot
                 ,
                 Hone
                 ,
              
            
             
               With
               that
               Cruel
               Blood-Hound
               Barton
               ,
               who
               've
               all
               fled
               the
               Town
               ;
            
             
               For
               if
               I
               carry
               here
               any
               longer
               ,
               I
               harbour
               dreadful
               Fears
               ,
            
             
               That
               I
               shall
               be
               Hang'd
               ,
               or
               forfeit
               both
               my
               Ears
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Unparallel'd
               Assassines
               ,
               that
               could
               dare
            
             
               To
               attempt
               the
               Life
               of
               
               Jove's
               Vice-Gerent
               here
               :
            
             
               Of
               whom
               the
               Gods
               do
               take
               such
               special
               care
               ,
            
             
               None
               ought
               to
               mutter
               Treason
               to
               the
               Air
               ;
            
             
               But
               cut-Throat
               Protestants
               may
               do
               any
               thing
               ,
            
             
               And
               Inform
               the
               
                 Roman
                 Catholicks
              
               how
               to
               
                 Murder
                 Kings
              
               ;
            
             
               They
               take
               it
               in
               great
               Dudgeon
               to
               be
               equaliz'd
            
             
               Yet
               their
               
                 Hellish
                 Crimes
              
               must
               pass
               for
               Loyalty
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               But
               thanks
               to
               Heaven
               ,
               who
               did
               curb
               their
               Power
               ,
            
             
               And
               has
               preserved
               us
               from
               that
               
                 Fatal
                 Hour
              
               :
            
             
               When
               Villains
               were
               to
               Massacre
               us
               all
               ,
            
             
               And
               
               Noll's
               Successors
               to
               possess
               White-hall
               ;
            
             
               Rumsey
               has
               taken
               up
               
                 White
                 hall
              
               for
               his
               Bower
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               Lord
               Russel
               is
               gone
               to
               fortifie
               the
               Tower
               :
            
             
               Whilst
               we
               that
               stand
               for
               Church
               and
               State
               ,
               with
               great
               security
               can
               Sing
               .
            
             
               And
               Pray
               Jove
               to
               preserve
               the
               Life
               of
               Charles
               our
               King.
               
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             
               Loyal
               Conquest
            
             ,
             or
             Destruction
             of
             Treason
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Lay
               by
               your
               Pleading
               ,
               the
               Law
               ly's
               a
               Bleeding
               .
            
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               NOw
               Loyal
               Tories
            
             
               May
               Tryumph
               in
               Glories
               ,
            
             
             
               The
               Fatal
               Plot
               is
               now
               betray'd
               ,
            
             
               The
               rest
               were
               Shams
               and
               Stories
               .
            
             
               Now
               against
               Treason
               ,
            
             
               We
               have
               Law
               and
               Reason
               ;
            
             
               And
               e'ry
               Bloody
               Whig
               must
               go
               ,
            
             
               To
               Pot
               in
               Time
               and
               Season
               .
            
             
               No
               Shamming
               ,
               nor
               Flamming
               ,
            
             
               No
               Ramming
               ,
               nor
               Damming
               ,
            
             
               No
               Ignoramus
               Jury's
               now
               ,
            
             
               For
               Whigs
               ,
               but
               only
               Hanging
               ,
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Look
               a
               little
               farther
               ,
            
             
               Place
               things
               in
               order
               ,
            
             
               Those
               that
               seek
               to
               Kill
               their
               King
               ,
            
             
               Godfrey
               might
               Murther
               ,
            
             
               Now
               they
               'r
               Detected
               ,
            
             
               By
               Heaven
               Neglected
               ;
            
             
               In
               black
               dispair
               cut
               their
               Throats
               ,
            
             
               Thus
               
               Pluto's
               Work
               's
               effected
               .
            
             
               
                 No
                 Shamming
                 ,
                 nor
                 Flamming
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Catch
               grows
               in
               Passion
               ,
            
             
               And
               fears
               this
               New
               Fashion
               ;
            
             
               Lest
               ev'ry
               Traytor
               hang
               himself
               ,
            
             
               And
               spoyl
               his
               best
               Profession
               .
            
             
               Tho'
               four
               in
               a
               Morning
            
             
               Tyburn
               Adorning
               ;
            
             
               He
               Cryes
               out
               for
               a
               Score
               a
               time
               ,
            
             
               To
               get
               his
               Men
               their
               Learning
               .
            
             
               
                 No
                 Shamming
                 ,
                 nor
                 Flamming
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Now
               we
               have
               founded
            
             
               The
               bottom
               which
               confounded
               ,
            
             
               Our
               Plotting
               Parliament
               of
               late
            
             
             
               Who
               had
               our
               King
               surrounded
               .
            
             
               Hamden
               and
               others
               ,
            
             
               And
               Trenchard
               were
               Brothers
               ;
            
             
               Who
               were
               to
               kill
               the
               King
               and
               Duke
            
             
               And
               hang
               us
               for
               their
               Murthers
               .
            
             
               
                 No
                 Shamming
                 ,
                 nor
                 Flamming
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Surprising
               the
               Tower
            
             
               And
               Court
               in
               an
               Hour
               ,
            
             
               And
               enter
               in
               at
               the
               Traytors
               Gate
               ,
            
             
               But
               was
               not
               in
               their
               Power
               .
            
             
               Our
               Guards
               now
               are
               Doubled
               ,
            
             
               E're
               long
               they
               will
               be
               Trebled
               ,
            
             
               The
               Harmony
               of
               Gun
               and
               Drum
               ,
            
             
               Makes
               Guilty
               Conscience
               Troubled
               .
            
             
               
                 No
                 Shamming
                 ,
                 nor
                 Flamming
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               If
               Grey
               is
               Retaken
               ,
            
             
               The
               Root
               o'
               th'
               Plot
               is
               shaken
               ,
            
             
               Russel
               lately
               lost
               his
               Head
               ,
            
             
               The
               Bleeding
               Cause
               to
               Waken
               .
            
             
               
                 M
                 —
                 h
              
               in
               Town
               still
               ,
            
             
               With
               Armstrong
               his
               Council
               ▪
            
             
               The
               Lady
               
                 G
                 —
                 y
              
               may
               find
               him
               out
               ,
            
             
               Under
               some
               Smock
               or
               Gown
               still
               .
            
             
               
                 No
                 Shamming
                 ,
                 nor
                 Flamming
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Give
               'em
               no
               Quarter
               ,
            
             
               They
               Aim
               at
               Crown
               ,
               and
               Garter
               ,
            
             
               They
               're
               of
               that
               Bloody
               Regiment
               ,
            
             
               That
               made
               their
               King
               a
               Martyr
               .
            
             
               Leave
               none
               to
               breed
               on
               ,
            
             
               They
               'd
               make
               us
               to
               bleed
               on
               ;
            
             
               They
               are
               the
               bloody'st
               Caniballs
            
             
             
               That
               ever
               men
               did
               Read
               on
               .
            
             
               
                 No
                 Shamming
                 ,
                 nor
                 Flamming
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 No
                 Ramming
                 nor
                 Damming
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 No
                 Ignoramus
                 Jury's
                 now
              
               ,
            
             
               For
               Whiggs
               ,
               
                 b●t
                 onl●
                 Hanging
              
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             State
             and
             Ambition
             ,
             A
             New
             SONG
             at
             the
             
               Dukes
               Theatre
            
             .
          
           
             
               STate
               and
               Ambition
               alas
               will
               deceive
               ye
               ,
            
             
               there
               's
               no
               solid
               joy
               but
               the
               Blessing
               of
               Love
               ,
            
             
               Scorn
               does
               of
               pleasure
               fair
               Silvia
               bereave
               ye
               ,
            
             
               your
               fame
               is
               not
               perfect
               till
               that
               you
               remove
               :
            
             
               
               Monarch's
               that
               sway
               the
               vast
               Globe
               in
               their
               glory
            
             
               now
               Love
               is
               their
               brightest
               jewel
               of
               Power
               ,
            
             
               Poor
               
               Strephon's
               heart
               was
               ordain'd
               to
               adore
               ye
               ,
            
             
               ah
               !
               then
               disdain
               his
               Passion
               no
               more
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Jove
               in
               his
               Throne
               was
               the
               Victim
               of
               Beauty
               ,
            
             
               his
               thunder
               laid
               by
               he
               from
               Heaven
               came
               down
            
             
               Shap'd
               like
               a
               Swan
               ,
               to
               fair
               Leda
               paid
               duty
               ,
            
             
               and
               priz'd
               her
               far
               more
               ,
               than
               his
               
                 Heavenly
                 Crown
              
            
             
               She
               too
               was
               pleas'd
               with
               her
               
                 Beautiful
                 Lover
              
               ,
            
             
               she
               strok'd
               his
               fair
               Plumes
               and
               feasted
               her
               Eye
               ,
            
             
               And
               he
               too
               in
               loving
               knew
               well
               how
               to
               
                 move
                 her
              
               ,
            
             
               by
               Billing
               begins
               the
               business
               of
               Joy.
               
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Since
               
                 Divine
                 Powers
              
               examples
               have
               given
               ,
            
             
               If
               we
               do
               not
               follow
               their
               precepts
               we
               sin
               ,
            
             
               Sure
               't
               will
               appear
               an
               affront
               to
               their
               Heaven
               ,
            
             
               If
               when
               the
               Gates
               open
               we
               enter
               not
               in
               ;
            
             
               Beauty
               my
               dearest
               was
               from
               the
               beginning
               ,
            
             
               ordained
               to
               cool
               Mans
               
                 amorous
                 rage
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               she
               that
               against
               that
               decree
               will
               be
               sinning
            
             
               in
               Spring
               ,
               she
               will
               find
               the
               Winter
               of
               Age.
               
            
          
           
             
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Think
               on
               the
               pleasure
               while
               
               Love
               's
               in
               its
               glory
               ,
            
             
               let
               not
               your
               scorn
               Loves
               great
               Altar
               disgrace
               ,
            
             
               The
               time
               may
               come
               when
               no
               Swain
               will
               adore
               ye
            
             
               or
               smooth
               the
               least
               wrinkle
               age
               lays
               on
               your
               face
               ;
            
             
               Then
               hast
               to
               enjoyment
               whilst
               love
               is
               
                 fresh
                 blooming
              
               ,
            
             
               and
               in
               thy
               height
               and
               vigour
               of
               day
               .
            
             
               Each
               minute
               we
               lose
               ,
               our
               pleasure
               's
               consuming
               ,
            
             
               and
               
                 seven
                 years
              
               to
               come
               ,
               will
               not
               one
               past
               repay
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Think
               my
               dear
               Silvia
               ,
               the
               Heavenly
               blessing
               ,
            
             
               of
               loving
               in
               Youth
               ,
               is
               the
               Crown
               of
               our
               days
               ,
            
             
               Short
               are
               the
               hours
               where
               Love
               is
               possessing
               ;
            
             
               but
               tedious
               the
               minuits
               when
               crost
               with
               delays
            
             
               
               Love
               's
               the
               soft
               Anvil
               where
               
               Nature's
               agreeing
               ,
            
             
               all
               mankind
               are
               form'd
               ,
               and
               by
               it
               they
               move
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               thence
               my
               dear
               Silvia
               and
               I
               have
               our
               being
               ,
            
             
               the
               Caesar
               and
               Swain
               spring
               from
               Almighty
               Love.
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               I
               see
               my
               dear
               Silvia
               at
               last
               has
               consented
               ,
            
             
               that
               blush
               in
               your
               Cheek
               does
               plainly
               appear
               ,
            
             
               And
               nought
               but
               delay
               shall
               be
               ever
               repented
               ,
            
             
               so
               faithful
               I
               'll
               prove
               ,
               and
               so
               true
               to
               my
               Dear
            
             
               Then
               Hymen
               prepare
               ,
               and
               light
               all
               thy
               Torches
               ,
            
             
               perfume
               thy
               head
               Altar
               ,
               and
               strew
               all
               the
               way
               ,
            
             
               By
               little
               degrees
               Love
               makes
               his
               approaches
               ,
            
             
               but
               Revels
               at
               night
               for
               the
               loss
               of
               the
               day
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Pluto
             ,
             the
             Prince
             of
             Darkness
             ,
             his
             Entertainment
             of
             Collonel
             
               Algernoon
               Sidney
            
             ,
             upon
             his
             Arrival
             at
             the
             
               Infernal
               Palace
            
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Hail
               to
               Mirtle
               Shade
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Pluto
               .
            
             
               Room
               for
               great
               Algernoon
               ,
            
             
               You
               Furies
               that
               stand
               in
               his
               ●ay
               ;
            
             
             
               Let
               an
               Officer
               to
               me
               come
               ,
            
             
               who
               serv'd
               me
               every
               day
               ,
            
             
               Promoting
               Sedition
               and
               Evil
               ,
            
             
               To
               alter
               the
               Church
               and
               State
               ,
            
             
               He
               deserves
               an
               Imployment
               in
               Hell
               ,
            
             
               He
               has
               done
               great
               service
               of
               late
               .
            
          
           
             
               Pluto
               .
            
             
               He
               's
               one
               of
               the
               Damn'd
               old
               Crew
               ,
            
             
               Who
               Voted
               the
               Death
               of
               the
               King
               ;
            
             
               At
               Oxford
               again
               he
               did
               sue
            
             
               To
               be
               at
               the
               self-same
               thing
               .
            
             
               All
               Mischiefs
               on
               Earth
               he
               devis'd
               ,
            
             
               All
               hazards
               he
               also
               did
               run
               ,
            
             
               To
               render
               my
               Name
               solemniz'd
            
             
               With
               the
               Rabble
               of
               London
               Town
               .
            
          
           
             
               Pluto
               .
            
             
               To
               Monarchy
               he
               was
               a
               Foe
               ,
            
             
               Religion
               he
               always
               disdain'd
               ,
            
             
               '
               Gainst
               Government
               and
               Laws
               too
               ,
            
             
               Damn'd
               Anarchy
               he
               maintain'd
               :
            
             
               I
               'll
               give
               Thee
               Preferment
               here
               ,
            
             
               Since
               England
               has
               banisht
               thee
               thence
               ,
            
             
               Brave
               Sidney
               thou
               need'st
               not
               fear
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               shalt
               have
               great
               recompence
               .
            
          
           
             
               Shaftsbury
               .
            
             
               Now
               Monarchy
               has
               prevail'd
               ,
            
             
               Our
               
                 Fanatick
                 Plots
              
               to
               defeat
               ,
            
             
               On
               whom
               is
               the
               Cause
               entail'd
               ?
            
             
               who
               'l
               stand
               it
               in
               spight
               of
               Fate
               ?
            
             
               We
               that
               maintain'd
               it
               so
               long
            
             
               From
               Justice
               were
               forced
               to
               flye
               ;
            
             
               If
               you
               then
               had
               come
               along
               ,
            
             
               You
               needed
               not
               there
               to
               die
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               Essex
               .
            
             
               The
               Factious
               are
               quite
               undone
               ,
            
             
               For
               loss
               of
               the
               
                 Fanatick
                 Peers
              
               :
            
             
               Now
               Shaftsbury
               and
               I
               are
               gone
               ,
            
             
               Poor
               Oates
               has
               lost
               his
               Ears
               ?
            
             
               For
               
                 M
                 —
                 h
              
               our
               Shams
               and
               Intrigues
            
             
               To
               th'
               World
               has
               plainly
               declar'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 H
                 —
                 d
              
               our
               solemn
               Leagues
               ,
            
             
               In
               the
               Plot
               a
               long
               time
               prepar'd
               .
            
          
           
             
               Russel
               .
            
             
               I
               'm
               glad
               you
               are
               safe
               arriv'd
               ,
            
             
               Tho'
               I
               doubt
               you
               met
               Jack
               by
               the
               way
            
             
               Now
               
                 M
                 —
                 h
              
               is
               reconcil'd
               ,
            
             
               What
               a
               plague
               is
               become
               of
               Gray
               ?
            
             
               Rebellion
               could
               ne'r
               disallow
            
             
               Conspiring
               against
               the
               Prince
               ,
            
             
               Though
               I
               by
               a
               
                 Sham-dying
                 Vow
              
            
             
               Did
               plead
               great
               Innocence
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             
               Kings
               Health
            
             ,
             set
             to
             
             Farrinel's
             Grounds
             .
             In
             six
             PARTS
             ,
          
           
             
               First
               Strain
               .
            
             
               JOy
               to
               Great
               Caesar
               ,
            
             
               Long
               Life
               ,
               Love
               and
               Pleasure
               ;
            
             
               'T
               is
               a
               Health
               that
               Divine
               is
               ,
            
             
               Fill
               the
               Bowl
               high
               as
               mine
               is
               ;
            
             
               Let
               none
               fear
               a
               Feaver
               ,
            
             
               But
               take
               it
               off
               thus
               Boys
               ;
            
             
               Let
               the
               King
               leave
               for
               ever
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               no
               matter
               for
               us
               Boys
               .
            
          
           
             
               Second
               Strain
               .
            
             
               TRy
               all
               the
               Loyal
               ,
            
             
               Defy
               all
               ,
            
             
               Give
               denial
               ;
            
             
             
               Sure
               none
               thinks
               his
               Glass
               too
               big
               here
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               any
               Prig
               here
               ,
            
             
               Or
               Sneaking
               Whig
               here
               ,
            
             
               Of
               Cripple
               
               Tony's
               Crew
               ,
            
             
               That
               now
               looks
               blew
               ,
            
             
               His
               Heart
               Akes
               too
               ,
            
             
               The
               Tap
               wo'nt
               do
               ,
            
             
               His
               Zeal
               so
               true
               ,
            
             
               And
               Projects
               new
               ,
            
             
               Ill
               Fate
               does
               now
               pursue
               .
            
          
           
             
               Third
               Strain
               .
            
             
               LEt
               Tories
               Guard
               the
               King
               ,
            
             
               Let
               Whigs
               in
               Halters
               swing
               ;
            
             
               Let
               Pilk
               and
               Shute
               be
               sham'd
               ,
            
             
               Let
               Bugg'ring
               Oates
               be
               damn●d
               ;
            
             
               Let
               Cheating
               Player
               be
               nick'd
               ,
            
             
               The
               Turn-coat
               Scribe
               be
               kick'd
               ;
            
             
               Let
               Rebel
               City
               Don
               's
            
             
               Never
               beget
               their
               Sons
               ;
            
             
               Let
               ev'ry
               
                 Whiggish
                 Peer
              
            
             
               That
               Rapes
               a
               Lady
               fair
               ,
            
             
               And
               leaves
               his
               only
               Dear
            
             
               The
               Sheets
               to
               gnaw
               and
               tear
               ,
            
             
               Be
               punish'd
               out
               of
               Hand
               ,
            
             
               And
               forc'd
               to
               pawn
               his
               Land
            
             
               T'
               attone
               the
               grand
               Affair
               .
            
          
           
             
               Fourth
               Strain
            
             
               GReat
               Charles
               ,
               like
               Jehovah
               ,
               spares
               those
               would
               un-King
               him
               ,
            
             
               And
               warms
               with
               His
               Graces
               the
               Vipers
               that
               sting
               Him
               ;
            
             
               'Till
               Crown'd
               with
               just
               Anger
               the
               Rebels
               he
               seizes
               :
            
             
               Thus
               Heaven
               can
               Thunder
               when
               ever
               it
               pleases
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               Jigg
               .
            
             
               THen
               to
               the
               Duke
               fill
               ,
               fill
               up
               the
               Glass
               ,
            
             
               The
               Son
               of
               our
               Martyr
               ,
               belov'd
               of
               the
               King
               ▪
            
             
               Envy'd
               and
               Lov'd
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               Bless'd
               from
               above
               ,
            
             
               Secur'd
               by
               an
               Angel
               safe
               under
               his
               Wing
               .
            
          
           
             
               Sixth
               Strain
               .
            
             
               FAction
               and
               Folly
               ,
            
             
               And
               State
               Melancholly
               ,
            
             
               With
               ●ony
               in
               Whigland
               for
               ever
               shall
               dwell
               ;
            
             
               Let
               Wit
               ,
               Wine
               ,
               and
               Beauty
               ,
            
             
               Then
               teach
               us
               our
               Duty
               ,
            
             
               For
               none
               e're
               can
               Love
               ,
               or
               be
               Wise
               and
               Rebel
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             New
             SONG
             on
             the
             Instalment
             of
             Sir
             
               John
               Moor
            
             Lord
             Mayor
             of
             London
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             St.
             George
             for
             England
             .
          
           
             
               YOu
               London
               Lads
               rejoyce
               ,
            
             
               And
               cast
               away
               your
               Care
               ,
            
             
               Since
               with
               one
               Heart
               and
               Voice
            
             
               Sir
               John
               is
               chosen
               Mayor
               ;
            
             
               The
               Famous
               Sir
               
                 John
                 Moore
              
               ,
            
             
               Lord
               Mayor
               of
               London
               Town
               ,
            
             
               To
               your
               eternal
               Praise
               ,
            
             
               Shall
               stand
               a
               Subject
               of
               Renown
               ,
            
             
               Amongst
               your
               Famous
               Worthies
            
             
               Who
               have
               been
               most
               esteem'd
               ;
            
             
               For
               Sir
               John
               ,
               Sir
               John
               ,
            
             
               Your
               Honour
               hath
               redeem'd
               .
            
             
               Sir
               John
               He
               's
               for
               the
               Kings
               Right
               ,
            
             
               Which
               Rebels
               would
               destroy
               .
            
             
               Vive
               ,
               Vive
               ,
               Vive
               le
               Roy.
               
            
          
           
             
             
               When
               with
               a
               Hide-bound
               Mayor
            
             
               The
               Town
               was
               in
               Distraction
               ,
            
             
               Sir
               John
               leapt
               in
               the
               Chair
               ,
            
             
               And
               cur'd
               the
               Hall
               of
               Faction
               :
            
             
               He
               to
               the
               People
               shew'd
            
             
               Their
               Duty
               and
               Allegiance
               ;
            
             
               How
               to
               the
               Sacred
               King
               and
               Laws
            
             
               They
               pay
               their
               due
               Obedience
               .
            
             
               Sir
               George
               unto
               the
               People
            
             
               A
               Loyal
               Speech
               did
               give
               ;
            
             
               But
               Sir
               John
               ,
               Sir
               John
               ,
            
             
               Your
               Honour
               did
               retrieve
               .
            
             
               Sir
               John
               
                 is
                 for
                 Allegiance
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Which
                 Rebels
                 wou●d
                 destroy
              
               .
            
             
               Vive
               ,
               Vive
               ,
               Vive
               le
               Roy.
               
            
          
           
             
               When
               thou
               wast
               lost
               ,
               O
               London
               ,
            
             
               In
               Faction
               and
               Sedition
               ;
            
             
               By
               Whigs
               and
               Zealots
               undone
               ,
            
             
               While
               they
               were
               in
               Commission
               ;
            
             
               When
               Treason
               ,
               like
               old
               
               Nol's
               Brigade
               ,
            
             
               Did
               gallop
               through
               the
               Town
               ,
            
             
               And
               Loyalty
               ,
               (
               a
               tir'd
               Jade
               ,
               )
            
             
               ●ad
               cast
               her
               Rider
               down
               ;
            
             
               The
               Famous
               Sir
               
                 George
                 Jeffereys
              
            
             
               Your
               Charter
               did
               maintain
               ;
            
             
               But
               Sir
               John
               ,
               Sir
               John
               ,
            
             
               Restor'd
               your
               Fame
               again
               .
            
             
               Sir
               John
               
                 is
                 for
                 the
                 Monarchy
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Which
                 Rebels
                 wou'd
                 destroy
              
               .
            
             
               Vive
               ,
               Vive
               ,
               Vive
               le
               Roy.
               
            
          
           
             
               When
               th'
               Mayor
               ,
               with
               Sheriffs
               mounted
               ,
            
             
               Sad
               Jalousies
               contriv'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               the
               Town
               run
               after
               ,
            
             
             
               As
               if
               the
               Devil
               driv'd
               ,
            
             
               Then
               Famous
               Sir
               
                 John
                 Moore
              
            
             
               Thy
               Loyalty
               restor'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               Noble
               Sir
               
                 George
                 Jefferys
              
               ,
            
             
               Who
               did
               thy
               Acts
               record
               :
            
             
               Sir
               George
               of
               all
               the
               Heroes
            
             
               Deserves
               the
               formost
               place
               ;
            
             
               But
               Sir
               John
               ,
               Sir
               John
               ,
            
             
               Hath
               got
               the
               Sword
               and
               Mace.
            
             
               Sir
               John
               
                 he
                 is
                 for
                 Justice
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Which
                 Rebels
                 wou'd
                 destroy
              
               .
            
             
               Vive
               ,
               Vive
               ,
               Vive
               le
               Roy.
               
            
          
           
             
               Sir
               Patience
               would
               have
               the
               Court
            
             
               Submit
               unto
               the
               City
               ;
            
             
               Whitehall
               stoop
               to
               the
               Change
               ,
            
             
               And
               is
               not
               that
               a
               pity
               ?
            
             
               Sh.
               Bethel
               (
               save
               Allegiance
               )
            
             
               Thinks
               nothing
               a
               Transgression
               :
            
             
               Sir
               Tom
               rails
               at
               the
               Lawful
               Prince
               ,
            
             
               Sir
               Bob
               at
               the
               ●uccession
               :
            
             
               While
               still
               the
               brave
               Sir
               George
            
             
               Does
               their
               Fury
               interpose
               :
            
             
               But
               Sir
               John
               ,
               Sir
               John
            
             
               Maintains
               the
               Royal
               Cause
               .
            
             
               Sir
               John
               
                 is
                 for
                 his
                 Highness
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Whom
                 Rebels
                 wou'd
                 destroy
              
               .
            
             
               Vive
               ,
               Vive
               ,
               Vive
               le
               Roy.
               
            
          
           
             
               Sir
               Patience
               for
               a
               Parliament
               ,
            
             
               Sh
               Bethel
               a
               Petition
            
             
               Instead
               of
               an
               Address
               ,
            
             
               cram'd
               brimful
               of
               Sedition
               .
            
             
               Sir
               Tom
               he
               he
               is
               for
               Liberty
               ,
            
             
               Against
               Prerogative
               :
            
             
             
               Sir
               Bob
               is
               for
               the
               Subjects
               Right
               ,
            
             
               But
               will
               no
               Justice
               give
               :
            
             
               And
               brave
               Sir
               George
               does
            
             
               All
               their
               Famous
               Deeds
               Record
               ;
            
             
               But
               Sir
               John
               ,
               Sir
               John
            
             
               Your
               Loyalty
               restor'd
               .
            
             
               Sir
               John
               
                 He
                 's
                 for
                 the
                 Int'rest
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Which
                 Rebels
                 would
                 destroy
              
               ,
            
             
               Vive
               ,
               Vive
               ,
               Vive
               le
               Roy.
               
            
          
           
             
               Sir
               Patience
               he
               calls
               for
               Justice
               ,
            
             
               And
               then
               the
               Wretch
               will
               sham
               us
               .
            
             
               Sh●
               Bethel
               he
               packs
               a
               Jury
            
             
               Well
               vers'd
               in
               Ignoramus
               :
            
             
               Sir
               Tom
               wou'd
               hang
               the
               Tory
               ,
            
             
               And
               let
               the
               Whig
               go
               free
               :
            
             
               Sir
               Bob
               wou'd
               have
               a●
               Commonwealth
               ,
            
             
               And
               cry
               down
               Monarchy
               .
            
             
               While
               still
               the
               brave
               Sir
               George
            
             
               Does
               all
               their
               Deeds
               Record
               ;
            
             
               But
               Sir
               John
               ,
               Sir
               John
            
             
               Your
               Loyalty
               restor'd
               .
            
             
               Sir
               John
               
                 He
                 is
                 for
                 Justice
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Which
                 Rebels
                 wou'd
                 destroy
              
               .
            
             
               Vive
               ,
               Vive
               ,
               Vive
               le
               Roy.
               
            
          
           
             
               And
               may
               such
               Loyal
               Mayors
            
             
               As
               honest
               Sheriffs
               find
               ;
            
             
               Such
               Sheriffs
               find
               a
               Jury
            
             
               Will
               to
               the
               King
               be
               kind
               ;
            
             
               And
               may
               the
               King
               live
               long
               ,
            
             
               To
               rule
               such
               People
               here
               ;
            
             
               And
               may
               he
               such
               a
               
                 Lord
                 Mayor
              
               find
               ,
            
             
               And
               Sheriffs
               every
               year
               ;
            
             
             
               That
               Traytors
               may
               receive
            
             
               The
               Justice
               of
               the
               Laws
               ,
            
             
               While
               Sir
               John
               ,
               Sir
               John
            
             
               Maintains
               the
               Royal
               Cause
               .
            
             
               Sir
               John
               
                 is
                 for
                 the
                 King
                 still
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Whom
                 Rebels
                 would
                 destroy
              
               .
            
             
               Vive
               ,
               Vive
               ,
               Vive
               le
               Roy.
               
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Whig-Intelligencer
             :
             or
             ,
             Sir
             Samuel
             in
             the
             Pound
             ,
             for
             publishing
             Scandalous
             and
             
               Seditious
               Letters
            
             ,
             for
             which
             he
             was
             Flu'd
             
               10000
               l.
            
             
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Hark!
               the
               thundring
               Cannons
               roar
            
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               HArk
               !
               the
               fatal
               day
               is
               come
               ,
            
             
               Fatal
               as
               the
               day
               of
               Doom
               ,
            
             
               For
               Sir
               Samuel
               there
               make
               room
               ,
            
             
               So
               fam'd
               for
               Ignoramus
               :
            
             
               He
               whose
               Conscience
               cou'd
               allow
            
             
               Such
               large
               favours
               you
               know
               how
               ,
            
             
               If
               we
               do
               him
               Justice
               now
               ,
            
             
               The
               Brethren
               will
               not
               blame
               us
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Stand
               to
               the
               Bar
               ,
               and
               now
               advance
               ,
            
             
               
                 Morden
                 ,
                 Kendrick
                 ,
                 Otes
              
               and
               Prance
               ;
            
             
               But
               let
               the
               Foreman
               lead
               the
               Dance
               ,
            
             
               The
               rest
               in
               course
               will
               follow
               ;
            
             
               
                 Tilden
                 ,
                 Kendrick
              
               ,
               next
               shall
               come
               ,
            
             
               And
               with
               him
               receive
               their
               Doom
               ,
            
             
               
                 Ten
                 thousand
                 Pound
              
               ,
               at
               which
               round
               Sum
            
             
               The
               Hall
               set
               up
               a
               Halloo
               .
            
             
               Brave
               Sir
               
                 Barnard
                 —
                 on
              
               now
               ,
            
             
               Who
               no
               Main
               would
               e'r
               allow
            
             
               To
               lose
               ten
               thousand
               at
               a
               throw
               ,
            
             
               Was
               pleas'd
               to
               all
               mens
               thinking
               :
            
             
             
               
                 Ten
                 thousand
                 pounds
              
               !
               a
               dismal
               note
               ,
            
             
               Who
               before
               had
               giv●n
               his
               Vote
               ,
            
             
               Not
               to
               give
               King
               a
               Groat
               ,
            
             
               To
               save
               the
               Throne
               from
               sinking
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               But
               yet
               there
               's
               a
               Remedy
               ,
            
             
               Before
               the
               King
               shall
               get
               by
               me
               ,
            
             
               I
               'll
               quit
               my
               darling
               Liberty
               ;
            
             
               Nor
               will
               I
               give
               Bail
               for
               't
               :
            
             
               For
               e're
               the
               Crown
               shall
               get
               a
               Groat
            
             
               In
               opposition
               to
               my
               Vote
               ,
            
             
               I●ll
               give
               'em
               leave
               to
               cut
               my
               Throat
            
             
               Altho'
               I
               lye
               in
               Goal
               for
               't
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Were
               't
               for
               
                 Mon
                 —
                 h
              
               ,
               I
               'de
               not
               grieve
               ,
            
             
               O●
               Brave
               Russel
               to
               retrieve
               ,
            
             
               Or
               that
               Sidney
               yet
               might
               live
               ,
            
             
               Twice
               told
               ,
               I
               'd
               not
               complain
               ,
               Sir
               :
            
             
               Nay
               ,
               what
               's
               more
               ,
               my
               whole
               Estate
               ,
            
             
               With
               my
               
                 Bodkins
                 ,
                 Spoons
              
               ,
               and
               Plate
               ,
            
             
               So
               I
               might
               reduce
               the
               State
            
             
               To
               a
               Commonwealth
               again
               ,
               Sir.
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Or
               that
               Mon.
               were
               in
               Grace
               ,
            
             
               Or
               Sir
               Sam.
               in
               
               Jeffery's
               place
               ,
            
             
               To
               spit
               his
               Justice
               in
               the
               Face
               ,
            
             
               For
               acting
               Law
               and
               Reason
               ,
            
             
               Or
               that
               the
               Torys
               went
               to
               pot
               ,
            
             
               Or
               we
               could
               prove
               it
               a
               Sham
               Plot
               ,
            
             
               Or
               Essex
               did
               not
               cut
               his
               Throat
               ;
            
             
               Or
               Plotting
               were
               not
               Treason
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Thus
               I
               'd
               freely
               quit
               my
               Coyn
               ;
            
             
               But
               with
               Torys
               to
               combine
               ,
            
             
             
               Or
               keep
               the
               Heir
               in
               the
               right
               Line
               ,
            
             
               That
               Popery
               be
               in
               fashion
               ,
            
             
               To
               see
               the
               
                 Holy
                 Cause
              
               run
               down
               ,
            
             
               While
               Mighty
               York
               is
               next
               the
               Crown
            
             
               And
               
               Perkin's
               forc'd
               to
               flye
               the
               Town
               :
            
             
               Oh
               vile
               Abomination
               !
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Sooner
               than
               ●bedience
               owe
            
             
               To
               their
               Arbitrary
               Law
               ,
            
             
               Or
               my
               Bail
               in
               danger
               draw
               ,
            
             
               For
               Breach
               of
               good
               Behaviour
               ;
            
             
               I
               with
               Bethel
               ,
               and
               the
               rest
            
             
               O'
               th'
               Birds
               ,
               in
               Cage
               will
               make
               my
               Nest
               ,
            
             
               And
               keep
               my
               Fine
               to
               Plot
               and
               Feast
               ,
            
             
               Till
               Mon
               —
               be
               in
               Favour
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Oates
             Thrash'd
             in
             the
             Compter
             ,
             and
             Sack'd-up
             in
             Newgate
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             Hail
             to
             the
             Myrtle
             Shades
             ;
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               HAil
               to
               the
               
                 Prince
                 of
                 the
                 Plot
              
               ,
            
             
               All
               hail
               to
               the
               
                 Knight
                 of
                 the
                 Post
              
               ;
            
             
               Poor
               Titus
               !
               't
               is
               now
               thy
               Lot
            
             
               To
               pay
               for
               all
               the
               Rost
               :
            
             
               From
               Wine
               and
               six
               Dishes
               a
               day
            
             
               Is
               sure
               a
               deplorable
               Fate
               ,
            
             
               To
               fall
               to
               the
               Basket
               ,
               and
               pray
            
             
               For
               an
               Alms
               through
               an
               Iron-grate
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Titus
               who
               once
               was
               a
               Prince
               ,
            
             
               Now
               Titus
               a
               Captive
               in
               Gaol
               ;
            
             
               Titus
               who
               lov'd
               a
               Wench
               ,
            
             
               Or
               any
               thing
               wore
               a
               Tail
               ;
            
             
               Titus
               who
               made
               a
               full
               pass
            
             
               At
               a
               following
               Bum
               in
               the
               Room
               ,
            
             
             
               Is
               clapt
               up
               himself
               by
               th'
               Ar
               —
               ,
            
             
               And
               cannot
               reverse
               his
               Doom
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Did
               Titus
               swear
               true
               for
               the
               King
               ,
            
             
               And
               is
               the
               good
               Doctor
               forsworn
               ?
            
             
               Did
               Titus
               our
               Freedom
               bring
               ,
            
             
               And
               Otes
               in
               Newgate
               mourn
               ?
            
             
               Was
               Titus
               the
               Light
               of
               the
               Town
               ,
            
             
               The
               Saviour
               and
               Guardian
               proclaim'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               now
               the
               poor
               Doctor
               thrown
            
             
               To
               a
               Dungeon
               ,
               in
               Darkness
               damn'd
               ?
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               But
               now
               ,
               to
               declare
               the
               cause
               ,
            
             
               I
               'll
               tell
               you
               as
               brief
               as
               I
               can
               ,
            
             
               The
               Doctor
               can't
               in
               the
               close
            
             
               Prove
               Titus
               an
               honest
               Man
               :
            
             
               Can
               Titus
               be
               just
               to
               the
               King
               ,
            
             
               From
               Treason
               and
               Treachery
               free
               ,
            
             
               When
               the
               Doctor
               hangs
               in
               a
               String
               ,
            
             
               For
               Plotting
               and
               Perjury
               ?
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               For
               Damage
               the
               Doctor
               has
               done
               ,
            
             
               Poor
               Titus
               is
               got
               in
               the
               Pound
               ,
            
             
               'Till
               the
               Doctor
               produce
               the
               Sum
               ,
            
             
               Full
               
                 Thirty
                 thousand
                 pound
              
               :
            
             
               If
               you
               knew
               on
               what
               damnable
               score
            
             
               Such
               perilous
               words
               he
               brought
               forth
               ,
            
             
               You
               'd
               say
               his
               false
               Tongue
               cost
               more
            
             
               Than
               ever
               his
               Head
               was
               worth
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               The
               Doctor
               an
               Evidence
            
             
               Against
               our
               Great
               Duke
               did
               come
               in
               ;
            
             
               Nay
               ,
               such
               was
               his
               Insolence
               ,
            
             
               To
               impeach
               our
               Gracious
               Queen
               :
            
             
             
               For
               Which
               such
               Indictments
               are
               brought
               ,
            
             
               Such
               
                 Actions
                 of
                 Scandal
              
               crowd
               in
               ,
            
             
               That
               Titus
               could
               wish
               ,
               t
               is
               thought
               ,
            
             
               He
               were
               out
               of
               the
               
               Doctor
               's
               Skin
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Nay
               ,
               further
               ,
               while
               Titus
               swore
            
             
               For
               the
               Safety
               and
               Life
               of
               the
               King
               ,
            
             
               The
               Doctor
               began
               to
               roar
               ,
            
             
               And
               belch'd
               out
               his
               poyson'd
               Sting
               :
            
             
               The
               Doctor
               for
               Titus
               may
               stretch
               ,
            
             
               H'
               has
               so
               brought
               his
               bus'ness
               about
               ,
            
             
               Without
               the
               kind
               help
               of
               Ketch
            
             
               It
               's
               fear'd
               he
               will
               scarce
               get
               out
               :
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Through
               sixteen
               close
               Key-holes
               ,
               't
               is
               plain
               ,
            
             
               Invisible
               Titus
               did
               pass
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               Doctor
               got
               back
               again
               ,
            
             
               To
               catch
               a
               great
               Don
               at
               Mass
               :
            
             
               But
               now
               they
               are
               both
               in
               the
               Trap
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               a
               Wager
               but
               Jack
               in
               the
               Fields
               ,
            
             
               (
               Tho'
               Titus
               may
               chance
               to
               '
               scape
               ,
               )
            
             
               Has
               the
               Doctor
               fast
               by
               the
               heels
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             new
             way
             to
             Play
             an
             
               old
               Game
            
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Would
               you
               be
               a
               man
               of
               fashion
               ,
            
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               HAve
               you
               heard
               of
               Forty-One
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               When
               the
               Cause
               did
               thrive
               amain
               ;
            
             
               
               Tony's
               Tap
               did
               freely
               run
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               Tap
               did
               freely
               run
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               And
               confronted
               Charles
               his
               Wain
               ?
            
             
               When
               the
               Commons
               thought
               it
               Reason
               ,
            
             
               And
               a
               meritorious
               thing
               ,
            
             
               To
               use
               Villany
               and
               Treason
               ,
            
             
               And
               made
               Charles
               a
               Glorious
               King.
            
             
             
               Have
               you
               heard
               of
               Eighty-Three
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               When
               a
               deeper
               Plot
               was
               lay'n
               ,
            
             
               When
               the
               Rascals
               did
               agree
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               Rascals
               did
               agree
               Sir
               ?
            
             
               To
               play
               o're
               the
               same
               again
               ?
            
             
               When
               to
               act
               their
               Reformation
               ,
            
             
               Nought
               their
               Fury
               would
               suffice
               ;
            
             
               But
               they
               needs
               must
               Purge
               the
               Nation
               ,
            
             
               By
               a
               Royal
               Sacrifice
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Have
               you
               seen
               those
               Motly-Martys
               ,
            
             
               That
               did
               suffer
               for
               the
               Cause
               ,
            
             
               Swinging
               in
               their
               
                 Tyburn
                 Garters
              
               ,
            
             
               In
               their
               Tyburn-Garters
               ,
            
             
               To
               Attone
               their
               Sacred
               Laws
               ?
            
             
               If
               the
               Blunderbuss
               ▪
               shou'd
               miss
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               And
               shou'd
               fail
               to
               kill
               the
               King
               ,
            
             
               There
               are
               other
               means
               should
               hit
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               And
               perform
               the
               Glorious
               Thing
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               To
               his
               Name
               a
               Statue's
               due
               Sir.
            
             
               Higher
               than
               the
               Monument
               ,
            
             
               Who
               this
               mighty
               Deed
               shall
               do
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               Mighty
               Deed
               shall
               do
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               So
               Great
               ,
               so
               Good
               ,
               so
               Excellent
               :
            
             
               Future
               Ages
               shall
               him
               Crown
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               And
               shall
               bless
               the
               happy
               hour
               ,
            
             
               And
               Religion
               shall
               fall
               down
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               And
               adore
               her
               Saviour
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Thus
               the
               Boasting
               Bigots
               Canted
               ,
            
             
               (
               Big
               with
               hopes
               of
               Common-weal
               )
            
             
               Thus
               the
               Priestly
               Villain
               Ranted
               ,
            
             
               Priestly
               Villain
               Ranted
               ,
            
             
               In
               a
               Drunken
               sit
               of
               Zeal
               :
            
             
             
               But
               their
               Plots
               were
               all
               in
               vain
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               And
               their
               Haughty
               rash
               Career
               ,
            
             
               Signs
               and
               Wonders
               make
               it
               plain
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               Kings
               are
               Heavens
               peculiar
               Care.
               
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             
               Loyal
               Irish-mam
            
             .
          
           
             
               Tune
               ,
               Irish
            
             Trot
             ,
             or
             Fingaul
             Jigg
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               MY
               bony
               dear
               Shony
               ,
            
             
               My
               Crony
               ,
               my
               Honey
            
             
               Why
               dost
               thou
               grumble
            
             
               And
               keep
               in
               thy
               words
               so
               ;
            
             
               Sighing
               ,
               and
               Crying
               ,
            
             
               And
               Groaning
               ,
               and
               Frowning
               ,
            
             
               Ah
               why
               dost
               thou
               still
            
             
               Lay
               thy
               hand
               on
               thy
               Sword
               so
               ?
            
             
               What
               if
               the
               Traytors
            
             
               Will
               talk
               of
               State-matters
               ,
            
             
               And
               rail
               at
               the
               King
               ,
            
             
               Without
               Cause
               or
               Reason
               :
            
             
               We
               'll
               Love
               on
               ,
               and
               let
               Business
               alone
               ,
            
             
               For
               Billing
               and
               Kissing
            
             
               Will
               ne'r
               be
               found
               Treason
               ,
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Plotting
               ,
               and
               Sotting
               ,
            
             
               And
               Railing
               ,
               and
               Fooling
               ;
            
             
               
                 Gods
                 Nowns
              
               ,
               with
               the
               Rable
            
             
               Is
               now
               all
               the
               Fashion
               :
            
             
               Swearing
               and
               Tearing
               ,
            
             
               Caballing
               and
               Brawling
               ;
            
             
               By
               Chriest
               and
               
                 St.
                 Patrick
              
            
             
               Will
               ruine
               the
               Nation
               :
            
             
               He
               's
               but
               a
               Widgeon
            
             
               That
               talks
               of
               Religion
            
             
             
               Since
               Rebels
               are
               now
            
             
               The
               Reformers
               and
               Teachers
               ,
            
             
               
               Sodom's
               Disciple
               Debauches
               the
               People
               ,
            
             
               Good
               Heaven
               defend
               us
            
             
               From
               more
               of
               such
               Preachers
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Visions
               ,
               Seditions
               ,
            
             
               And
               Railing
               Petitions
               ,
            
             
               The
               Rable
               receive
               ,
            
             
               And
               are
               wondrous
               merry
               :
            
             
               All
               can
               remember
            
             
               The
               
                 Fifth
                 of
                 November
              
               ,
            
             
               But
               no
               man
               the
               
                 Thirtieth
                 of
                 January
              
               :
            
             
               Talking
               of
               Treason
            
             
               Without
               any
               Reason
               ,
            
             
               Will
               lose
               the
               poor
               City
            
             
               It
               s
               Bountiful
               Charter
               :
            
             
               The
               Commons
               haranging
               .
            
             
               Will
               bring
               them
               to
               Hanging
               ,
            
             
               Though
               each
               Puppy
               hopes
            
             
               To
               be
               
                 Knight
                 of
                 the
                 Garter
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               
                 C
                 —
                 on
              
               and
               
                 P
                 —
                 on
              
            
             
               Papillion
               that
               Villain
               ,
            
             
               With
               Cornish
               and
               Ward
            
             
               Are
               the
               Monarchy
               Hunters
               ;
            
             
               Rascals
               too
               low
               are
               ,
            
             
               To
               lodge
               in
               the
               Tower
               ,
            
             
               And
               scarcely
               are
               fitting
            
             
               To
               fill
               up
               the
               Compter
               ;
            
             
               Bethel
               is
               ●led
               too
               ,
            
             
               And
               Toney
               is
               dead
               too
               ,
            
             
               Our
               Fate
               to
               befriend
               us
               ,
            
             
               Made
               bold
               to
               strike
               sirs
               :
            
             
             
               Routed
               the
               Bigot
               ,
            
             
               And
               pull'd
               out
               the
               Spigot
               ,
            
             
               His
               Fame
               and
               his
               Body
            
             
               Now
               stink
               alike
               Sir.
               
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             Litany
             from
             Geneva
             ,
             In
             answer
             to
             that
             from
             St
             Omers
             .
          
           
             
               FRom
               the
               Tap
               in
               the
               Guts
               of
               the
               Honorable
               Stump
               ,
            
             
               From
               which
               runs
               Rebellion
               ,
               that
               stinks
               like
               the
               Rump
               ,
            
             
               On
               purpose
               to
               leven
               the
               
                 Factious
                 Lump
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Libera
                 nos
                 Domine
              
               .
            
             
               From
               him
               that
               aspires
               as
               high
               as
               the
               Crown
               ,
            
             
               And
               vows
               to
               pull
               Copes
               and
               Cathedrals
               down
               ,
            
             
               Fit
               only
               to
               govern
               the
               World
               in
               the
               Moon
               .
            
             
               
                 Libera
                 nos
              
               .
            
             
               From
               the
               
                 Prick-ear'd
                 Levite
              
               ,
               that
               can
               without
               pain
            
             
               Swear
               Black
               into
               White
               ,
               then
               Vnswear
               it
               again
               ;
            
             
               Whose
               Name
               did
               design
               him
               a
               Villain
               in
               Grain
               ,
            
             
               
                 Libera
                 nos
              
               .
            
             
               From
               his
               Black-Bills
               ,
               and
               Pilgrims
               with
               Sticks
               in
               their
               hands
            
             
               That
               came
               to
               make
               a
               
                 Religious
                 Band
              
               ,
            
             
               Then
               Ravish
               our
               Wives
               ,
               and
               Inhabit
               our
               Land
               ,
            
             
               
                 Libera
                 nos
              
               .
            
             
               From
               the
               Mouth
               of
               the
               City
               that
               never
               gives
               o●r
            
             
               To
               complain
               of
               Oppressions
               unheard-of
               before
               ,
            
             
               And
               yet
               for
               his
               Letchery
               will
               not
               quit
               score
               ,
            
             
               
                 Libera
                 nos
              
               .
            
             
               From
               the
               
                 Cent
                 per
                 Cent
                 Scriv'ner
              
               ,
               &
               all
               his
               State-tricks
            
             
               That
               cryer
               out
               of
               Intemp'rance
               ,
               who
               yet
               will
               not
               stick
            
             
               To
               clear
               a
               young
               
                 Spend-thrift's
                 Estate
              
               at
               a
               lick
               ,
            
             
               
                 Libera
                 nos
              
               .
            
             
               From
               the
               Force
               and
               the
               Fire
               of
               the
               
                 Insolent
                 Rable
              
               ,
            
             
               That
               wou'd
               hurl
               the
               Government
               into
               a
               Babel
               ,
            
             
               And
               from
               the
               nice
               Fare
               of
               the
               
               Mouse-starver's
               Table
            
             
               
                 Libera
                 nos
              
               .
            
             
             
               From
               the
               Elder
               in
               
                 New
                 street
              
               ,
               that
               Goggles
               &
               Cants
            
             
               Then
               turns
               up
               his
               Whites
               ,
               to
               nose
               it
               ,
               and
               pants
               ,
            
             
               And
               at
               the
               same
               time
               plays
               the
               Devil
               and
               Saint
               ,
            
             
               
                 Libera
                 nos
              
               .
            
             
               From
               
               Jenkin's
               Homilies
               drawn
               through
               the
               Nose
               ,
            
             
               From
               
                 Langley
                 ,
                 Dick
                 ,
                 Baldwin
              
               ,
               and
               all
               such
               as
               those
               ,
            
             
               And
               from
               Brawney
               
               Settle's
               Poem
               in
               Prose
               ,
            
             
               
                 Libera
                 nos
              
               .
            
             
               From
               a
               Surfeit
               occasion'd
               by
               
                 Protestant
                 Feasts
              
               ,
            
             
               From
               Sedition
               for
               Sawce
               ,
               and
               Republicks
               for
               Guests
               ,
            
             
               With
               Treason
               for
               Grace-Cup
               ,
               or
               Faction
               at
               least
               ,
            
             
               
                 Libera
                 nos
              
               .
            
             
               From
               the
               Conscience
               of
               
                 Ci●s
                 resembling
              
               their
               Dames
               ,
            
             
               That
               in
               private
               are
               Nice
               ,
               but
               in
               publick
               so
               Tame
               ,
            
             
               That
               they
               will
               not
               stick
               out
               for
               a
               
                 Touch
                 of
                 the
                 same
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Libera
                 nos
              
               .
            
             
               From
               the
               blind
               Zeal
               of
               all
               
                 Democratical
                 Tools
              
               ,
            
             
               From
               Whigland
               ,
               and
               all
               its
               
                 Anarchical
                 Rules
              
               ,
            
             
               Devised
               by
               Knaves
               ,
               and
               Imposed
               on
               Fools
               ,
            
             
               
                 Libera
                 nos
              
               .
            
             
               From
               the
               
                 Late
                 Times
                 Reviv'd
              
               ,
               when
               Religion
               was
               gain
               ,
            
             
               And
               Church-Plate
               was
               seiz'd
               for
               
                 Reliques
                 Prophane
              
               ,
            
             
               Since
               practic'd
               by
               Searching
               Sir
               William
               again
               ,
            
             
               
                 Libera
                 nos
              
               .
            
             
               From
               such
               Reformation
               where
               Zealots
               begun
               ,
            
             
               To
               preach
               Heaven
               must
               by
               firm
               Bulwarks
               be
               won
            
             
               And
               
                 Te
                 Deum
              
               sung
               from
               the
               mouth
               of
               a
               Gun
               ,
            
             
               
                 Libera
                 nos
              
               .
            
             
               From
               Parliamentarians
               ,
               that
               out
               of
               their
               Love
            
             
               And
               Care
               for
               His
               Majesty's
               Safety
               ,
               wou'd
               prove
            
             
               The
               securest
               way
               were
               His
               Guards
               to
               remove
               ,
            
             
               
                 Libera
                 nos
              
               .
            
             
             
               From
               
                 Sa●cy
                 Petitions
              
               ,
               that
               serve
               to
               inflame
               us
               ,
            
             
               From
               all
               who
               for
               the
               Association
               are
               famous
               ,
            
             
               From
               the
               Devil
               ,
               the
               Doctor
               ,
               &
               the
               
                 damn'd
                 Ignoramus
              
            
             
               
                 Libera
                 nos
              
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Norwich
             Loyal
             Litany
             .
          
           
             
               DEfend
               us
               from
               all
               
                 Popish
                 Plots
              
               ,
            
             
               That
               so
               the
               People
               fray
               ;
            
             
               And
               eke
               also
               from
               Treacherous
               Scots
               ,
            
             
               As
               bad
               or
               worse
               than
               they
               .
            
          
           
             
               From
               Parliaments
               long
               Rumps
               and
               Tails
               ,
            
             
               From
               
                 House
                 of
                 Commons
              
               Furies
               ,
            
             
               Defend
               us
               eke
               from
               
                 Protestant
                 Flayls
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 Ignoramus
                 Juries
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               Protect
               us
               now
               ,
               and
               evermore
               ,
            
             
               From
               a
               white
               Sheet
               and
               Proctor
               :
            
             
               And
               from
               that
               
                 Noble
                 Peer
              
               brought
               o're
            
             
               The
               
                 Salamanca
                 Doctor
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               A
               Doctor
               with
               a
               Witness
               sure
               ,
            
             
               Both
               in
               his
               Rise
               and
               Fall
               :
            
             
               His
               Exit
               almost
               as
               obscure
            
             
               As
               his
               Original
               .
            
          
           
             
               Designs
               and
               Dangers
               far
               Remove
               ,
            
             
               From
               this
               Distressed
               Nation
               ,
            
             
               And
               Damn
               '
               the
               
                 Trayterous
                 Model
              
               of
            
             
               Bold
               
               Tony's
               Association
            
          
           
             
               And
               may
               the
               
                 Prick-Ear'd
                 Party
              
               that
            
             
               Have
               Coin
               enough
               in
               Cupboard
               ,
            
             
               Forbear
               to
               Shiver
               an
               Estate
               ,
            
             
               And
               Splinters
               mount
               for
               Hobart
               .
            
          
           
             
               From
               sixteen
               self-conceited
               Peers
               ,
            
             
               Protect
               our
               Soveraign
               still
               ;
            
             
             
               And
               from
               the
               Dam'd
               Petitioners
               ,
            
             
               For
               the
               
                 Exclusive
                 Bill
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               Guard
               (
               Heaven
               )
               great
               Charles
               ,
               and
               his
               Estate
            
             
               '
               Gainst
               Tony
               upon
               Tony
               ;
            
             
               And
               from
               the
               
                 House
                 of
                 Commons
              
               ,
               that
            
             
               Will
               give
               the
               King
               no
               Money
               .
            
          
           
             
               From
               those
               that
               did
               design
               and
               laugh
               ,
            
             
               At
               Tangier
               in
               Distress
               ;
            
             
               And
               were
               Mahometans
               worse
               by
               half
               ,
            
             
               Then
               all
               the
               Moors
               of
               Fez
            
          
           
             
               From
               such
               as
               with
               Usurping
               hand
               ,
            
             
               Drive
               Princes
               to
               Extreams
               ;
            
             
               Confound
               all
               their
               Devices
               ,
               and
            
             
               Deliver
               Charles
               ,
               and
               James
               .
            
          
           
             
               But
               may
               the
               beauteous
               Youth
               come
               home
               ,
            
             
               And
               do
               the
               thing
               that
               's
               fit
               ,
            
             
               Or
               I
               must
               tell
               that
               Absalom
               ,
            
             
               He
               has
               more
               Hair
               then
               Wit.
               
            
          
           
             
               May
               he
               be
               wise
               ,
               and
               soon
               expel
            
             
               Th'
               old
               Fox
               ,
               th'
               old
               
                 Fawning
                 Elf
              
               ;
            
             
               The
               time
               draws
               nigh
               Achitophel
               ,
            
             
               Shan't
               need
               to
               hang
               himself
               .
            
          
           
             
               This
               Jury
               I
               've
               Empanel'd
               here
               ,
            
             
               Of
               honest
               lines
               and
               true
               ,
            
             
               Whom
               you●l
               I
               doubt
               at
               Westminster
               ,
            
             
               Will
               find
               Ignoramus
               too
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             new
             Litany
             to
             be
             Sung
             in
             all
             Conventicles
             for
             Instruction
             of
             the
             Whigs
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             call●d
             
               Cavalilly
               Man.
            
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               FRom
               Counsels
               of
               Six
               ▪
               where
               Treason
               prevails
               ,
            
             
               From
               raising
               Rebellion
               in
               England
               and
               Wales
               ,
            
             
             
               From
               Rumbolds
               short
               Cannons
               ,
               and
               Protestant-Flayls
               ▪
            
             
               
                 For
                 ever
                 O
                 Fate
                 deliver
                 me
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               From
               
               Shaftsbury's
               Tenets
               ,
               and
               Sydneys
               Old
               Hint
               .
            
             
               From
               seizing
               the
               King
               by
               the
               
                 Rabbles
                 Consent
              
               ,
            
             
               From
               owning
               the
               Fact
               ,
               and
               denying
               the
               Guilt
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 ever
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               From
               Aiming
               at
               Crowns
               and
               indulging
               the
               sin
               ,
            
             
               From
               playing
               
               Old-Noll's
               Game
               over
               again
               ;
            
             
               From
               a
               Son
               and
               a
               Rebel
               ,
               stuft
               up
               in
               one
               skin
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 ever
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               From
               Swearing
               of
               Lyes
               like
               a
               Knight
               of
               the
               Post
               ,
            
             
               From
               Pilgrims
               of
               Spain
               ,
               that
               should
               Land
               on
               our
               Coast
               ,
            
             
               From
               a
               Plot
               like
               a
               Turd
               ,
               swept
               about
               till
               its
               Lost
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 ever
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               From
               
               Oats's
               clear
               Evidence
               when
               he
               was
               Vext
               ,
            
             
               From
               hearing
               him
               squeak
               out
               
                 Hugh
                 Peters
              
               old
               Text
               ▪
            
             
               From
               Marrying
               one
               Sister
               ,
               and
               Raping
               the
               next
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 ever
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               From
               tedious
               Confinement
               by
               
                 Parliament
                 Votes
              
               ,
            
             
               From
               
                 B
                 —
                 t
                 s
                 Whig
                 Sermons
                 with
                 Marginal
                 Notes
              
               ;
            
             
               From
               saving
               our
               Heads
               ,
               by
               Cutting
               our
               Throats
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 ever
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               From
               
                 Presbyter
                 Bandogs
              
               ,
               that
               Bite
               and
               not
               Bark
               ,
            
             
               From
               losing
               ones
               Brains
               by
               a
               blow
               in
               the
               Dark
               ▪
            
             
               From
               our
               Friends
               in
               More-fields
               and
               those
               at
               More-park
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 ever
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               8
            
             
               From
               
                 Citizens
                 Consciences
              
               and
               their
               
                 Wives
                 foul
                 Itch
              
               ,
            
             
               Prom
               Marrying
               a
               Widdow
               that
               looks
               like
               a
               Witch
               ,
            
             
               From
               following
               the
               Court
               with
               design
               to
               be
               Rich
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 ever
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               From
               Trimmers
               arraigning
               a
               Judge
               on
               the
               Bench
               ,
            
             
               From
               slighting
               the
               Guards
               ,
               that
               we
               know
               will
               not
               Flinch
               ,
            
             
             
               And
               from
               the
               
                 Train'd-Bands
                 Royal-Aid
              
               at
               a
               Pinch
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 ever
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               From
               all
               that
               to
               Caesar
               sham
               duty
               Express
               ,
            
             
               That
               cringe
               at
               his
               Coach
               ,
               and
               smile
               in
               his
               ●ace
               ,
            
             
               And
               two
               years
               ago
               thought
               it
               scorn
               to
               Address
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 ever
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               11.
               
            
             
               From
               having
               the
               Gout
               ,
               and
               a
               very
               
                 Fair
                 Daughter
              
               ,
            
             
               From
               being
               oblig'd
               to
               our
               Friend
               cross
               the
               Water
            
             
               From
               Strangling
               &
               Fleying
               ,
               &
               what
               follows
               after
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 ever
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               12.
               
            
             
               From
               Wit
               that
               lies
               hidden
               in
               gay
               Pantaloons
               ,
            
             
               From
               Womens
               ill
               Nature
               as
               frail
               as
               the
               Moons
               ,
            
             
               From
               
               Francky's
               lame
               Jests
               ,
               and
               
                 Sir
                 Rogers
                 Lampoons
              
            
             
               
                 For
                 ever
                 O
                 Fate
                 deliver
                 me
                 .
              
            
          
        
      
       
         
           SONGS
           never
           before
           in
           Print
           .
        
         
           
             A
             new
             SONG
             made
             on
             the
             Parliaments
             removing
             from
             London
             to
             Oxford
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             You
             Yorkshire
             Lads
             be
             merry
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               YE
               London
               Lads
               be
               merry
               ,
            
             
               Yere
               
                 Parliament
                 Friands
              
               are
               gene
               ;
            
             
               That
               made
               us
               an
               so
               sorry
               ,
            
             
               And
               wou'd
               not
               let
               us
               alene
               :
            
             
               But
               pecht
               us
               e'ry
               Ene
               ,
            
             
               Both
               Papist
               and
               Protestant
               too
               ;
            
             
               But
               to
               Oxford
               they
               are
               gene
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               Deel
               gang
               with
               them
               I
               trow
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Our
               gude
               King
               Charles
               Heven
               bless
               Him
               ,
            
             
               Protecting
               of
               Albanies
               Right
               ;
            
             
               Received
               from
               the
               Howse
               sike
               a
               Lesson
               ,
            
             
               'T
               was
               like
               to
               have
               set
               us
               at
               Strife
               ▪
            
             
             
               But
               Charles
               he
               swore
               by
               his
               Life
               ,
            
             
               Heed
               have
               ne
               mete
               sike
               a
               dow
               ;
            
             
               And
               he
               packt
               them
               off
               by
               this
               Light
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               
               Deel's
               gang'd
               with
               them
               I
               trow
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               There
               's
               Essex
               and
               Jemmy
               the
               Cully
               ,
            
             
               Were
               mickle
               too
               blame
               I
               dreed
               :
            
             
               With
               Shaftsbury
               that
               States●Bully
               ,
            
             
               And
               aw
               the
               Factious
               Breed
               :
            
             
               And
               wittal
               G
               —
               gud
               deed
               ,
            
             
               Who
               Pimps
               when
               his
               Wife
               doth
               Mow
               ,
            
             
               And
               holds
               the
               door
               for
               a
               need
               ,
            
             
               But
               the
               Deel
               will
               reward
               him
               I
               trow
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Fool
               Thin
               and
               half-witted
               
                 M
                 —
                 t
              
               ,
            
             
               With
               
                 Lo
                 —
                 ce
              
               ,
               and
               Slabbering
               
                 K
                 —
                 t
              
               ;
            
             
               With
               Gogling
               Flee-catching
               
                 B
                 —
                 don
              
            
             
               That
               nere
               knew
               yet
               what
               he
               meant
               ;
            
             
               And
               
                 St
                 —
                 rd
              
               follows
               the
               scent
            
             
               With
               Politick
               Armstrong
               and
               How
               ,
            
             
               And
               they
               all
               a
               Petitioning
               went
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               
               Deel
               ●s
               gang'd
               with
               them
               I
               trow
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Then
               Heven
               protect
               Great
               Albany
               ,
            
             
               Guide
               him
               from
               Pistol
               and
               Gun
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               the
               Plots
               of
               Anthony
               ,
            
             
               That
               Malitious
               Baboon
               :
            
             
               Tho●
               sham'd
               on
               the
               Pope
               of
               Rome
               ▪
            
             
               As
               Dugdale
               and
               Oats
               do
               avow
               ;
            
             
               But
               in
               time
               they
               'l
               hang
               the
               Fause
               Loons
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               Deel
               hang
               with
               them
               I
               trow
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             A
             new
             SONG
             ,
          
           
             to
             the
             Tune
             ,
             Ye
             London
             
               Lads
               be
               Merry
            
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               YOu
               Loyal
               Lads
               be
               merry
               ,
            
             
               For
               Perkin
               that
               State
               Buffoon
               ,
            
             
               Despis'd
               by
               Whig
               and
               by
               Tory
               ,
            
             
               For
               being
               so
               Fause
               a
               Loon
               :
            
             
               To
               sham
               the
               Court
               and
               the
               Town
               ,
            
             
               And
               muckle
               did
               swear
               and
               vow
               :
            
             
               But
               like
               Prance
               he
               has
               chang'd
               his
               tone
            
             
               And
               the
               D●el
               gang
               with
               him
               I
               trow
               :
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               His
               Party
               had
               taught
               him
               his
               Lesson
               ,
            
             
               And
               low
               he
               did
               sue
               for
               Grace
               ;
            
             
               He
               whin'd
               out
               a
               doleful
               Confession
               ,
            
             
               How
               great
               a
               Traytor
               he
               was
               ;
            
             
               And
               begg'd
               his
               Pardon
               might
               pass
               ,
            
             
               For
               he
               was
               a
               Penitent
               now
               ;
            
             
               But
               he
               bid
               the
               Court
               
                 Kiss
                 his
                 Arse
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               
               Deel's
               gang'd
               with
               
                 him
                 I
                 trow
              
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               And
               once
               more
               he
               's
               got
               above
               Hatches
               ,
            
             
               And
               means
               to
               set
               up
               for
               a
               King
               ;
            
             
               The
               Politicks
               of
               his
               Scotch
               Dutchess
               ,
            
             
               This
               matter
               about
               did
               bring
               :
            
             
               Ods
               wunds
               she
               longs
               to
               be
               Queen
               ,
            
             
               If
               Perkin
               and
               she
               knew
               how
               ;
            
             
               And
               yet
               in
               a
               Hempen-string
               ,
            
             
               They
               may
               gang
               to
               the
               Deel
               I
               trow
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               And
               this
               last
               mark
               of
               his
               Treason
               ,
            
             
               Is
               muckle
               exceeding
               the
               rest
               ,
            
             
               To
               aw
               Lads
               of
               Sense
               and
               of
               Reason
               ;
            
             
               T'
               has
               gain'd
               him
               many
               a
               Curse
               :
            
             
             
               He
               might
               have
               been
               then
               at
               the
               worst
            
             
               Drawn
               in
               for
               a
               Cully
               of
               shew
               ,
            
             
               But
               now
               't
               is
               past
               all
               distrust
               ,
            
             
               That
               the
               Deels
               gang'd
               with
               him
               I
               trew
               .
            
          
           
             
               5
            
             
               Now
               Heaven
               bless
               Charles
               the
               Second
               ,
            
             
               And
               grant
               him
               of
               
               Brutus
               ●s
               mind
               ;
            
             
               And
               then
               his
               nene
               Son
               will
               be
               reckon'd
            
             
               Among
               the
               Trayterous
               kind
               ,
            
             
               And
               equal
               Justice
               will
               find
               ,
            
             
               By
               God
               and
               St.
               Andrew
               I
               trow
               ;
            
             
               Were
               he
               o'
               my
               Daddy
               's
               nene
               kind
               ,
            
             
               He
               should
               gang
               to
               the
               Deel
               I
               trew
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Discoverers
             Discover'd
             .
          
           
             A
             new
             Tune
             ,
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               DOwn
               Discoverers
               ,
               who
               so
               long
               have
               Plotted
            
             
               With
               Holy
               shams
               to
               gull
               the
               Nation
               ,
            
             
               Both
               Peer
               and
               Prelacy
               they
               useless
               Voted
               ,
            
             
               By
               the
               Old
               Babes
               of
               Reformation
               :
            
             
               
               Property
               's
               all
               their
               cry
               ,
               Rights
               and
               Freedom
               ,
            
             
               Laws
               and
               Religion
               they
               pull
               down
               ;
            
             
               With
               old
               Intestine
               Launce
               to
               bleed
               them
               ,
            
             
               From
               
                 Lawn-Sleev'd
                 Prelate
              
               to
               
                 Purple
                 Throne
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               2
            
             
               Confound
               the
               
                 Hypocrites
                 ,
                 Brumighams
              
               Royal
               ,
            
             
               Who
               think
               Allegiance
               a
               Trangression
               ;
            
             
               Since
               to
               oppose
               the
               King
               is
               counted
               Loyal
               ,
            
             
               And
               to
               rail
               high
               at
               the
               Succession
               :
            
             
               
               Monarchy's
               Tyrany
               ,
               Justice
               is
               Cruel
               ,
            
             
               
                 Loyalists
                 ,
                 Tories
              
               ,
               and
               
                 Rory
                 Knaves
              
               ;
            
             
               And
               Dagons
               Liberty's
               a
               Jewel
               ,
            
             
               That
               we
               again
               may
               be
               
                 Brewers
                 Slaves
              
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Drink
               ,
               drink
               my
               Boys
               since
               Plotting
               is
               in
               Season
               ,
            
             
               And
               none
               Loyal
               call'd
               but
               busie
               Brats
               of
               Faction
            
             
               
                 Rome
                 ,
                 Rome
              
               no
               more
               thy
               Holy
               Treason
               ,
            
             
               We
               have
               those
               at
               home
               of
               more
               
                 divine
                 extraction
              
               ▪
            
             
               We
               have
               Peers
               and
               
                 Parsons
                 ,
                 Smiths
              
               and
               Coopers
               too
               ,
            
             
               Carpenters
               and
               Joyners
               of
               the
               Reformation
               ;
            
             
               All
               your
               Brood
               of
               
                 Cloister'd
                 Jesuits
              
               out-do
            
             
               To
               reduce
               to
               Duty
               a
               divided
               Nation
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Let
               Whigs
               and
               Zealots
               dable
               deep
               in
               Treason
               ,
            
             
               And
               suck
               from
               the
               
                 Spiggot
                 Heavenly
                 Revelation
              
               ▪
            
             
               We
               in
               the
               Glass
               will
               find
               more
               solid
               Reason
               ,
            
             
               And
               our
               hearts
               enflam'd
               with
               nobler
               Inquisition
               ,
            
             
               Let
               them
               boast
               of
               honest
               Brumighams
               and
               true
               ,
            
             
               And
               with
               those
               Compose
               the
               Kirk
               of
               Separation
               :
            
             
               We
               have
               honest
               
                 Tories
                 ▪
                 Tom
                 ▪
                 Dick
              
               and
               Hugh
               ,
            
             
               We
               'll
               Drink
               on
               and
               do
               more
               Service
               for
               the
               Nation
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Fanatick
             Zeal
             ,
             or
             a
             Looking-glass
             for
             the
             Whiggs
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               A
               Swearing
               we
               will
               go
            
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               WHo
               wou'd
               not
               be
               a
               Tory
               ,
            
             
               When
               the
               Loyal
               are
               call'd
               so
               ,
            
             
               And
               a
               Whig
               is
               known
               ,
            
             
               To
               be
               the
               Nations
               mortal
               Foe
               ;
            
             
               
                 So
                 a
              
               Tory
               
                 I
                 will
                 be
                 ,
                 will
                 be
                 ,
                 will
                 be
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Tory
               
                 I
                 will
                 be
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               With
               little
               Band
               ,
               Precise
            
             
               Hair
               Presbyterian
               Cutt
               ;
            
             
               Whigg
               turns
               up
               Hands
               and
               Eyes
            
             
               Tho'
               Smoaking
               hot
               from
               Slut
               ,
            
             
               
                 So
                 a
              
               Tory
               
                 I
                 will
                 be
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
             
               3.
               
            
             
               
                 Black
                 Cap
              
               turn'd
               up
               with
               White
               ,
            
             
               With
               Woolfish-Neck
               and
               Face
               ;
            
             
               And
               Mouth
               with
               None-sense
               stuft
               ,
            
             
               Speaks
               Whigg
               a
               man
               of
               Grace
               ;
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Tory
               
                 I
                 will
                 be
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               The
               Sisters
               go
               to
               Meetings
            
             
               To
               meet
               their
               Gallants
               there
               ;
            
             
               And
               oft
               mistake
               for
               my
               Lord
               ,
            
             
               And
               s●ivle
               out
               my
               Dear
               ;
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Tory
               
                 I
                 will
                 be
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Example
               we
               do
               own
               ,
            
             
               Then
               Precept
               better
               is
               ;
            
             
               For
               Creswel
               she
               was
               safe
               ,
            
             
               When
               she
               liv'd
               a
               
                 Private
                 Miss
              
               .
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Tory
               
                 I
                 will
                 be
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               The
               Whigs
               tho'
               ne'er
               so
               Proud
               ,
            
             
               Sometimes
               have
               been
               as
               low
               ;
            
             
               For
               there
               are
               some
               of
               Note
               ,
            
             
               Have
               hung
               a
               Raree-Show
               .
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Tory
               
                 I
                 will
                 be
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               These
               Mushrooms
               to
               have
               got
               for
            
             
               Their
               Champion
               turn
               coat
               Hick
               ,
            
             
               But
               if
               the
               
                 Naked
                 Truth
              
               were
               known
               ,
            
             
               They
               'r
               assisted
               by
               
                 Old
                 N●ck
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Tory
               
                 I
                 will
                 be
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               To
               be
               ,
               and
               to
               be
               not
            
             
               At
               once
               ,
               is
               in
               their
               Power
               ;
            
             
               For
               when
               they
               're
               in
               they
               'r
               Guilty
               ,
            
             
               But
               clear
               when
               out
               o'
               th'
               Tower
               ;
            
          
           
             
             
               9.
               
            
             
               To
               carry
               on
               their
               Designs
               ,
            
             
               Tho
               't
               contradicts
               their
               Sense
               ;
            
             
               They
               'll
               clear
               a
               Whiggish
               Traytor
               ,
            
             
               Against
               plain
               Evidence
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Tory
               
                 I
                 will
                 be
              
               ,
               ●c
               .
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               The
               
                 old
                 Proverb
              
               does
               tell
               us
               ,
            
             
               
                 Each
                 Dog
                 will
                 have
                 his
                 day
              
               ;
            
             
               And
               Pill
               has
               had
               his
               too
               ,
            
             
               For
               which
               he
               'll
               soundly
               pay
               ;
            
             
               
                 So
                 a
              
               Tory
               
                 I
                 will
                 be
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               11.
               
            
             
               For
               Bodkins
               and
               for
               Thimbles
               ,
            
             
               Now
               let
               your
               Tubsters
               Cant
               ;
            
             
               For
               your
               confounded
               tyr'd
               Cause
               ,
            
             
               ●ad
               never
               yet
               more
               want
               ;
            
             
               
                 So
                 a
              
               Tory
               
                 I
                 will
                 be
              
               ,
               &c
            
          
           
             
               12.
               
            
             
               For
               
                 Ignoramus
                 Toney
              
               ,
            
             
               Has
               left
               you
               in
               the
               Lurch
               ;
            
             
               And
               you
               have
               spent
               your
               Money
               ,
            
             
               So
               faite
               e'en●come
               to
               Church
               ;
            
             
               
                 So
                 a
              
               Tory
               
                 I
                 will
                 be
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               13
               :
            
             
               They
               are
               of
               no
               Religion
               ,
            
             
               Be
               it
               spoken
               to
               their
               Glories
               ,
            
             
               For
               St
               Peter
               and
               St.
               Paul
               ,
            
             
               With
               them
               both
               are
               Tories
               ;
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Tory
               
                 I
                 will
                 be
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               14
            
             
               They
               're
               excellent
               Contrivers
               ,
            
             
               I
               wonder
               what
               they
               're
               not
               ;
            
             
               For
               something
               they
               can
               make
            
             
               Of
               nothing
               ,
               and
               a
               Plot
               ;
            
          
           
             
             
               15.
               
            
             
               But
               now
               your
               
                 Holy
                 Cheat
              
            
             
               Is
               known
               throughout
               the
               Nation
               ;
            
             
               And
               a
               Whigg
               is
               known
               to
               be
            
             
               A
               thing
               quite
               out
               of
               Fashion
               ;
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Tory
               
                 I
                 will
                 be
                 ,
                 will
                 be
                 ,
                 will
                 be
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
              
               Tory
               
                 I
                 will
                 be
              
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             new
             SONG
             on
             the
             
               Old
               Plot.
            
             
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             Tangier
             March.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               LEt
               the
               Whigs
               Repine
               and
               all
               Combine
               ,
            
             
               In
               a
               damn●d
               Association
               :
            
             
               Let
               Tony
               Fret
               ,
               and
               Perkin
               Sweat
               ,
            
             
               That
               their
               Plot
               's
               grown
               out
               of
               Fashion
               ,
            
             
               Since
               our
               Royal
               
               Jemmey's
               come
               again
            
             
               To
               spoil
               their
               Usurpation
               ;
            
             
               Rising
               like
               the
               splendid
               Sun
               ,
            
             
               To
               cheer
               the
               drooping
               Nation
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               You
               dull
               sham
               Prince
               ,
               whose
               Impudence
            
             
               To
               a
               Throne
               would
               be
               aspiring
               ,
            
             
               See
               the
               Rabble
               Crowd
               that
               made
               you
               proud
               ,
            
             
               Have
               ceas'd
               their
               loud
               admiring
               :
            
             
               Curse
               in
               time
               those
               Rogues
               of
               State
               ,
            
             
               That
               taught
               you
               Rebel
               Notions
               ;
            
             
               And
               at
               the
               true
               Successors
               Feet
            
             
               Pay
               all
               your
               Just
               Devotions
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Let
               Bully
               Tom
               receive
               his
               Doom
               ,
            
             
               So
               long
               since
               due
               in
               Reason
               ;
            
             
               For
               Murders
               then
               ,
               and
               now
               again
            
             
               For
               Mutiny
               and
               Treason
               :
            
             
               To
               Kidnap
               Cully
               ,
               still
               has
               been
            
             
               His
               business
               of
               Importance
               ;
            
             
             
               And
               now
               poor
               Perkin
               has
               drawn
               in
               ,
            
             
               And
               Rook'd
               out
               of
               his
               Fortunes
               .
            
          
           
             
               4
            
             
               In
               old
               Laws
               we
               find
               ,
               the
               
               Cockold's
               kind
            
             
               To
               those
               that
               do
               Cornute
               him
               ;
            
             
               Or
               why
               should
               Gray
               the
               Traytor
               play
               ,
            
             
               And
               to
               Perkin
               be
               supporting
               ?
            
             
               But
               the
               Co●comb
               fain
               would
               be
            
             
               A
               Wittal
               to
               a
               King
               too
               ;
            
             
               That
               his
               Bastards
               may
               again
               ,
            
             
               Rebel
               for
               some
               such
               thing
               too
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               But
               of
               all
               Fools
               ,
               a
               Pox
               on
               Tools
               ,
            
             
               That
               against
               all
               Law
               and
               Reason
               ;
            
             
               The
               Cause
               maintain
               ,
               without
               the
               Gain
            
             
               Or
               the
               Profit
               of
               the
               Treason
               :
            
             
               What
               from
               Wit
               ,
               or
               Courage
               ,
               Hopes
               ,
            
             
               That
               Gaping
               Cully
               Brandon
               ;
            
             
               That
               does
               to
               Mungrel
               Perkin
               stoop
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               
                 Royal
                 side
              
               Abandon
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Fat
               Turnspit
               Franck
               with
               Wit
               so
               ranck
               ,
            
             
               Has
               some
               excuse
               for
               starting
               ;
            
             
               Whom
               we
               despise
               ,
               in
               time
               may
               rise
               ,
            
             
               To
               be
               Jester
               to
               King
               Perkin
               :
            
             
               But
               for
               
                 Essex
                 ,
                 S
                 —
                 d
                 ,
                 Gray
              
               and
               
                 K
                 —
                 t
              
               ,
            
             
               Those
               Fools
               of
               Land
               and
               Money
               ;
            
             
               Why
               what
               the
               Deel
               was
               their
               intent
            
             
               To
               set
               up
               Rebel
               Tony.
               
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               The
               Polish
               Prince
               has
               some
               pretence
               ,
            
             
               To
               be
               Whigland
               Rabbles
               Hector
               ;
            
             
               And
               with
               Reas●n
               too
               may
               head
               the
               Crew
               ,
            
             
               And
               in
               time
               become
               Protector
               :
            
             
             
               Since
               Ambition
               and
               Revenge
            
             
               Are
               motives
               very
               moving
               ;
            
             
               But
               a
               Plague
               on
               Fools
               that
               him
               do
               bring
               ,
            
             
               To
               Rogues
               must
               Rule
               above
               him
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Oh!
               ye
               Tapland
               Crew
               that
               Treason
               brew
               ,
            
             
               And
               of
               Tony
               make
               an
               Idol
               ;
            
             
               And
               Perkin
               sham
               with
               King
               in
               Name
               ,
            
             
               The
               King
               of
               the
               
                 Golden
                 Medall
              
               .
            
             
               Curse
               and
               Damn
               the
               Black-Cabal
               ,
            
             
               That
               Inspir'd
               your
               Rebel
               knowledge
               ;
            
             
               E're
               
                 Billa
                 vera
              
               find
               you
               all
            
             
               The
               Fate
               of
               Pious
               Colledge
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Whigs
             Downfall
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Hey
               Boys
               up
               go
               we
            
             .
          
           
             
               NOw
               ,
               now
               the
               Antichristian
               Crew
            
             
               Shall
               all
               go
               down
               ,
               because
            
             
               Our
               Magistrates
               do
               well
               pursue
               ,
            
             
               And
               Execute
               the
               Laws
               :
            
             
               Those
               Rascals
               who
               do
               always
               rail
            
             
               Against
               all
               Law
               with
               Spight
               ;
            
             
               Would
               make
               a
               Law
               against
               the
               Law
               ,
            
             
               Great
               York
               should
               loose
               his
               Right
               .
            
          
           
             
               To
               perfect
               which
               ,
               they
               made
               their
               choice
            
             
               Of
               Parliaments
               of
               late
               ,
            
             
               Of
               Members
               that
               had
               nought
               but
               Voice
               ,
            
             
               And
               Megrims
               in
               their
               Pate
               :
            
             
               
                 Wi.
                 Williams
              
               he
               the
               Speaker
               was
               ,
            
             
               And
               is
               't
               not
               wondrous
               strange
               ;
            
             
               The
               Reasons
               plain
               ,
               he
               told
               it
               was
               ,
            
             
               Because
               they
               would
               not
               change
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               He
               told
               you
               Truth
               ,
               nor
               think
               it
               strange
               ;
            
             
               He
               knew
               well
               their
               intent
               ,
            
             
               They
               never
               meant
               themselves
               to
               change
               ,
            
             
               But
               change
               the
               Government
               :
            
             
               For
               now
               cry
               they
               the
               King
               's
               so
               poor
               ,
            
             
               He
               dares
               not
               with
               us
               part
               ;
            
             
               And
               therefore
               we
               most
               Loyally
            
             
               Will
               break
               his
               Royal
               Heart
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               
                 Habeas
                 Corpus
              
               Act
               is
               past
               ,
            
             
               And
               so
               far
               we
               are
               safe
               ;
            
             
               He
               can't
               Imprison
               us
               so
               fast
               ,
            
             
               But
               strait
               we
               have
               Relief
               :
            
             
               He
               can't
               deny
               us
               ought
               we
               ask
               ,
            
             
               In
               so
               much
               need
               he
               stands
               ;
            
             
               And
               before
               that
               we
               do
               Money
               give
               ,
            
             
               We
               'll
               tye
               up
               both
               his
               Hands
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               Presidents
               of
               
                 Forty
                 One
              
               ,
            
             
               Which
               were
               till
               
                 Forty
                 Eight
              
               ;
            
             
               Now
               our
               Presidents
               are
               grown
               ,
            
             
               For
               why
               they
               had
               their
               weight
               :
            
             
               So
               weighty
               were
               they
               ,
               they
               cut
               off
            
             
               Our
               Royal
               Monarch's
               Head
               ;
            
             
               The
               self
               same
               Reason
               bids
               us
               now
               ,
            
             
               To
               act
               the
               self
               same
               deed
               .
            
          
           
             
               And
               when
               we
               have
               a
               Martyr
               made
            
             
               Of
               another
               Gracious
               King
               ,
            
             
               Then
               all
               the
               
                 ●aiterous
                 Plots
              
               we
               've
               laid
               ,
            
             
               We
               to
               perfection
               bring
               :
            
             
               And
               to
               protect
               our
               Wicked
               Deeds
               ,
            
             
               Religion
               shall
               go
               down
               ;
            
             
               We●ll
               ●out
               out
               all
               the
               
                 Royal
                 Seed
              
               ,
            
             
               Pretenders
               to
               the
               ●ro●n
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               Thus
               having
               Monarchy
               destroy'd
               ,
            
             
               We
               'll
               govern
               by
               Free-will
               ;
            
             
               The
               Light
               of
               the
               Spirit
               shall
               be
               our
               guide
               ,
            
             
               Then
               what
               man
               can
               do
               ill
               :
            
             
               Religion
               is
               the
               surest
               cloak
            
             
               To
               hide
               our
               Treachery
               ;
            
             
               The
               Rabble
               we
               'll
               confine
               to
               th'
               yoak
            
             
               Pretending
               to
               set
               Free.
               
            
          
           
             
               Therefore
               my
               Country
               men
               ,
               trust
               not
            
             
               Where
               
               Religion
               's
               the
               pretence
               ;
            
             
               For
               if
               you
               do
               ,
               you
               'll
               find
               a
               Plot
            
             
               To
               destroy
               your
               Innocence
               :
            
             
               For
               those
               who
               lead
               you
               to
               Rebel
               ,
            
             
               You
               'll
               find
               i'
               th'
               close
               to
               be
               ,
            
             
               Pure
               Instruments
               were
               sent
               from
               Hell
            
             
               To
               foment
               Treachery
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Downfall
             of
             the
             
               Good
               Old
               Cause
            
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Hey
               Boys
               up
               go
               We.
            
             
          
           
             
               NOw
               the
               bad
               
                 Old
                 Cause
              
               is
               Tapt
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               Vessel
               standeth
               stoop'd
               ;
            
             
               The
               Cooper
               may
               starve
               for
               want
               of
               work
               ,
            
             
               For
               the
               Cask
               shall
               never
               be
               hoop●d
               :
            
             
               We
               will
               burn
               the
               Association
               ,
            
             
               The
               Covenant
               ,
               and
               Vow
               ;
            
             
               The
               publick
               Cheat
               of
               the
               Nation
               ,
            
             
               Anthony
               ,
               now
               ,
               now
               ,
               now
               .
            
          
           
             
               No
               Fanatick
               shall
               bear
               the
               sway
               ,
            
             
               In
               
                 Court
                 ,
                 City
              
               ,
               or
               Town
               ;
            
             
               Three
               good
               Kingdoms
               to
               Betray
               ,
            
             
               And
               cry
               the
               
                 Right
                 Line
              
               down
               :
            
             
             
               Let
               them
               cry
               ,
               
                 They
                 love
                 the
                 King
              
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               if
               they
               hate
               his
               Brother
               ,
            
             
               Remember
               Charles
               
                 they
                 Murdered
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 so
                 they
                 would
                 the
                 other
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Weavers
               and
               such
               like
               Fellows
            
             
               In
               Pulpit
               daily
               Pret
               ;
            
             
               Like
               the
               Covenanters
               ,
            
             
               Against
               the
               Church
               and
               State
               :
            
             
               Yet
               they
               cry
               ,
               
                 They
                 love
                 the
                 King
              
               ;
            
             
               But
               their
               Business
               will
               discover
               ,
            
             
               Charles
               
                 the
                 first
                 they
                 Murdered
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 so
                 they
                 would
                 the
                 tother
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Where
               these
               Fellows
               go
               to
               Drink
               ,
            
             
               In
               City
               or
               in
               Town
               ;
            
             
               They
               Villify
               the
               Bishops
               ,
            
             
               And
               they
               cry
               the
               Stewarts
               down
               ;
            
             
               Still
               they
               cry
               ,
               
                 They
                 love
                 the
                 King
              
               ,
            
             
               But
               their
               Business
               I
               'll
               discover
               ;
            
             
               Charles
               
                 the
                 first
                 they
                 Murdered
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 so
                 they
                 would
                 the
                 tother
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               When
               the
               King
               wanted
               Money
               ,
            
             
               Poor
               Yangier
               to
               Relieve
               ;
            
             
               They
               cryed
               down
               his
               Revenue
               ,
            
             
               Not
               a
               Penny
               they
               would
               give
               :
            
             
               Still
               they
               cry'd
               ,
               
                 They
                 love
                 the
                 King
              
               ▪
            
             
               But
               their
               Business
               I
               'll
               discover
               ;
            
             
               Charles
               
                 the
                 first
                 they
                 Murdered
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 so
                 they
                 would
                 the
                 tother
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               The
               Noble
               Marquess
               of
               Worcester
               ,
            
             
               And
               many
               such
               Brave
               Lord
               ;
            
             
               By
               the
               
               King-killing
               Crew
               ,
            
             
               They
               daily
               are
               Abhor'd
               :
            
             
             
               And
               call'd
               
                 Evil
                 Councello●s
              
               ,
            
             
               When
               the
               Truth
               they
               did
               discover
               ;
            
             
               And
               Charles
               
                 the
                 first
                 they
                 Murdered
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 so
                 they
                 would
                 the
                 tother
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               The
               Papists
               they
               would
               kill
               the
               King
               ▪
            
             
               But
               the
               Fanaticks
               did
               ;
            
             
               Their
               Perjuries
               and
               Treacheries
            
             
               Are
               not
               to
               be
               parallel'd
               :
            
             
               Let
               them
               cry
               ,
               
                 They
                 love
                 the
                 King
              
               ,
            
             
               Their
               Faults
               I
               will
               discover
               ;
            
             
               Charles
               
                 the
                 first
                 they
                 Murdered
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 so
                 they
                 would
                 the
                 tother
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Charles
               the
               2
               d.
               stands
               on
               his
               Guard
               ,
            
             
               Like
               a
               good
               Politick
               King
               ;
            
             
               The
               Fanaticks
               ought
               to
               be
               abhor'd
               ,
            
             
               For
               all
               their
               Flattering
               :
            
             
               Let
               them
               cry
               ,
               
                 They
                 love
                 the
                 King
              
               ,
            
             
               Their
               Tricks
               I
               will
               discover
               ;
            
             
               Charles
               
                 the
                 first
                 they
                 Murdered
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 so
                 they
                 will
                 the
                 tother
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Now
               let
               all
               good
               Subjects
               be
            
             
               That
               bear
               a
               Loyal
               heart
               ;
            
             
               Stand
               fast
               for
               the
               King
               ,
            
             
               And
               each
               man
               Act
               his
               part
               :
            
             
               And
               to
               support
               his
               Sovereign
               ,
            
             
               Religion
               and
               the
               Laws
               ,
            
             
               That
               formerly
               were
               establish'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               down
               with
               the
               
                 Cursed
                 Cause
              
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             Jack
             Ke●ch's
             new
             SONG
             ;
             or
             ,
             a
             Warning
             to
             Conspirators
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               I
               Hang
               ,
               and
               Behead
               ,
            
             
               Until
               you
               be
               Dead
               ,
            
             
               O
               Dire
               !
            
             
               
                 Raw
                 Head
                 ,
                 Bloody
                 Bones
              
               ,
            
             
               Fling
               Members
               and
               Stones
            
             
               In
               the
               Fire
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Is
               't
               not
               better
               be
               merry
            
             
               With
               Claret
               and
               Sherry
               ;
            
             
               'T
               is
               Reason
               ,
            
             
               Then
               to
               have
               your
               Soul
            
             
               Let
               out
               at
               your
               Poll
               ,
            
             
               For
               Treason
               ▪
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Your
               Brains
               for
               to
               puzle
               ,
            
             
               Like
               Walcot
               and
               Russel
            
             
               Conspiring
               ;
            
             
               'T
               is
               better
               be
               Swilling
               ,
            
             
               Then
               Plund'ring
               ,
               and
               Killing
               ,
            
             
               And
               Firing
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               'T
               is
               better
               to
               save
            
             
               One's
               Neck
               ,
               and
               be
               brave
               ,
            
             
               Or
               be
               Sotting
               ;
            
             
               Then
               have
               a
               Chop
               with
               a
               Hatchet
               ,
            
             
               Or
               a
               Halter
               to
               stretch
               it
            
             
               For
               Plotting
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               The
               Drunk
               ,
               and
               the
               Brave
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               Traytor
               ,
               nor
               Knave
               ,
            
             
             
               Can
               be
               ever
            
             
               Their
               Deaths
               he
               defyes
               ,
            
             
               But
               at
               Tilting
               ,
               he
               dies
            
             
               Or
               a
               Feavor
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               To
               be
               Traytor
               proclaim'd
               ,
            
             
               Describ'd
               ,
               and
               be
               Nam'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               Money
               —
            
             
               This
               't
               is
               ,
               to
               be
               Cullies
               ,
            
             
               To
               the
               Vilest
               of
               Bullies
            
             
               Old
               Tony.
               
            
          
           
             
               7
            
             
               To
               be
               frighted
               each
               Hour
               ,
            
             
               With
               Newgate
               ,
               or
               Tower
               ,
            
             
               And
               Trying
               .
            
             
               Conviction
               ,
               and
               Sentence
               ,
            
             
               At
               Tyburn
               Repentance
            
             
               And
               Dying
               .
            
          
           
             
               8
            
             
               Then
               leave
               Plotting
               ,
               and
               Treason
               ,
            
             
               To
               the
               void
               of
               all
               Reason
            
             
               And
               Sense
               ;
            
             
               Your
               Pardon
               ,
               Jack
               cries
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               the
               Whigs
               I
               advise
               ,
            
             
               No
               Offence
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             SONG
             of
             the
             Light
             of
             the
             Nation
             turn'd
             into
             Darkness
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             called
             Cavalilly-man
             .
          
           
             
               COme
               all
               you
               Caballers
               and
               
                 Parliament
                 Votes
              
               ,
            
             
               That
               stickl'd
               for
               hanging
               &
               
                 cutting
                 of
                 throats
              
            
             
               Lament
               the
               misfortune
               of
               perjur'd
               Otes
               .
            
             
               
                 Who
                 first
                 must
                 be
                 Pillor'd
                 ,
                 and
                 after
                 be
                 Hang'd
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
             
               What
               Devil
               suspected
               this
               ,
               5
               years
               agon
               ,
            
             
               When
               I
               was
               in
               hopes
               to
               hang
               up
               half
               the
               Town
               ,
            
             
               I
               Swore
               against
               Miler
               ,
               and
               Cursed
               the
               Crown
               ,
            
             
               
                 But
                 now
                 must
                 be
                 Pillor'd
                 ,
                 and
                 after
                 be
                 Hang●d
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               I
               curs'd
               the
               Bishops
               and
               hang'd
               up
               the
               Priests
               ,
            
             
               I
               swore
               my self
               Doctor
               ,
               yet
               never
               could
               Preach
               ,
            
             
               But
               a
               Cant
               full
               of
               Blaspemy's
               all
               I
               could
               reach
               ,
            
             
               
                 I
                 first
                 must
                 be
                 Pillor'd
                 ,
                 and
                 after
                 be
                 Hang'd
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Now
               Otes
               is
               i'
               th'
               Cupboard
               &
               Manger
               with
               Colt
               ,
            
             
               The
               Caldron
               may
               boyl
               me
               for
               fear
               I
               should
               molt
               ,
            
             
               Here
               I
               've
               ne'r
               a
               Bum
               for
               a
               Wheel-barrow
               jolt
               ,
            
             
               
                 Yet
                 now
                 must
                 be
                 Pillor'd
                 ,
                 and
                 after
                 be
                 Hang'd
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               My
               thousand
               Commissions
               and
               
                 Spanish
                 Black-Blls
              
               ,
            
             
               Invisible
               Armies
               lodg'd
               upon
               Hills
               ,
            
             
               Such
               old
               perjur'd
               Nonsence
               my
               Narrative
               fills
               ,
            
             
               
                 That
                 I
                 now
                 must
                 be
                 Pillor●d
                 ,
                 and
                 after
                 be
                 Hang'd
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               My
               
                 twelve
                 Pounds
              
               a
               Week
               ,
               I
               want
               to
               support
               ▪
            
             
               For
               stinking
               i'
               ch'
               City
               and
               fouling
               the
               Court
               ,
            
             
               Like
               the
               Devil
               in
               Dungeon
               ,
               I
               'm
               now
               hamper'd
               for
               t
               .
            
             
               
                 A
                 first
                 must
                 be
                 Pillor●d
                 ,
                 and
                 after
                 be
                 Hang'd
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               They
               Hang
               us
               in
               order
               the
               Devil
               knows
               how
               ,
            
             
               'Zounds
               all
               that
               e●e
               put
               ●ne
               paw
               to
               the
               Plow
               ,
            
             
               I
               ne'r
               fear'd
               the
               Devil
               would
               fail
               me
               till
               now
               ,
            
             
               
                 That
                 I
                 first
                 must
                 be
                 Pillor'd
                 ,
                 and
                 after
                 be
                 Hang'd
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               For
               calling
               the
               Duke
               a
               Papist
               and
               Traytor
               ,
            
             
               I
               often
               have
               call'd
               the
               King
               little
               better
               ,
            
             
               I
               'm
               fast
               by
               the
               heels
               like
               a
               Beast
               in
               a
               Fetter
               ,
            
             
               
                 I
                 first
                 must
                 be
                 Pillor'd
                 ,
                 and
                 after
                 be
                 Hang'd
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               I
               swore
               that
               the
               Queen
               would
               Poyson
               the
               King
               ▪
            
             
               That
               Wakeman
               had
               Moneys
               the
               Poyson
               to
               bring
               ▪
            
             
               When
               I
               knew
               in
               my
               heart
               there
               was
               no
               such
               thing
               .
            
             
               
                 I
                 now
                 must
                 be
                 Pillor'd
                 ,
                 and
                 after
                 be
                 Hang'd
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
             
               I
               'm
               Resolv'd
               to
               be
               Hang'd
               dead
               drunk
               like
               
                 Hugh
                 Peter
              
               ,
            
             
               If
               I
               can
               but
               have
               my
               Skin
               stuft
               with
               
                 good
                 Liquor
              
               ,
            
             
               Then
               I
               shall
               limp
               to
               old
               Tapskie
               much
               quicker
               .
            
             
               
                 But
                 I
                 first
                 must
                 be
                 Pillor●d
                 ,
                 and
                 after
                 be
                 hang'd
                 .
              
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             new
             SGNG.
             
          
           
             To
             the
             Tune
             of
             Young
             Jemmy
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               'T
               Was
               a
               foolish
               fancy
               Jemmy
               ,
            
             
               To
               put
               your
               Trust
               in
               Tony
               ;
            
             
               He
               dipt
               ye
               all
               in
               Treason
               ,
            
             
               Then
               humbly
               Dy'd
               in
               Season
               ;
            
             
               When
               his
               Spiggot
               dropt
               out
               ,
            
             
               The
               Plot
               came
               about
               ▪
            
             
               Far
               beyond
               your
               Graces
               Reason
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               'T
               were
               fit
               you
               'd
               mind
               these
               matters
               ,
            
             
               And
               help
               your
               Brother
               Traytors
               ;
            
             
               You
               left
               your
               Friends
               together
               ,
            
             
               To
               shift
               for
               one
               another
               ;
            
             
               Who
               you
               well
               all
               know
               ,
            
             
               Were
               in
               Portingal-Row
            
             
               With
               a
               Lady
               and
               her
               Mother
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               When
               you
               went
               from
               Jerman-street
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               Your
               Friends
               you
               went
               to
               meet
               Sir
               ;
            
             
               Poor
               Betty
               was
               much
               griev'd
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               You
               could
               not
               be
               believ'd
               Sir
               ;
            
             
               Had
               she
               been
               in
               the
               way
               ,
            
             
               You
               had
               carry'd
               the
               day
               ;
            
             
               But
               alas
               you
               were
               deceive'd
               Sir.
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               
                 Franck
                 N
              
               —
               t
               's
               wondrous
               hearty
               .
            
             
               And
               Argues
               for
               the
               Party
               ;
            
             
             
               His
               parts
               are
               most
               inviting
               ,
            
             
               And
               lately
               shin'd
               in
               Writing
               ;
            
             
               And
               he
               hath
               in
               his
               Face
               ,
            
             
               As
               much
               Wir
               as
               you
               've
               Grace
               ;
            
             
               Which
               to
               say
               the
               Truth
               is
               Biting
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Thus
               Sir
               while
               you
               're
               attended
               ,
            
             
               Your
               troubles
               will
               be
               ended
               ;
            
             
               Keep
               Franck
               still
               for
               your
               Writer
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 P
                 —
                 y
              
               for
               your
               Fighter
            
             
               And
               to
               add
               to
               your
               sway
               ,
            
             
               Turn
               
                 ●
                 —
                 r
              
               away
               ,
            
             
               ●d
               make
               poor
               
                 Ha
                 —
                 t
              
               fright
               her
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               〈◊〉
               
                 For
                 —
                 s
              
               have
               a
               place
               too
               ,
            
             
               ●bout
               your
               mighty
               Grace
               too
               ;
            
             
               
                 ●h
                 —
                 ton
              
               hath
               great
               reason
            
             
               〈◊〉
               look
               out
               sharp
               in
               Season
               ,
            
             
               〈◊〉
               Gibbons
               his
               place
            
             
               〈◊〉
               a
               Nobler
               Race
               ;
            
             
               〈◊〉
               ●ake
               Sir
               
                 R
                 —
                 d
                 M-n.
              
               
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               〈◊〉
               he
               hath
               more
               wit
               than
               any
            
             
               ●o
               turn
               and
               wind
               the
               Penny
               ;
            
             
               H●l
               lye
               beyond
               all
               measure
               ,
            
             
               〈◊〉
               Pimping
               is
               his
               Pleasure
               ;
            
             
               A●
               he
               's
               for
               his
               part
               ,
            
             
               ●ore
               a
               Rogue
               in
               his
               Heart
               ,
            
             
               T●
               Gray
               or
               Armstrong
               either
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               May
               Friends
               like
               these
               protect
               ye
               ,
            
             
               And
               only
               these
               respect
               ye
               ;
            
             
               May
               
                 Halters
                 ,
                 Chains
              
               and
               Fetters
               ,
            
             
               Crown
               all
               Rebellious
               Traytors
               ;
            
             
             
               Then
               in
               a
               short
               space
            
             
               I
               'll
               wait
               on
               your
               Grace
               ,
            
             
               With
               a
               List
               of
               all
               your
               Creatures
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             
             Oates's
             Bug
             —
             Bug
             —
             Boarding-School
             ,
             at
             Camberwell
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             Lord
             
             Russel's
             Farewel
             .
          
           
             
               ROwse
               ,
               Rowse
               my
               lazy
               Mirmidons
               ,
            
             
               And
               muster
               up
               our
               Tribe
               ;
            
             
               See
               how
               the
               
                 Factious
                 Fancies
              
               stand
               ,
            
             
               To
               trim
               or
               cross
               the
               Tyde
               :
            
             
               Invite
               'em
               to
               my
               
                 Vaulting
                 School
              
               ,
            
             
               The
               Saints
               for
               freedom
               tell
               ;
            
             
               How
               they
               may
               live
               without
               Controul
               ,
            
             
               With
               me
               at
               Camberwell
               .
            
          
           
             
               There
               all
               Provision
               shall
               be
               made
            
             
               To
               entertain
               the
               best
               ,
            
             
               Old
               
                 Mother
                 Creswel
              
               of
               our
               Trade
               ,
            
             
               For
               to
               rub
               down
               our
               Guests
               ;
            
             
               Three
               hundred
               of
               the
               briskest
               Dames
               ,
            
             
               In
               Park
               or
               Field
               e're
               fell
               :
            
             
               Whose
               
                 Am●rous
                 Eyes
              
               shall
               charm
               the
               flames
            
             
               O'
               th'
               Saints
               at
               Camberwell
               .
            
          
           
             
               For
               my
               own
               spending
               I
               will
               keep
            
             
               Of
               Boys
               three
               hundred
               more
               ,
            
             
               They
               are
               to
               my
               Appetite
               ,
               more
               sweet
            
             
               Then
               Bawd
               or
               
                 Bucksom
                 Whore
              
               :
            
             
               The
               
                 Turks
                 Seraglio
              
               we
               'll
               revive
               ,
            
             
               He
               sinks
               so
               fast
               for
               Hell
               :
            
             
               Our
               
                 English
                 Turks
              
               may
               Plot
               and
               thrive
               ,
            
             
               With
               me
               at
               Camberwell
               .
            
          
           
             
               That
               
                 Sacred
                 place
              
               shall
               tempt
               his
               Grace
               ,
            
             
               Once
               more
               from
               Friends
               to
               fall
               :
            
             
             
               He
               'll
               leave
               these
               new-fond
               Sweets
               to
               trace
            
             
               Both
               Moor-Park
               and
               Whitehall
               ;
            
             
               For
               Gray
               and
               
               Tom
               ●t
               shall
               be
               their
               home
               ,
            
             
               To
               Kiss
               Secure
               and
               Dwell
               ;
            
             
               Where
               e'ry
               Lass
               shall
               hug
               his
               Grace
               ,
            
             
               ●n
               my
               sweet
               Camberwell
               .
            
          
           
             
               ●ence
               shall
               from
               the
               Cock-loft
               creep
               ,
            
             
               ●nd
               here
               have
               free-Access
               :
            
             
               〈◊〉
               ●ear
               and
               Drink
               to
               Whore
               and
               Sleep
               ,
            
             
               ●h
               Virtues
               we
               profess
               ;
            
             
               〈◊〉
               his
               Pots
               of
               Venison
               ,
            
             
               〈◊〉
               ●ook
               for
               Priests
               ,
               may
               sell
               :
            
             
               ●ber-Necklaces
               make
               known
            
             
               〈◊〉
               Saints
               at
               Camberwell
               .
            
          
           
             
               〈◊〉
               may
               meet
               his
               Mistress
               here
               ,
            
             
               ●times
               Sir
               
               Robert's
               Wife
               ;
            
             
               ●ree
               from
               care
               in
               joys
               may
               share
               ,
            
             
               ●ay
               prolong
               ones
               Life
               :
            
             
               ●daring
               Gibbet
               'fore
               my
               Gate
               ,
            
             
               〈◊〉
               tear
               him
               down
               to
               Rights
               ;
            
             
               〈◊〉
               ●se
               no
               Emblems
               of
               ill
               Fate
               ,
            
             
               ●ll
               fright
               our
               Amorous
               Nights
               .
            
          
           
             
               Ar●
               and
               Lob
               ,
               and
               Ferguson
               ,
            
             
               ●d
               all
               
                 Absconding
                 Saints
              
               ;
            
             
               Ma●●afely
               to
               their
               Saviour
               come
               ,
            
             
               ●d
               taste
               our
               sweet
               Content
               :
            
             
               Ou●●rgest
               Rooms
               to
               frisk
               and
               sport
               ,
            
             
               ●s
               round
               ,
               and
               Curtains
               drawn
               ;
            
             
               The
               Life
               and
               Scene
               of
               
                 Venus
                 Court
              
               ,
            
             
               Excelling
               
                 Englands
                 Throne
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               All
               naked
               round
               the
               Room
               we
               'll
               Dance
               ,
            
             
               Fine
               Limbs
               and
               Shapes
               to
               show
               :
            
             
             
               In
               pairs
               by
               Candle-light
               advance
               ,
            
             
               In
               dazeling
               postures
               go
               :
            
             
               Here
               every
               Man
               obtains
               his
               Choice
               ,
            
             
               
                 Sister
                 ,
                 Madam
              
               ,
               or
               Nell
               :
            
             
               We
               'll
               have
               Papillion
               and
               Duboys
               ,
            
             
               To
               my
               sweet
               Camberwell
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Royal
             Admiral
             ,
             an
             excellent
             new
             SONG
             on
             His
             Illustrious
             Highness
             the
             Duke
             of
             York
             His
             ●ing
             confirm'd
             High-Admiral
             of
             England
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               FAction
               and
               Folly
               (
               alas
               !
               )
               will
               deceiv●
               you
               ,
            
             
               The
               
                 Loyal
                 man
              
               still
               the
               best
               Subject
               d●
               ●ve
               ;
            
             
               Treason
               of
               Reason
               (
               poor
               Whig
               )
               will
               berea●
               〈◊〉
               ;
            
             
               You
               cannot
               be
               bless'd
               ,
               till
               this
               Curse
               yo●
               〈◊〉
               .
            
             
               Charles
               our
               great
               Monarch
               ,
               when
               Heav'n
               di●●tore
            
             
               With
               His
               
                 Royal
                 Brother
              
               ,
               safe
               on
               our
               
                 S●
                 Him.
              
            
             
               Ordain'd
               us
               ,
               that
               we
               next
               our
               King
               shou●●re
            
             
               Then
               Johnson
               play
               the
               Apostate
               no
               mo●
               ●im
               ,
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Clayton
               may
               fret
               ,
               and
               bring
               Vows
               of
               Obedience
            
             
               To
               
                 Ferguson
                 ,
                 Baxter
              
               ,
               to
               Curtis
               and
               Care
               ;
            
             
               Patience
               approach
               with
               pretended
               Allegiance
            
             
               To
               his
               
                 Sov'reign
                 Lord
              
               ,
               yet
               oppose
               the
               right
               Heir
            
             
               Can
               he
               pretend
               to
               be
               Honest
               or
               Loyal
               ,
            
             
               Nay
               though
               he
               late
               at
               Westminster
               swore
               ,
            
             
               And
               yet
               the
               next
               day
               will
               (
               like
               Perkin
               )
               deny
               all
               ,
            
             
               Whate●r
               he
               said
               ,
               or
               swore
               to
               before
               ?
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Let
               Trenchard
               and
               Hambden
               stir
               up
               a
               Commotion
               ,
            
             
               Their
               Plotting
               and
               Voting
               will
               prosper
               no
               more
               ;
            
             
               Now
               Gallant
               Jemmy
               commands
               on
               the
               Ocean
               ,
            
             
               And
               mighty
               Charles
               keeps
               them
               in
               awe
               on
               the
               Shoar
               .
            
             
               Let
               Lobb
               and
               Ferguson
               preach
               up
               Sedition
            
             
               At
               
                 Coffee
                 house
                 ,
                 Conventicle
                 ,
                 Cabal
                 ,
              
            
             
             
               Now
               Jefferys
               is
               Justice
               ,
               and
               York
               in
               Commission
               ,
            
             
               Their
               Scandal
               and
               Plots
               shall
               pay
               for
               'em
               all
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Jemmy
               the
               Valiant
               ,
               the
               
                 Champion
                 Royal
              
               ,
            
             
               His
               own
               and
               the
               
                 Monarchs
                 Rivals
              
               withstood
               ;
            
             
               The
               bane
               and
               the
               terrour
               of
               all
               the
               Disloyal
               ,
            
             
               Who
               spilt
               the
               late
               
               Martyr's
               ,
               and
               sought
               for
               
                 His
                 Blood
              
            
             
               Jemmy
               who
               quell'd
               the
               proud
               Foe
               on
               the
               Ocean
               ,
            
             
               And
               reign'd
               the
               sole
               Conqueror
               over
               the
               Main
            
             
               To
               this
               brave
               Heroe
               let
               's
               all
               pay
               Devotion
               ,
            
             
               Since
               He
               is
               Englands
               Admiral
               again
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               York
               our
               great
               Adm'ral
               ,
               the
               Oceans
               Defender
               ,
            
             
               The
               Joy
               of
               his
               Friends
               ,
               &
               the
               Dread
               of
               His
               Foes
               ,
            
             
               The
               lawful
               Successor
               ,
               what
               Bastard-Pretender
            
             
               (
               Whom
               Heav'n
               the
               true
               Heir
               has
               ordain'd
               )
               dare
               ●ppose
               ?
            
             
               〈◊〉
               who
               taught
               the
               
                 Scotch
                 Rebels
              
               Allegiance
               ,
            
             
               And
               made
               the
               
                 High
                 Dutch
              
               his
               Standard
               to
               low'r
               ,
            
             
               In
               time
               will
               reduce
               the
               proud
               Cit
               to
               Obedience
               ,
            
             
               And
               make
               the
               false
               Whig
               fall
               down
               and
               adore
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Let
               Bethel
               and
               Hambden
               lie
               shopt
               for
               their
               Treason
               ,
            
             
               And
               for
               the
               new
               Factions
               express
               their
               
                 old
                 Zeal
              
               ;
            
             
               Let
               false
               Sir
               Samuel
               rail
               on
               without
               reason
               ,
            
             
               And
               ev'ry
               night
               dream
               of
               a
               new
               Commonweal
               ;
            
             
               Plotters
               be
               brought
               with
               their
               Plots
               to
               confusion
               ,
            
             
               While
               Charles
               sways
               the
               Shoar
               ,
               and
               York
               the
               vast
               Main
               .
            
             
               Till
               all
               are
               confounded
               who
               sought
               the
               Exclusion
               ,
            
             
               Then
               England
               will
               be
               old
               England
               again
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Then
               to
               our
               Monarch
               let
               's
               quaff
               off
               a
               Bumper
               ,
            
             
               And
               next
               to
               our
               Sov'reign
               ,
               the
               Prince
               of
               the
               Flood
               ;
            
             
             
               The
               Ax
               and
               the
               Gibbet
               crown
               ev'ry
               Rumper
               ,
            
             
               Who
               York
               in
               the
               lawful
               Succession
               withstood
               .
            
             
               May
               
                 Rumbold
                 ,
                 Gray
                 ,
                 Armstrong
              
               ,
               with
               Sidney
               be
               Sainted
            
             
               And
               Titus●s
               long
               Tongue
               ,
               so
               often
               forsworn
               .
            
             
               May
               his
               
                 short
                 Neck
              
               stretch
               for
               't
               when
               Oats
               is
               attainted
               .
            
             
               And
               wish
               with
               the
               World
               he
               had
               never
               been
               born
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Loyalty
             respected
             ,
             and
             Faction
             confounded
             .
          
           
             To
             a
             Pleasant
             New
             Tune
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               LEt
               Cannons
               roar
               from
               
                 Sea
                 to
                 Shoar
              
               ,
            
             
               ●nd
               Trumpets
               sound
               Triumphantly
               ;
            
             
               We
               'll
               fair
               in
               Wealth
               while
               we
               drink
               a
               Health
            
             
               To
               the
               High
               Born
               Prince
               of
               Albany
               .
            
             
               Of
               Albany
               ,
               of
               Albany
               ,
            
             
               
                 To
                 the
                 High
                 Born
                 Prince
                 of
              
               Albany
               :
            
             
               
                 We
                 'll
                 fair
                 in
                 Wealth
                 ,
                 while
                 we
                 drink
                 a
                 Health
              
            
             
               
                 To
                 the
                 High
                 Born
                 Prince
                 of
              
               Albany
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               He
               's
               the
               Son
               of
               Scotlands
               womb
               ,
            
             
               Though
               his
               Nativity
               be
               Thames
               ;
            
             
               He
               's
               of
               the
               Glorious
               Martyr
               Sprung
               ,
            
             
               And
               bears
               the
               Name
               of
               good
               King
               James
               .
            
             
               Of
               Albany
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Our
               Princes
               and
               our
               Nobles
               all
            
             
               Do
               not
               our
               Loyalty
               Disgrace
               :
            
             
               Nor
               no
               enormity
               at
               all
            
             
               Nor
               Bastardize
               the
               Royal
               Race
               ,
            
             
               Of
               Albany
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Let
               Hagar
               and
               her
               Birth
               be
               gone
               ,
            
             
               Her
               Bottle
               on
               her
               Shoulder
               be
               ;
            
             
               For
               Sarah
               said
               unto
               her
               Son
               ,
            
             
               He
               shall
               not
               be
               an
               Heir
               with
               thee
               .
            
             
             
               
                 An
                 Heir
                 with
                 thee
                 ,
                 an
                 Heir
                 with
                 thee
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 He
                 shall
                 no
                 be
                 an
                 Heir
                 with
                 thee
              
               ;
            
             
               For
               Sarah
               
                 said
                 unto
                 her
                 Son
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 He
                 shall
                 be
                 an
                 Heir
                 with
                 thee
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Put
               all
               these
               Fancies
               quite
               away
               ,
            
             
               And
               press
               down
               that
               Egyptian
               pride
               ;
            
             
               Before
               he
               wants
               a
               Seigniory
               ,
            
             
               We
               'll
               place
               him
               King
               on
               Yarrow
               side
               ,
            
             
               On
               Yarrow
               
                 side
                 ,
                 on
              
               Yarrow
               side
               ,
            
             
               
                 We
                 'll
                 place
                 him
                 King
                 on
              
               Yarrow
               side
               ,
            
             
               
                 Before
                 he
                 wants
                 a
                 Seigniory
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 We
                 'll
                 place
                 him
                 King
                 on
              
               Yarrow
               side
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               I
               know
               not
               why
               he
               should
               be
               King
               ,
            
             
               Unless
               for
               Mustering
               of
               the
               Whiggs
               :
            
             
               No
               wonder
               ,
               though
               they
               act
               the
               thing
               ,
            
             
               He
               spar'd
               them
               well
               at
               Bothwell-Brigs
               .
            
             
               On
               Yarrow
               side
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               So
               Nobly
               he
               did
               act
               his
               part
               ,
            
             
               By
               sparing
               these
               Rebellious
               Clowns
               ;
            
             
               That
               he
               came
               down
               and
               let
               a
               Fart
               ,
            
             
               And
               so
               march'd
               back
               with
               his
               Dragoons
               ,
            
             
               
                 With
                 his
              
               Dragoons
               ,
               
                 with
                 his
              
               Dragoons
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 so
                 march'd
                 back
                 with
                 his
              
               Dragoons
               ,
            
             
               
                 That
                 he
                 came
                 down
                 and
                 let
                 a
                 Fart
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 so
                 march'd
                 back
                 with
                 his
              
               Dragoons
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Whiggs
             Disappointment
             upon
             their
             intended
             Feast
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Cook
               Lawrel
            
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               HAve
               you
               heard
               of
               a
               
                 Festival
                 Convent
              
               of
               late
               ,
            
             
               Compos'd
               of
               a
               pack
               of
               
                 Notorious
                 Dissenters
              
               ,
            
             
             
               Appointed
               by
               Tickets
               in
               Whigland
               to
               meet
               ,
            
             
               To
               Sign
               and
               to
               Seal
               
                 Covenanted
                 Indentures
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               The
               day
               was
               appoited
               ,
               and
               all
               things
               prepar'd
            
             
               In
               order
               thereto
               ,
               by
               the
               Sages
               o'
               th'
               Nation
               ,
            
             
               And
               a
               Reverend
               Sermon
               was
               there
               to
               be
               heard
               ,
            
             
               T'exhort
               'em
               to
               th'
               Oath
               of
               Association
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               All
               sorts
               of
               Trades-men
               were
               bid
               to
               be
               there
               ,
            
             
               The
               
                 Lords
                 ,
                 Abhorrers
              
               ,
               and
               Commoners
               too
               ,
            
             
               But
               the
               Cooper
               'fore
               all
               was
               to
               take
               the
               Chair
               ,
            
             
               To
               set
               forth
               the
               matter
               as
               well
               he
               knew
               how
               .
            
          
           
             
               4
            
             
               The
               Godly
               Gown-man
               all
               Chain'd
               and
               Fur'd
               ,
            
             
               Two
               Shrieves
               ,
               &
               the
               Deel
               knows
               what
               of
               the
               Rable
               ;
            
             
               Invited
               on
               purpose
               ,
               and
               set
               on
               ,
               and
               Spurr'd
               ,
            
             
               To
               make
               a
               Confusion
               worse
               than
               old
               Babel
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               The
               chief
               of
               the
               Feast
               was
               a
               Fop
               and
               a
               Mouth
               ,
            
             
               Buy'd
               up
               by
               the
               
                 City
                 Cooper
              
               and
               Player
               ;
            
             
               Whose
               Name
               they
               'd
               extended
               from
               North
               to
               South
            
             
               By
               th'
               trick
               of
               a
               Black-Box
               to
               make
               him
               an
               Heir
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               For
               down
               into
               Durham
               an
               Envoy
               was
               sent
               ,
            
             
               Amongst
               the
               Chief
               ,
               the
               
                 Northern
                 Clergies
              
               ,
            
             
               To
               find
               out
               a
               Writing
               to
               that
               very
               intent
               :
            
             
               Who
               had
               thirty
               good
               Guineys
               to
               bear
               his
               Charges
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               The
               Reverend
               Titus
               was
               Chaplain
               to
               th'
               Feast
               ,
            
             
               Brim-full
               of
               Plots
               with
               Oaths
               to
               maintain
               them
               ;
            
             
               The
               Deel
               could
               afford
               them
               no
               such
               Guest
               ,
            
             
               '
               Mongst
               all
               his
               damn'd
               Crew
               to
               entertain
               them
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Next
               in
               came
               
                 Janway
                 ,
                 Curtis
                 ,
                 Vile
              
               and
               Care
               ,
            
             
             
               With
               his
               Packets
               of
               Lies
               thrust
               under
               his
               A●m
               ,
            
             
               Then
               
                 Don
                 Danger●eldo
              
               more
               subtile
               by
               far
               ,
            
             
               Then
               poor
               Mother
               Cellier
               ,
               that
               acted
               no
               harm
               ,
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               All
               sorts
               of
               Informers
               were
               bid
               to
               be
               there
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               damn'd
               
               Ignoramus
               ●urors
               too
               ,
            
             
               To
               participate
               of
               this
               
                 Festival
                 Cheer
              
               ,
            
             
               By
               way
               of
               Thanksgiving
               for
               what
               they
               did
               do
               .
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               Some
               hundreds
               more
               were
               to
               be
               at
               the
               Feast
               ;
            
             
               And
               all
               things
               thereunto
               were
               fitted
               ,
            
             
               But
               in
               steps
               an
               Order
               which
               forestall'd
               the
               Guests
               ,
            
             
               Disbanding
               the
               Cooks
               e're
               the
               meat
               was
               half
               spitted
            
          
           
             
               11.
               
            
             
               Tag
               ,
               Rag
               ,
               and
               Long-tail
               were
               all
               to
               come
               in
               ,
            
             
               To
               sit
               at
               this
               King
               of
               Polands
               Table
               ,
            
             
               The
               Feast
               I
               conceive
               else
               was
               not
               worth
               a
               Pin
               ,
            
             
               Without
               the
               consent
               of
               an
               Insolent
               Rable
               .
            
          
           
             
               12.
               
            
             
               What
               Pining
               and
               Fretting
               ,
               and
               Fuming
               was
               there
               ,
            
             
               When
               all
               the
               good
               Creatures
               were
               laid
               aside
               ,
            
             
               'T
               would
               make
               a
               Saint
               both
               to
               stamp
               and
               stare
               ,
            
             
               To
               see
               such
               a
               
                 Zealous
                 Assembly
              
               decry●d
               .
            
          
           
             
               13.
               
            
             
               Here
               now
               the
               Nation
               was
               thus
               settled
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               things
               be
               brought
               to
               a
               better
               Cue
               ,
            
             
               Here
               a
               new
               Government
               was
               to
               be
               settled
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               Deel
               knows
               what
               besides
               they
               would
               do
            
          
           
             
               14.
               
            
             
               Some
               think
               it
               was
               like
               to
               the
               Oxford
               stroke
               ,
            
             
               Which
               was
               well
               ,
               being
               given
               in
               Season
               ▪
            
             
               And
               some
               think
               they
               're
               under
               a
               
                 burthens●m
                 yoak
              
               ,
            
             
               '
               Cause
               they
               may
               not
               Assemble
               for
               sedition
               〈◊〉
               treason
            
          
           
             
             
               15.
               
            
             
               Some
               hold
               it
               not
               prudently
               Acted
               at
               all
               ,
            
             
               To
               check
               an
               Assembly
               of
               so
               great
               an
               Intention
               ,
            
             
               Who
               study'd
               and
               aim'd
               at
               the
               
               Tory's
               down-fall
               ,
            
             
               In
               raising
               the
               Whigs
               by
               a
               new
               Invention
               .
            
          
           
             
               16.
               
            
             
               Some
               say
               they
               were
               nettled
               ,
               and
               galled
               within
               ,
            
             
               To
               see
               our
               great
               York
               embrac'd
               by
               the
               City
               ,
            
             
               If
               that
               be
               the
               Cause
               on
               't
               we
               care
               not
               a
               Pin
               ,
            
             
               Let
               them
               hang
               up
               each
               other
               ,
               and
               so
               ends
               my
               Dity
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             
             West-Country-man's
             SONG
             at
             a
             Wedding
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               UDs
               hearty
               Wounds
               ,
               I
               'se
               not
               to
               Plowing
               ,
               not
               I
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               Because
               I
               hear
               there
               's
               such
               brave
               doings
               hard
               by
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               Thomas
               the
               Minstrel
               ,
               he
               's
               gone
               twinkling
               before
               Sir
            
             
               And
               they
               talk
               there
               will
               be
               two
               or
               three
               more
               Sir
            
             
               Who
               the
               Rat
               can
               mind
               either
               Byard
               or
               Ball
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               Or
               any
               thing
               at
               all
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               For
               thinking
               of
               Drinking
               i'
               th'
               Hall
               Sir
               ,
            
             
               E'gad
               not
               I
               ,
               let
               Master
               fret
               it
               and
               storm
               it
               ,
            
             
               I
               am
               resolv'd
               ,
               I
               'm
               sure
               there
               can
               be
               no
               harm
               in
               't
            
             
               Who
               would
               lose
               the
               zight
               of
               the
               Lasses
               &
               Pages
               ,
            
             
               And
               pretty
               little
               Sue
               ,
               so
               true
               when
               she
               ever
               engages
            
             
               E'gad
               not
               I
               ,
               I
               'd
               rather
               lose
               all
               my
               Wages
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               There
               's
               my
               Lord
               has
               got
               the
               curiourest
               Daughter
               ,
            
             
               Look
               but
               on
               her
               ,
               and
               she
               'll
               make
               the
               
                 Chops
                 on
                 the
                 water
              
               ,
            
             
               This
               is
               the
               day
               the
               Ladies
               are
               all
               about
               her
               ,
            
             
               Zome
               to
               Veed
               her
               ,
               zome
               to
               Dress
               her
               ,
               &
               clout
               her
               ,
            
             
               Ods
               bud
               ,
               she
               's
               grown
               the
               veatest
               ,
               the
               neatest
               ,
               the
               sweetest
               ,
            
             
             
               The
               pretty'st
               little
               Rogue
               ,
               and
               all
               men
               do
               say
               the
               discreetest
               ,
            
             
               There
               's
               ne'r
               a
               Girl
               that
               wears
               a
               Head
               in
               the
               Nation
            
             
               But
               must
               give
               place
               ,
               since
               Mrs.
               
               Betty's
               Creation
               ,
            
             
               She
               's
               zo
               good
               ,
               zo
               witty
               ,
               zo
               pretty
               to
               please
               ye
               ;
            
             
               Zo
               charitably
               kind
               ,
               zo
               courteous
               &
               loving
               &
               easie
               ,
            
             
               That
               I
               'se
               be
               bound
               to
               make
               a
               Maid
               of
               my
               Mother
               ,
            
             
               If
               London
               Town
               can
               e're
               send
               down
               such
               another
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Next
               my
               Lady
               in
               all
               her
               Gallant
               Apparel
               ,
            
             
               I
               'ze
               not
               forget
               the
               thundring
               thumping
               Barrel
               ,
            
             
               There
               's
               such
               drink
               ,
               the
               
                 strongest
                 head
              
               can't
               bear
               it
            
             
               'T
               will
               make
               a
               Vool
               of
               Zack
               or
               Whit-wine
               or
               Claret
            
             
               And
               zuch
               plenty
               that
               20
               or
               30
               good
               Vellows
               ,
            
             
               May
               tipple
               off
               their
               Cups
               until
               they
               lie
               down
               on
               their
               Pillows
               ;
            
             
               Then
               hit
               off
               thy
               Vrock
               and
               don't
               stand
               scratching
               thy
               Head
               so
               ,
            
             
               For
               thither
               I
               'll
               go
               ,
               
                 Ods
                 Wunds
              
               because
               I've
               zed
               so
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Dyet
             of
             Cowley
             .
          
           
             
               NOw
               by
               my
               Love
               ;
               the
               greatest
               Oath
               that
               is
               ;
            
             
               None
               loves
               you
               half
               so
               well
               as
               I
               ,
            
             
               I
               do
               not
               ask
               your
               Love
               for
               this
               ,
            
             
               Bu●
               for
               
               Heaven's
               believe
               me
               ,
               or
               I
               die
               ;
            
             
               No
               servant
               e're
               but
               did
               deserve
               ,
            
             
               His
               Master
               should
               believe
               that
               he
               does
               serve
               ;
            
             
               And
               I
               'll
               ask
               no
               more
               Wages
               though
               I
               starve
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               'T
               is
               no
               Luxuri●u
               Diet
               this
               ,
               and
               sure
               ,
            
             
               I
               can't
               by
               't
               too
               lusty
               prove
               .
            
             
               Yet
               shall
               it
               willingly
               endure
               ;
            
             
               I●●
               can
               but
               keep
               together
               Life
               and
               Love
               ,
            
             
               Being
               your
               Prisoner
               and
               your
               Slave
               ;
            
             
             
               I
               do
               not
               Feasts
               or
               Banquets
               love
               to
               have
               ,
            
             
               A
               little
               Bread
               and
               
               Water
               's
               all
               I
               crave
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               On
               a
               sigh
               of
               pity
               ,
               I
               a
               year
               can
               live
               ,
            
             
               One
               Tear
               will
               keep
               me
               20
               at
               least
               ,
            
             
               Fifty
               ,
               a
               gentle
               look
               will
               give
               ;
            
             
               An
               100
               one
               ,
               one
               kind
               word
               I
               'll
               Feast
               :
            
             
               A
               1000
               ,
               more
               added
               be
            
             
               If
               you
               an
               Inclination
               have
               for
               me
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               beyond
               is
               vast
               Eternity
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             Prophetical
             Catch
             .
          
           
             To
             the
             Tune
             ,
             
               Of
               the
               merry
               Christ-Church-Bells
            
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               OH
               !
               the
               Plot
               Discoverers
               ,
            
             
               
                 Oates
                 ,
                 Bedloe
                 ,
                 Dugdale
                 ,
                 Prance
                 !
              
            
             
               They
               are
               such
               Crafty
               Dogs
               ,
            
             
               That
               none
               but
               Scroggs
            
             
               Can
               feage
               them
               Cuningly
               ,
               cunningly
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Oh!
               the
               cursed
               damn'd
               sham
               Plot
               ,
            
             
               Which
               some
               believe
               ,
               but
               more
               do
               not
               ,
            
             
               Because
               the
               Laws
            
             
               Have
               found
               such
               Flaws
               ,
            
             
               In
               them
               of
               all
               our
               Ills
               ,
               the
               Cause
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Bedlow
               ,
               they
               say
               ,
               tother
               day
               at
               a
               Play
               ,
            
             
               For
               his
               Impudence
               was
               bang'd
               ;
            
             
               But
               the
               Plot
               will
               not
            
             
               E're
               be
               forgot
               ,
            
             
               Till
               Oates
               and
               all
               are
               hang'd
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             
               The
               Couragious
               Loyallists
            
             ;
             Or
             ,
             
               A
               Health
               to
               the
               Royal
               Family
            
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             Burton-hall
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               DRown
               Melanchally
            
             
               in
               a
               Glass
               of
               Wine
               ;
            
             
               We
               will
               be
               jolly
               ,
            
             
               let
               the
               Miser
               pine
               :
            
             
               Boys
               drink
               about
               ,
            
             
               we
               'll
               make
               the
               Tavern
               roar
               ,
            
             
               When
               the
               Bumper's
               out
               ,
            
             
               we
               'll
               call
               again
               for
               more
               :
            
             
               It
               makes
               good
               Blood
            
             
               to
               run
               within
               our
               Veins
               ,
            
             
               It
               puts
               good
               reason
               also
            
             
               in
               our
               Brains
               :
            
             
               He
               that
               will
               deny
               it
               ,
            
             
               hanged
               let
               him
               be
               ,
            
             
               Here
               's
               to
               all
            
             
               the
               Royal
               Progeny
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Boys
               we
               'll
               be
               merry
               ,
            
             
               whatsoe'r
               ensue
               ,
            
             
               Drink
               Sack
               and
               Sherry
               .
            
             
               till
               the
               Skie
               looks
               blew
               ;
            
             
               Let
               the
               Whiggs
               lament
               ,
            
             
               and
               whiningly
               complain
               ,
            
             
               We
               with
               one
               consent
               ,
            
             
               drink
               to
               the
               
                 Royal
                 Train
              
               ;
            
             
               Heavens
               bless
               Great
               Charles
               ,
            
             
               and
               the
               Duke
               of
               York
               ,
            
             
               All
               the
               Lords
               and
               Earls
               ,
            
             
               and
               every
               Royal
               Spark
               ;
            
             
               Down
               with
               every
               Factious
               ,
            
             
               shamming
               ,
               whining
               Crew
               ,
            
             
             
               Give
               them
               Rope
               and
               Hanging
               ,
            
             
               since
               it
               is
               their
               due
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Drawer
               bring
               us
               Wine
               ,
            
             
               fill
               the
               other
               Bowl
               ,
            
             
               Let
               us
               lose
               no
               time
               ,
            
             
               for
               he
               's
               an
               honest
               Soul
            
             
               That
               doth
               love
               his
               Prince
               ,
            
             
               and
               the
               ancient
               Laws
               ,
            
             
               He
               is
               a
               man
               of
               Sense
               ,
            
             
               he
               shall
               have
               our
               Applause
               ;
            
             
               As
               for
               mighty
               Charles
               ,
            
             
               his
               Renowned
               Name
               ,
            
             
               Let
               it
               be
               Recorded
            
             
               in
               the
               Books
               of
               Fame
               :
            
             
               But
               he
               that
               will
               deny
            
             
               Allegiance
               to
               the
               King
               ,
            
             
               Hang
               him
               ▪
               let
               him
               die
               ,
            
             
               and
               in
               a
               Halter
               swing
               :
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Brave
               Noble
               Sions
               ,
            
             
               be
               you
               stout
               and
               true
               ,
            
             
               Stand
               in
               Defiance
            
             
               of
               the
               Rabble
               Crew
               ;
            
             
               They
               that
               design'd
            
             
               our
               Laws
               to
               undermine
               ,
            
             
               We
               will
               make
               them
               flye
               ,
            
             
               like
               Chaff
               before
               the
               Wind
               :
            
             
               Those
               that
               did
               consent
               ,
            
             
               yielding
               to
               allow
               ,
            
             
               Those
               that
               did
               invent
            
             
               the
               Association
               Vow
               ,
            
             
               To
               conceal
               their
               Treason
               ,
            
             
               hang
               'um
               let
               them
               swing
               ,
            
             
             
               Here
               's
               a
               Health
               to
               Charles
               ,
            
             
               the
               most
               Renowned
               King.
               
            
          
           
             
               5
            
             
               Now
               sure
               the
               Whigs
               ,
            
             
               they
               will
               no
               more
               Rebel
               ,
            
             
               Old
               Cromwel's
               Piggs
            
             
               that
               suck'd
               up
               the
               swill
               ;
            
             
               Their
               hopes
               are
               drowned
               ,
            
             
               as
               we
               plainly
               see
               ,
            
             
               Some
               were
               counfounded
            
             
               in
               their
               Villainy
               ;
            
             
               Tommy
               he
               is
               fled
               ,
            
             
               Tony
               he
               is
               Dead
               .
            
             
               Some
               of
               them
               were
               Hang'd
               ,
            
             
               others
               lost
               their
               Had
               ▪
            
             
               Ketch
               in
               conclusion
            
             
               pay'd
               them
               their
               Arrears
               ,
            
             
               Since
               this
               Confusion
            
             
               how
               they
               hang
               their
               Ears
               !
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Then
               learn
               to
               bow
               ,
            
             
               and
               in
               Obedience
               stand
               ,
            
             
               To
               Caesar
               now
            
             
               the
               Glory
               of
               the
               Land
               ,
            
             
               None
               can
               convince
               ,
            
             
               for
               what
               I
               speak
               is
               true
               ,
            
             
               He
               is
               a
               Prince
            
             
               of
               love
               and
               pitty
               too
               :
            
             
               Those
               that
               are
               Loyal
               ,
            
             
               they
               are
               perfect
               free
               ,
            
             
               There
               's
               no
               denyal
            
             
               of
               their
               Liberty
               ;
            
             
               Then
               true
               hearts
               be
               merry
               ,
            
             
               make
               the
               Tavern
               ring
               ,
            
             
             
               Fling
               up
               your
               Caps
               ,
            
             
               and
               cry
               ,
               
                 God
                 Save
                 the
                 KING
              
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             new
             SONG
             ,
          
           
             to
             an
             Old
             Tune
             ,
             Tom
             of
             Bedlam
             .
          
           
             
               MAke
               room
               for
               an
               
                 Honest
                 Red-Coat
              
               ,
            
             
               (
               And
               that
               you
               'll
               say's
               a
               wonder
               :
               )
            
             
               The
               Gun
               ,
               and
               the
               Blade
               ,
            
             
               Are
               his
               Tools
               ,
               —
               and
               his
               Trade
               ,
            
             
               Is
               for
               Pay
               ,
               to
               Kill
               ,
               and
               Plunder
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 away
                 with
                 the
                 Laws
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 the
              
               Good
               old
               Cause
               ,
            
             
               
                 Ne'r
                 talk
                 o'
                 th'
              
               Rump
               ,
               
                 or
                 the
              
               Charter
               ,
            
             
               
                 'T
                 is
                 the
                 Cash
                 does
                 the
                 Feat
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 All
                 the
                 rest
                 's
                 but
                 a
              
               Cheat
               ,
            
             
               
                 Without
                 that
                 there
                 's
                 no
              
               Faith
               ,
               nor
               Quarter
               .
            
          
           
             
               'T
               is
               the
               mark
               of
               our
               Coin
               ,
               
                 GOD
                 WITH
                 VS
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 the
                 Grace
                 of
                 our
                 Lord
                 goes
                 along
                 with
                 't
                 ,
              
            
             
               When
               the
               Georges
               are
               flown
               ,
            
             
               Then
               the
               
                 Cause
                 goes
                 down
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 the
                 Lord
                 is
                 departed
                 from
                 it
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 Then
                 away
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               For
               Rome
               ,
               or
               for
               Geneva
               ,
            
             
               For
               the
               Table
               ,
               or
               the
               Altar
               ,
            
             
               This
               spawn
               of
               a
               Vote
               ,
            
             
               He
               cares
               not
               a
               Groat
               —
            
             
               For
               the
               Pence
               ,
               he
               's
               your
               Dog
               in
               a
               Halter
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 away
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               Tho'
               the
               Name
               of
               King
               ,
               or
               Bishop
               ,
            
             
               To
               Nostrils
               pure
               may
               be
               Loathsom
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               many
               there
               are
               ,
            
             
               That
               agree
               with
               the
               Mayor
               ,
            
             
               That
               their
               
                 Lands
                 are
                 wondrous
                 toothsom
              
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 away
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
             
               When
               our
               Masters
               are
               Poor
               ,
               we
               leave
               'em
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               the
               
                 Golden
                 Calf
              
               we
               bow
               to
               :
            
             
               
                 We
                 Kill
                 ,
                 and
                 we
                 slay
                 ,
              
            
             
               No●
               for
               Conscience
               ,
               but
               Pay
               ;
            
             
               Give
               us
               That
               ,
               we
               'll
               fight
               for
               you
               too
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 away
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               'T
               was
               that
               first
               turn'd
               the
               King
               out
               ;
            
             
               The
               Lords
               next
               ;
               then
               the
               Commons
               :
            
             
               'T
               was
               that
               kept
               up
               Noll
               ,
            
             
               Till
               the
               Devil
               fetch'd
               his
               Soul
               ;
            
             
               And
               then
               it
               set
               the
               Bum
               on
               's
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 away
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               Drunken
               Dick
               was
               a
               
                 Lame
                 Protector
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               Fleetwood
               a
               Backslider
               :
            
             
               These
               we
               serv'd
               as
               the
               rest
               ,
            
             
               But
               the
               City
               's
               the
               Beast
            
             
               That
               will
               never
               cast
               her
               Rider
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 away
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               When
               the
               Mayor
               holds
               the
               Stirrop
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               Shrieves
               cry
               ,
               
                 God
                 save
                 your
                 Honours
              
               :
            
             
               Then
               't
               is
               but
               a
               Jump
               ,
            
             
               And
               up
               goes
               the
               Rump
               ,
            
             
               That
               will
               spur
               to
               the
               Devil
               upon
               us
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 away
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               And
               now
               for
               a
               fling
               at
               your
               Thimbles
               ,
            
             
               Your
               
                 Bodkins
                 ,
                 Kings
              
               ,
               and
               Whistles
               ,
            
             
               In
               truck
               for
               your
               Toyes
            
             
               We
               'll
               sit
               you
               with
               Boys
               :
            
             
               'T
               is
               the
               Doctrine
               of
               
                 Hugh
                 Peters
              
               ,
               *
            
             
               
                 Then
                 away
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               When
               your
               Plate
               is
               gone
               ,
               and
               your
               Jewels
               ,
            
             
               You
               must
               be
               next
               intreated
               ,
            
             
             
               To
               part
               with
               your
               Bags
               ,
            
             
               And
               strip
               you
               to
               Rags
               ,
            
             
               And
               yet
               not
               think
               y'
               are
               cheated
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 away
              
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               The
               truth
               is
               ,
               the
               Town
               deserves
               it
               ;
            
             
               'T
               is
               a
               
                 Brainless
                 ,
                 Heartless
                 Monsier
              
               :
            
             
               As
               a
               Club
               they
               may
               Bawl
               ,
            
             
               Or
               Declare
               at
               their
               Hall
               ,
            
             
               And
               yet
               a●
               push
               not
               one
               stir
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 away
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               Sir
               Arthur
               vow'd
               h●'ll
               treat
               'em
               ,
            
             
               Far
               worse
               than
               the
               men
               of
               Chester
               :
            
             
               He●s
               Bold
               ;
               now
               they
               're
               Cow'd
               ,
            
             
               But
               he
               was
               nothing
               so
               Lowd
            
             
               
                 When
                 he
                 lay
                 in
                 the
                 ditch
                 at
              
               Lester
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 away
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               The
               Lord
               ha●h
               left
               
                 John
                 Lambert
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               Spirit
               ,
               Feak's
               Anointed
               ,
            
             
               But
               why
               oh
               Lord
               ,
            
             
               
                 Hast
                 thou
                 sheat●ed
                 thy
                 Sword
              
               ?
            
             
               Lo
               ,
               thy
               Saints
               are
               disappointed
               ▪
            
             
               
                 Then
                 away
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               Tho'
               Sir
               Henry
               be
               departed
               :
            
             
               Sir
               John
               makes
               good
               the
               place
               now
               ,
            
             
               And
               to
               help
               out
               the
               work
            
             
               Of
               the
               Glorious
               Kirk
               ,
            
             
               Our
               Brethren
               march
               apace
               too
               ,
            
             
               
                 Then
                 away
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               While
               Divines
               ,
               and
               
                 States
                 men
                 wrangle
              
               ,
            
             
               Let
               the
               
                 Rump-ridden
                 Nation
              
               bite
               on
               't
               ,
            
             
               There
               are
               none
               but
               we
            
             
               That
               are
               sure
               to
               go
               free
               ,
            
             
             
               For
               the
               Souldies's
               still
               in
               the
               right
               on
               't
               .
            
             
               
                 Then
                 away
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               If
               our
               Masters
               w'ont
               supply
               us
            
             
               With
               
                 Money
                 ,
                 Food
              
               and
               Clothing
               :
            
             
               Let
               the
               State
               look
               to
               't
               ,
            
             
               We
               'll
               find
               one
               that
               will
               do
               't
               ,
            
             
               
                 Let
                 him
                 Live
              
               ,
               —
               we
               'll
               not
               damn
               for
               nothing
               ,
            
             
               
                 Then
                 away
                 with
                 the
                 Laws
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 the
              
               Good
               old
               Cause
               ,
            
             
               
                 N'er
                 talk
                 o'
                 the
              
               Rump
               ,
               
                 or
                 the
              
               Charter
               ,
            
             
               
                 'T
                 is
                 the
                 Cash
                 does
                 the
                 feat
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 All
                 the
                 rest
                 's
                 but
                 a
              
               Cheat
               ,
            
             
               Without
               That
               
               there
               's
               no
               Faith
               
                 nor
                 Quarter
              
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Oates
             well
             Thrash'd
             ,
             being
             a
             Dialogue
             between
             a
             Country
             Farmer
             ,
             and
             his
             man
             Jack
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             Which
             no
             body
             can
             deny
             .
             Repeat
             the
             burden
             twice
             .
          
           
             
               Jack
               .
            
             
               OUr
               Oates
               ,
               last
               week
               not
               worth
               a
               Groat
               ,
            
             
               Have
               ,
               Sir
               ,
               (
               which
               all
               do
               wonder
               at
               )
            
             
               Abomination
               thriv'd
               of
               late
               ;
            
             
               
                 Which
                 no
                 Body
                 can
                 deny
                 ,
                 Sir
                 ,
              
            
          
           
             
               Master
               .
            
             
               Be
               all
               the
               Tribe
               of
               Oates
               Accurs'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               Old
               Dotard
               too
               ,
               that
               first
            
             
               The
               Brat
               within
               his
               Hedges
               nurst
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 sow'd
                 such
                 Wicked
                 seed
                 ,
                 Boy
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Jack
               .
            
             
               Good
               Master
               ,
               pray
               your
               Fury
               stop
               ;
            
             
               For
               ,
               as
               the
               Saying
               is
               ,
               I
               hope
               ,
            
             
               You
               'll
               shortly
               shortly
               see
               a
               Doctor-Crop
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 many
                 more
                 besides
                 ,
                 Sir.
                 
              
            
          
           
             
             
               Master
               .
            
             
               A
               Curse
               on
               every
               thing
               ,
               that
               's
               call'd
               Oates
               ;
            
             
               Both
               Old
               and
               Young
               ,
               both
               Black
               and
               
                 White
                 Oates
              
               ,
            
             
               Both
               Long
               and
               Short
               ,
               both
               Light
               and
               
                 Tite
                 Oates
              
               :
            
             
               
                 I
                 hate
                 the
                 Vip'rous
                 Seed
                 ,
                 Boy
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Jack
               .
            
             
               Your
               Oates
               ,
               now
               Ripe
               ,
               Sir
               ,
               do
               appear
               ;
            
             
               For
               they
               begin
               to
               hang
               the
               Ear
               ;
            
             
               The
               Time
               of
               Cu●ting
               them
               draws
               near
               ,
            
             
               
                 If
                 my
                 Skill
                 fails
                 me
                 not
                 ,
                 Sir.
                 
              
            
          
           
             
               Master
               .
            
             
               Then
               down
               with
               'em
               ,
               and
               all
               their
               Train
               ;
            
             
               Let
               not
               a
               Blade
               of
               them
               remain
               ,
            
             
               Our
               poor
               Land
               to
               infect
               again
               ;
            
             
               
                 'T
                 is
                 pitty
                 one
                 sho●ld
                 scape
                 ,
                 Boy
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Jack
               .
            
             
               Where
               shall
               I
               reek
               them
               ,
               (
               the
               
               Sithe
               ●s
               Edge
            
             
               They
               've
               felt
               )
               in
               Barn
               ,
               or
               under
               Hedge
               ?
            
             
               For
               they
               are
               fit
               for
               Cart
               ,
               or
               Sledge
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 a
                 Roping
                 only
                 want
                 ,
                 Sir.
                 
              
            
          
           
             
               Master
               .
            
             
               E'en
               if
               thou
               wilt
               ,
               lodge
               them
               in
               thy
               Barn
               ;
            
             
               For
               they
               shall
               ne'r
               come
               amongst
               my
               Corn
               ;
            
             
               Or
               Cart
               them
               ,
               if
               thou
               wilt
               ,
               to
               Tyburn
               ;
            
             
               
                 And
                 there
                 too
              
               Truss
               
                 them
                 up
                 ,
                 B●y
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               Jack
               .
            
             
               Th'
               are
               hous'd
               ,
               Sir
               ;
               But
               the
               Trash
               all
               Sense
            
             
               Exceeds
               ,
               that
               's
               in
               'em
               :
               By
               what
               Means
               ,
            
             
               
                 This
                 Filthy
                 Oates
              
               shall
               we
               e're
               cleanse
               ?
            
             
               
                 From
                 all
                 that
              
               Roguish
               
                 Stuff
                 ,
                 Sir
              
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Master
               .
            
             
               —
            
          
           
             
               Jack
               .
            
             
               Go
               ,
               get
               a
               pack
               of
               Sturdy
               Louts
               ,
            
             
             
               And
               let
               them
               lustily
               Thresh
               their
               Coats
               ;
            
             
               Too
               well
               you
               cannot
               
                 Thresh
                 Damn'd
                 Oates
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 Which
                 no
                 body
                 can
                 deny
                 ,
                 Boy
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Jack
               
            
             
               Th'
               are
               thresh'd
               ,
               and
               wimb'd
               and
               made
               as
               clean
               ,
            
             
               As
               hands
               can
               do
               't
               ;
               but
               all
               in
               vain
               :
            
             
               For
               still
               
                 Base
                 Oates
              
               behind
               remain
               :
            
             
               
                 What
                 shall
                 we
                 do
                 with
                 'em
                 ,
                 Sir
                 ?
              
            
          
           
             
               Master
               .
            
             
               Let
               'em
               divided
               be
               like
               Martyrs
            
             
               Of
               
                 Royal
                 Justice
              
               )
               into
               Quarters
               ;
            
             
               Then
               ground
               in
               Mill
               ,
               or
               bray'd
               in
               Mortars
               :
            
             
               So
               Oates
               
                 ought
                 to
                 be
                 serv'd
                 ,
                 Boy
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Jack
               .
            
             
               How
               shall
               I
               use
               the
               Straw
               ?
               'T
               is
               good
            
             
               Only
               to
               cast
               out
               into
               the
               Road
               ,
            
             
               And
               under
               Foot
               to
               Dung
               be
               tr●d
               ;
            
             
               
                 And
                 there
                 to
                 lye
                 and
                 r●t
                 ,
                 Sir
                 ,
              
            
          
           
             
               Master
               .
            
             
               
                 Burn't
                 ,
                 like
                 an
                 Here●ick
                 ,
                 in
                 Flame
                 ;
              
               
                 And
                 Expiate
                 so
                 our
                 Guilt
                 and
                 Shame
                 ,
              
               
                 For
                 giving
                 
                   Long-Tail'd
                   Oates
                
                 such
                 Fame
                 ,
              
               
                 
                   Abhorr'd
                   by
                   all
                   but
                   vs
                   ,
                   Boy
                   .
                
              
            
             
               
                 Beyond
                 Sea
                 th'
                 are
                 kick't
                 out
                 of
                 Door
                 ;
              
               
                 But
                 held
                 with
                 us
                 Here
                 in
                 such
                 Store
                 ,
              
               
                 That
                 Oates
                 we
                 even
                 do
                 Adore
                 :
              
               
                 
                   But
                   Curst
                   be
                
                 Oates
                 ,
                 
                   say
                   I
                   ,
                   Boy
                
              
            
          
           
             
               Jack
               .
            
             
               What
               shall
               we
               now
               at
               last
               ,
               Sir
               ,
               do
            
             
               With
               this
               
                 Same
                 Paultry
                 Oates
              
               ,
               by
               You
            
             
               So
               hated
               ,
               and
               admired
               by
               few
               ;
            
             
               
                 And
                 those
                 both
                 Knaves
                 and
                 Fools
                 ,
                 Sir.
                 
              
            
          
           
             
             
               Master
               .
            
             
               Let
               Oates
               be
               cast
               to
               Ravenous
               Hogs
               ,
            
             
               Or
               ground
               for
               Meat
               for
               Hungry
               Dogs
               ;
            
             
               And
               no
               where
               Sown
               ,
               but
               in
               deep
               Bogs
               ,
            
             
               
                 Or
                 Bottom
                 of
                 a
                 Jakes
                 ,
                 Boy
                 .
              
            
             
               Or
               to
               the
               Fowls
               o'
               th'
               Air
               be
               thrown
               ,
            
             
               By
               Vermine
               to
               be
               prey'd
               upon
               ;
            
             
               Or
               out
               o'
               th'
               World
               by
               Whirlwinds
               blown
               ,
            
             
               
                 To
                 th'
                 Devil's
                 Arse
                 of
                 Peak
                 ,
                 Boy
                 .
              
            
             
               Let
               ev'ry
               Tongue
               ,
               and
               Tail
               i'
               th'
               Isle
            
             
               Of
               Man
               ,
               of
               Bird
               ,
               of
               Beast
               ,
               defile
            
             
               Oates
               so
               Detestable
               ,
               Oates
               so
               Vile
               ;
            
             
               
                 And
                 't
                 will
                 be
                 so
                 ,
                 thou
                 'lt
                 see
                 ,
                 Boy
                 .
              
            
             
               Or
               if
               to
               Popery
               thou
               incline
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               shalt
               have
               Oates
               incag'd
               in
               Shrine
               ,
            
             
               And
               shew
               about
               that
               
                 Trash
                 Divine
              
               ▪
            
             
               
                 And
                 this
                 will
                 get
                 thee
                 Pence
                 ,
                 Boy
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Jack
               
            
             
               Let
               it
               ,
               good
               Master
               ,
               pray
               be
               so
               ,
            
             
               And
               I
               'le
               amongst
               the
               Papists
               go
               ,
            
             
               with
               my
               O
               raree
               Shite
               ,
               and
               my
               O
               brave
               Show
               ,
            
             
               
                 Till
                 I
                 a
                 Pension
                 get
                 ,
                 Sir.
              
            
             
               And
               then
               I
               'le
               Coach
               it
               up
               and
               down
               ,
            
             
               From
               Country
               ,
               and
               from
               Town
               to
               Town
               ,
            
             
               Till
               o're
               the
               World
               I●ve
               made
               Oates
               known
               ,
            
             
               
                 For
                 a
                 very
                 Rogue
                 in
              
               Grain
               ,
               Sir.
               
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Tories
             Tryumph
             ;
             or
             ,
             the
             Point
             well
             weather'd
             .
          
           
             To
             a
             New
             Theatre
             Tune
             ,
          
           
             
               SOme
               say
               ,
               the
               Papists
               had
               a
               Plot
               ,
            
             
               Against
               the
               Church
               and
               Crown
               ;
            
             
               But
               be
               it
               so
               ,
               or
               be
               it
               not
               ,
            
             
               The
               King
               must
               please
               the
               Town
               .
            
             
               The
               Papists
               take
               Tyburn
               by
               turns
               ,
            
             
               To
               please
               the
               City
               Gulls
               ;
            
             
             
               It
               's
               strange
               ,
               that
               they
               who
               all
               wear
               Horns
               ,
            
             
               Should
               fear
               the
               
                 Popish
                 Bulls
              
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               The
               
                 House
                 of
                 Commons
              
               blow
               the
               Coals
               ,
            
             
               The
               Nation
               to
               dissettle
               ;
            
             
               And
               like
               two
               Tinkers
               ,
               make
               two
               Holes
            
             
               To
               mend
               one
               in
               a
               Kettle
               :
            
             
               Or
               else
               ▪
               What
               needs
               that
               precious
               Vote
               ,
            
             
               That
               if
               the
               King
               should
               Fall
            
             
               By
               Pagan
               ,
               or
               
                 Phanatick
                 Plot
              
               ,
            
             
               The
               Pope
               must
               pay
               for
               all
               ?
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Our
               Royal
               James
               of
               Princely
               Race
               ,
            
             
               And
               High-Illustrious
               Fame
               ,
            
             
               Was
               not
               thought
               fit
               by
               Commons
               base
               ,
            
             
               To
               follow
               
               Charles's
               Waine
               :
            
             
               But
               let
               that
               
                 House
                 of
                 Office
              
               know
               ,
            
             
               When
               they
               have
               Sow'd
               their
               Leaven
               ,
            
             
               He
               shall
               Succeed
               though
               they
               say
               no
               ,
            
             
               By
               all
               the
               Laws
               of
               Heaven
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Old
               Cavaliers
               for
               Loyalty
            
             
               They
               streight
               Clapt
               up
               for
               Treason
               ,
            
             
               In
               hopes
               to
               bring
               in
               Anarchy
               ,
            
             
               '
               Gainst
               Justice
               ,
               Sense
               and
               Reason
               .
            
             
               Brave
               Hallifax
               and
               Feversham
               ,
            
             
               Brave
               Worster
               ,
               Just
               and
               Wise
               ,
            
             
               They
               did
               Vote
               down
               ,
               as
               dangerous
               Men
               ,
            
             
               That
               they
               themselves
               might
               Rise
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               But
               Oh!
               That
               Lord
               in
               Leistershire
               ,
            
             
               Turn'd
               Catchpole
               ,
               though
               too
               late
               :
            
             
               'T
               is
               b●tter
               ●riests
               in
               Prison
               were
               ,
            
             
               Then
               Burns
               should
               lose
               their
               Trade
               .
            
             
             
               For
               Priest
               poor
               Waller
               never
               sought
               ,
            
             
               But
               where
               Was
               Golden
               Crosses
               ;
            
             
               His
               Mirmidons
               went
               ●nacks
               ,
               t
               is
               That
            
             
               In
               all
               the
               Owners
               Losses
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               The
               Doctor
               he
               has
               bid
               Farewell
            
             
               To
               Jesus
               ,
               and
               the
               Court
               ;
            
             
               And
               
               Tony's
               Tap
               runs
               fla●
               and
               dull
               ,
            
             
               Makes
               Catch
               in
               hopes
               of
               Sport.
            
             
               Blew
               Protestants
               can
               make
               no
               work
               ,
            
             
               Unless
               like
               Hungary
               ,
            
             
               They
               for
               Religion
               Joyn
               the
               Turk
               ,
            
             
               For
               
                 Christian
                 Liberty
              
            
          
        
         
           
             Five
             Years
             Sham
             Plots
             Discovered
             in
             one
             True
             one
             .
          
           
             To
             the
             Tune
             of
             ,
             —
             
               I
               told
               young
               Jenny
            
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               NOw
               Innocent
               Blood
               's
               almost
               forgot
               ,
            
             
               We
               have
               found
               the
               Original
               Ground
               of
               the
            
             
               Now
               every
               Moon-blind
               Rebel
               may
               know
               ,
               Plot
            
             
               That
               Providence
               sees
               our
               Actions
               below
               .
            
             
               NoW
               Oates
               for
               Pegs
               ,
               may
               pack
               up
               his
               Awls
               ,
            
             
               And
               there
               inform
               his
               Master
               ;
            
             
               To
               furnish
               Rooms
               ,
               make
               fire
               in
               the
               Halls
            
             
               For
               Company
               that
               comes
               after
               .
            
          
           
             
               These
               are
               not
               like
               our
               Plots
               of
               Old
               ,
            
             
               When
               Evidence
               swore
               for
               Silver
               and
               Gold.
            
             
               There
               are
               no
               Armies
               under
               Ground
               ,
            
             
               No
               Sha●
               Magazines
               that
               ne'r
               were
               found
               ,
            
             
               No
               Spanish
               Pilgrims
               ,
               and
               Black-Bills
               ,
            
             
               But
               open
               profess'd
               Traytors
               ;
            
             
               Where
               Perjury
               spares
               ,
               the
               Sword
               it
               kills
               ,
            
             
               These
               are
               our
               Saint-like
               Satyrs
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               These
               are
               the
               Blades
               ,
               detected
               by
               Laws
               ,
            
             
               In
               Contempt
               of
               Justice
               decide
               it
               with
               blows
            
             
               These
               are
               the
               Blood-Hounds
               of
               our
               Age
               ,
            
             
               That
               brought
               our
               late
               Monarch
               upon
               the
               Stage
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               these
               more
               Barbarous
               Bruits
               of
               ours
               ,
            
             
               Would
               mu●ther
               both
               King
               and
               's
               Brother
               ,
            
             
               And
               ●ay
               the
               Guilt
               at
               innocent
               doors
               ,
            
             
               And
               still
               continue
               the
               Murther
               .
            
          
           
             
               From
               thence
               the
               Sacrifice
               begins
               ,
            
             
               To
               Massacre
               others
               for
               their
               own
               sins
               :
            
             
               And
               this
               has
               been
               the
               Plots
               support
               ,
            
             
               First
               made
               in
               the
               City
               ,
               then
               forc't
               on
               the
               Court.
            
             
               But
               now
               the
               Mysteries
               brought
               to
               light
               ,
            
             
               True
               Innocency
               is
               Protection
               ,
            
             
               Surprising
               Rebels
               dare
               not
               fight
               ,
            
             
               Their
               Souls
               are
               Imperfections
               .
            
          
           
             
               If
               they
               had
               Butcher'd
               the
               Royal
               Line
               ,
            
             
               To
               Murther
               its
               Friends
               they
               were
               to
               Joyn
               ,
            
             
               The
               like
               was
               never
               on
               Record
            
             
               In
               the
               wide
               Wilderness
               of
               the
               World
               ;
            
             
               To
               Rob
               the
               Kingdom
               of
               all
               that
               's
               Good
               ,
            
             
               And
               none
               but
               Rebels
               Surviving
               ,
            
             
               To
               Lord
               it
               o're
               three
               Nations
               in
               Blood
               ;
            
             
               Each
               to
               be
               an
               Oliver
               striving
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               Saddle
               is
               now
               on
               the
               Right
               ●orse
               ,
            
             
               The
               Whiggs
               must
               mount
               for
               Tyburn
               in
               Course
               .
            
             
               For
               these
               can
               be
               no
               false
               Alarms
               ,
            
             
               We
               have
               their
               Confession
               the
               Men
               and
               their
               Arms
               ,
            
             
               Makes
               Catch
               perceive
               his
               Harvest
               is
               near
            
             
               He
               swears
               if
               his
               Horse
               do
               not
               fail
               him
               ,
            
             
               He
               'll
               not
               take
               a
               thousand
               Pound
               this
               year
               ,
            
             
               For
               what
               his
               Trade
               may
               avail
               him
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             On
             the
             Throat-cutter
             of
             Jack-a-napes-lane
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Hang
               sorrow
               ,
               cast
               away
               care
               .
            
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               THere
               is
               an
               old
               story
            
             
               That
               's
               much
               to
               the
               glory
            
             
               Of
               one
               who
               was
               call'd
               Sophyrus
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               Fears
               may
               be
               read
               ,
            
             
               Though
               the
               man
               be
               dead
               ,
            
             
               By
               any
               that
               are
               desirous
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               This
               man
               had
               a
               Nose
            
             
               (
               As
               you
               may
               suppose
               )
            
             
               In
               the
               middle
               of
               his
               face
               ;
            
             
               But
               he
               cut
               it
               off
               clear
               ,
            
             
               Like
               a
               brave
               Cavalier
               ,
            
             
               To
               get
               the
               King
               's
               good
               grace
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               The
               manner
               is
               known
               ,
            
             
               So
               we
               'll
               let
               that
               alone
               :
            
             
               Yet
               by
               the
               way
               you
               must
               note
               ,
            
             
               Though
               he
               slashed
               his
               face
            
             
               In
               every
               place
               ,
            
             
               He
               had
               a
               great
               care
               of
               his
               Throat
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Nor
               will
               any
               man
               dare
            
             
               This
               Wight
               to
               compare
            
             
               With
               an
               Heroe
               that
               I
               can
               name
               ;
            
             
               Who
               ,
               by
               cutting
               his
               Throat
               ,
            
             
               Grew
               a
               man
               of
               great
               note
               ,
            
             
               And
               purchas'd
               eternal
               Fame
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Sophyrus
               did
               well
               ;
            
             
               But
               He
               doth
               excel
               ,
            
             
               If
               he
               be
               but
               right
               understood
               :
            
             
             
               For
               't
               is
               a
               plain
               case
            
             
               As
               the
               Nose
               on
               ones
               Face
               ,
            
             
               It
               was
               done
               for
               the
               
                 Peoples
                 good
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               The
               design
               was
               brave
               ,
            
             
               The
               People
               to
               save
            
             
               By
               letting
               his
               
                 own
                 Throat
              
               bleed
               ;
            
             
               But
               the
               Fiend
               that
               repines
            
             
               At
               all
               
                 good
                 Designs
              
               ,
            
             
               Did
               hinder
               it
               to
               succeed
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               For
               his
               hand
               being
               up
            
             
               To
               spil
               the
               last
               Drop
            
             
               Of
               the
               
                 Peoples
                 saving
                 Blood
              
               ,
            
             
               He
               made
               him
               flinch
            
             
               At
               the
               other
               Inch
               ,
            
             
               And
               so
               prevented
               the
               Good.
               
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               So
               he
               useth
               his
               Throat
            
             
               For
               the
               People
               to
               Vote
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               some
               are
               so
               wicked
               ,
               to
               hope
            
             
               This
               obliging
               Knife
            
             
               (
               Though
               it
               then
               spar'd
               his
               Life
               )
            
             
               Has
               markt
               a
               
                 fair
                 place
              
               for
               the
               Rope
               .
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               Now
               ,
               whoever
               bears
               spleen
            
             
               To
               the
               King
               or
               the
               Queen
               ,
            
             
               Or
               to
               James
               the
               Duke
               of
               York
               ,
            
             
               He
               shall
               have
               my
               Vote
            
             
               For
               cutting
               his
               Throat
               ,
            
             
               Provided
               he
               'll
               perfect
               the
               Work.
               
            
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             Plotting-Cards
             reviv'd
             ;
             or
             ,
             The
             new
             Game
             at
             Forty-One
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             I
             'll
             tell
             thee
             ,
             Dick
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               COme
               ,
               cut
               again
               ;
               the
               
               Game
               's
               not
               done
               ,
            
             
               Though
               strangely
               yet
               the
               Cards
               have
               run
               ,
            
             
               As
               if
               they
               pack'd
               had
               been
               :
            
             
               Most
               likely
               are
               to
               lose
               ,
               and
               say
            
             
               They
               know
               not
               what
               's
               
                 next
                 best
              
               to
               play
               ,
            
             
               Such
               shuffling
               ne'r
               was
               seen
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Look
               well
               (
               my
               Masters
               )
               to
               your
               hits
               ,
            
             
               And
               have
               about
               you
               all
               your
               wits
               ,
            
             
               For
               high
               the
               Play
               does
               run
               ;
            
             
               
                 Three
                 Kingdoms
              
               now
               at
               stake
               do
               lie
               ,
            
             
               And
               Rooks
               all
               hocus-tricks
               do
               try
               ,
            
             
               That
               ye
               may
               be
               undone
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               On
               Clubs
               and
               Spades
               some
               wholly
               bett
               ▪
            
             
               For
               they
               the
               most
               are
               like
               to
               get
               .
            
             
               Whilst
               Hearts
               in
               vain
               contest
               ;
            
             
               And
               Diamonds
               too
               ,
               (
               unto
               their
               cost
            
             
               That
               have
               them
               )
               sure
               are
               to
               be
               lost
               ,
            
             
               The
               
                 blackest
                 Cards
              
               are
               best
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               God
               bless
               all
               Kings
               and
               Queens
               ,
               though
               now
            
             
               The
               
                 best
                 Coat-Cards
              
               ,
               (
               the
               Lord
               knows
               how
               )
            
             
               At
               this
               prepostrous
               Game
               ,
            
             
               Are
               like
               all
               to
               commanded
               be
               ,
            
             
               And
               trumpt
               with
               all
               their
               Royalty
               ,
            
             
               By
               every
               
                 Knavish
                 Pam
              
               —
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               So
               
                 Hewson
                 blind
              
               (
               though
               he
               be
               dead
               )
            
             
               Alive
               was
               by
               
                 blind
                 Fortune
              
               led
               ,
            
             
               And
               still
               did
               winning
               go
               ;
            
             
             
               And
               ever
               since
               we
               find
               ,
               that
               He
            
             
               Sweeps
               all
               with
               his
               Effigie
               ,
            
             
               The
               great
               Pamphilio
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Nay
               ,
               Trays
               and
               Duces
               ,
               which
               were
               deem'd
            
             
               The
               
                 basest
                 Cards
              
               ,
               are
               now
               esteem'd
            
             
               
                 Prime
                 ones
              
               ,
               to
               win
               the
               day
               :
            
             
               So
               that
               ,
               (
               you
               see
               )
               to
               gain
               the
               Prize
               ,
            
             
               Poor
               Kings
               and
               Queens
               you
               must
               despise
               ,
            
             
               And
               Honours
               throw
               away
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Thus
               the
               
                 best
                 Cards
              
               are
               now
               the
               worst
               ,
            
             
               And
               what
               was
               last
               is
               become
               first
               ,
            
             
               No
               wonder
               now-a-days
               :
            
             
               The
               Nation
               
                 topsy
                 turvey
              
               lies
               ,
            
             
               And
               (
               as
               't
               were
               pleas'd
               with
               Contraries
               )
            
             
               At
               losing
               Load'em
               plays
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Second
             Part.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               THis
               is
               like
               some
               
                 Utopian
                 Game
              
               ,
            
             
               Where
               Servant-Maids
               controll
               their
               Dame
               ,
            
             
               And
               Kings
               are
               Subjects
               made
               ;
            
             
               Felons
               their
               Judges
               do
               indict
               ,
            
             
               And
               He
               a
               Traytor
               is
               down-right
            
             
               Who
               falsly
               is
               betray'd
               !
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               A
               Dunce
               who
               never
               took
               Degrees
               ,
            
             
               But
               such
               as
               lead
               to
               Villainies
               ,
            
             
               A
               DOCTOR
               is
               most
               sound
               ;
            
             
               He
               who
               ,
               to
               furnish
               his
               own
               wants
               ,
            
             
               Can
               seize
               Gold-Cross
               ,
               or
               Silver-Saints
               ,
            
             
               A
               JUSTICE
               is
               renown'd
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Who
               Horse
               to
               Battle
               never
               led
               ,
            
             
               But
               has
               with
               many
               Horses
               fled
            
             
               Out
               of
               his
               Neighbours
               Field
               ,
            
             
               A
               CAPTAIN
               is
               ;
               and
               with
               his
               Word
            
             
               Kills
               more
               than
               with
               his
               duller
               Sword
            
             
               He
               ever
               made
               to
               yield
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               A
               Villain
               who
               can
               cheat
               his
               Lord
               ,
            
             
               Gets
               Chains
               of
               Gold
               instead
               of
               Cord
               ,
            
             
               And
               is
               from
               Prison
               freed
               :
            
             
               For
               Him
               who
               says
               he
               Murder'd
               has
               ,
            
             
               A
               Pardon
               both
               for
               That
               does
               pass
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               that
               e'r
               he
               did
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Who
               for
               foul
               Crimes
               and
               Forgeries
            
             
               Has
               worn
               the
               Yoak
               of
               Pillories
               ,
            
             
               And
               has
               been
               whipt
               about
               ;
            
             
               If
               he
               but
               add
               
                 new
                 Perjury
              
               ,
            
             
               He
               wipes
               off
               
                 past
                 Iniquity
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 speaks
                 Truth
              
               without
               doubt
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               He
               that
               had
               rather
               choose
               to
               die
               ,
            
             
               Than
               to
               redeem
               his
               Life
               with
               Lie
               ,
            
             
               Is
               th'
               only
               
                 perjur'd
                 R●gue
              
               :
            
             
               And
               They
               who
               damn
               themselves
               to
               live
               ,
            
             
               Sure
               signs
               of
               their
               Probation
               give
               ,
            
             
               For
               they
               're
               the
               Saints
               in
               vogue
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Then
               
                 play
                 away
              
               ,
               (
               good
               Countrey-man
               )
            
             
               What
               
               hand
               's
               the
               best
               is
               now
               most-plain
               ,
            
             
               And
               boldly
               thou
               may'st
               stake
               :
            
             
               A
               Pack
               of
               KNAVES
               together
               get
               ,
            
             
               And
               never
               doubt
               to
               win
               the
               Sett
               ,
            
             
               For
               They
               the
               Voll
               will
               make
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             A
             Song
             upon
             Information
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Conventicles
               are
               grown
               so
               rief
            
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               INforming
               of
               late's
               a
               notable
               Trade
               ;
            
             
               For
               he
               that
               his
               Neighbour
               intends
               to
               invade
               ,
            
             
               May
               pack
               him
               to
               Tyburn
               ,
               (
               no
               more
               's
               to
               be
               said
               )
            
             
               Such
               Power
               hath
               Information
               .
            
             
               Be
               Good
               ,
               and
               be
               Just
               ,
               and
               fight
               for
               your
               King
               ,
            
             
               Or
               stand
               for
               your
               Countreys
               Honour
               ,
            
             
               You
               're
               sure
               by
               precise
               Information
               to
               swing
               ,
            
             
               Such
               Spells
               she
               hath
               got
               upon
               her
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               To
               
                 Six
                 hundred
                 and
                 sixty
              
               ,
               from
               Forty-one
               ,
            
             
               She
               left
               not
               a
               Bishop
               or
               Clergy-man
               ,
            
             
               But
               compell'd
               both
               Church
               and
               State
               to
               run
               ,
            
             
               By
               the
               strength
               of
               the
               Non-Conformist
               .
            
             
               The
               Dean
               and
               
                 Chapter
                 ,
                 Scepter
              
               and
               Crown
               ,
            
             
               (
               The
               Lords
               and
               Commons
               snarling
               )
            
             
               By
               blest
               Information
               came
               tumbling
               down
               ,
            
             
               Fair
               Fruits
               of
               an
               over-long
               parling
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               'T
               was
               This
               that
               summon'd
               the
               Bodk●ns
               all
               ,
            
             
               The
               Th●mbles
               and
               Spoons
               to
               the
               City-hall
               ,
            
             
               When
               Saint
               Hugh
               to
               the
               
                 Babes
                 of
                 Grace
              
               did
               call
               ,
            
             
               To
               prop
               up
               the
               Cause
               that
               was
               sinking
               :
            
             
               This
               made
               the
               Cobler
               take
               the
               Sword
               ,
            
             
               The
               Pedlar
               and
               the
               Weaver
               ;
            
             
               By
               the
               pow'r
               of
               the
               Spirit
               ,
               and
               not
               by
               the
               Word
               ,
            
             
               Made
               the
               Tinker
               wear
               Cloak
               and
               Beaver
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               'T
               is
               Information
               from
               Valadolid
            
             
               Makes
               
                 Jesuits
                 ,
                 Fryars
              
               and
               Monks
               to
               bleed
               ,
            
             
               Occapitates
               Lords
               ;
               and
               what
               not
               (
               indeed
               )
            
             
               Doth
               such
               damnable
               Information
               ?
            
             
             
               It
               Cities
               burns
               ,
               and
               sticks
               not
               to
               boast
               ,
            
             
               Without
               any
               mincing
               or
               scruple
               ,
            
             
               Of
               
                 Forty
                 Thousand
                 Black-Bills
              
               by
               the
               Post
               ,
            
             
               Brought
               in
               with
               the
               
               Devil's
               Pupil
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               This
               Imp
               with
               her
               Jealousies
               and
               Fears
            
             
               Puts
               all
               men
               together
               by
               the
               ears
               ,
            
             
               Strikes
               at
               Religion
               ,
               and
               Kingdoms
               tears
               ,
            
             
               By
               Voting
               against
               the
               BROTHER
               .
            
             
               This
               makes
               Abhorrers
               ,
               makes
               Lords
               Protest
               ,
            
             
               They
               know
               not
               why
               ,
               nor
               wherefore
               :
            
             
               This
               strikes
               at
               Succession
               ,
               but
               aims
               at
               the
               rest
               ;
            
             
               Pray
               look
               about
               you
               therefore
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               This
               raiseth
               Armies
               in
               the
               Air
               ,
            
             
               Imagining
               more
               than
               you
               need
               have
               to
               fear
               ;
            
             
               Keeps
               Horse
               under-ground
               ,
               and
               Arms
               to
               tear
            
             
               The
               Cities
               and
               Towns
               in
               sunder
               .
            
             
               'T
               is
               this
               made
               the
               Knight
               to
               Newark
               run
               ,
            
             
               With
               his
               
                 Fidus
                 Acates
              
               behind
               him
               ;
            
             
               Who
               brought
               for
               the
               Father
               one
               more
               like
               the
               Son
               ,
            
             
               The
               Devil
               and
               Zeal
               did
               so
               blind
               him
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               It
               whips
               ,
               it
               strips
               ,
               it
               hangs
               ,
               and
               draws
               ;
            
             
               It
               Pillories
               also
               without
               any
               cause
               ,
            
             
               By
               
                 falsly
                 Informing
              
               the
               Judges
               and
               Laws
               ,
            
             
               With
               a
               trick
               from
               Salamanca
               ;
            
             
               This
               hurly-burlies
               all
               the
               Town
               ,
            
             
               Makes
               Smith
               and
               Harris
               prattle
               ;
            
             
               Who
               spare
               neither
               Cassock
               ,
               Cloak
               ,
               nor
               Gown
               ,
            
             
               In
               their
               paltry
               Tittle-tatile
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               'T
               is
               Information
               affrights
               us
               all
               ;
            
             
               By
               Information
               we
               rise
               and
               fall
               :
            
             
             
               Without
               Information
               there
               's
               no
               PLOT
               at
               all
               ;
            
             
               And
               all
               is
               but
               Information
               .
            
             
               That
               Pickering
               stood
               in
               the
               Park
               with
               a
               Gun
               ,
            
             
               And
               Godfrey
               by
               Berry
               was
               strangl'd
               ;
            
             
               'T
               was
               by
               Information
               such
               stories
               begun
               ,
            
             
               Which
               the
               Nation
               so
               much
               have
               entangl'd
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             A
             Song
             on
             the
             Popish
             Plot
             ,
             by
             a
             Lady
             of
             Quality
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Packington's
               Pound
            
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               SInce
               counterfeit
               ●lots
               have
               affected
               this
               Age
               ,
            
             
               Being
               acted
               by
               Fools
               ,
               and
               contriv'd
               by
               the
               Sage
               ;
            
             
               In
               City
               ,
               nor
               Suburbs
               ,
               no
               man
               can
               be
               found
               ,
            
             
               But
               frighted
               with
               Fire-balls
               ,
               their
               heads
               turn'd
               round
               .
            
             
               
                 From
                 Pulpit
                 to
                 Pot
              
            
             
               
                 They
                 talk'd
                 of
                 a
                 Plot
              
               ,
            
             
               Till
               their
               Brains
               were
               inslav'd
               ,
               &
               each
               man
               turn'd
               Sot
               ;
            
             
               But
               let
               us
               to
               Reason
               and
               Justice
               repair
               ,
            
             
               And
               this
               
                 Popish
                 B●gbear
              
               will
               fly
               into
               Air.
               
            
          
           
             
               2
            
             
               A
               Politick
               States-man
               ,
               of
               Body
               unsound
               ,
            
             
               Who
               once
               in
               a
               Tree
               ,
               with
               the
               Rabble
               set
               round
               ,
            
             
               Run
               Monarchy
               down
               with
               
                 Fanatick
                 Rage
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               preach'd
               up
               Rebellion
               i'
               that
               
                 credulous
                 Age
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 He
                 now
                 is
                 at
                 work
              
            
             
               
                 With
                 the
                 Devil
                 and
                 Turk
              
               ,
            
             
               Pretending
               a
               Plot
               ,
               under
               which
               he
               doth
               lurk
               ,
            
             
               To
               humble
               the
               Mitre
               ,
               wh●le
               he
               squints
               at
               the
               Crown
               ,
            
             
               Till
               fairly
               and
               squarely
               he
               pulls
               them
               down
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               He
               had
               found
               out
               an
               Instrument
               fit
               for
               the
               Devil
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               mind
               had
               been
               train'd
               up
               to
               all
               that
               was
               evil
               ▪
            
             
               His
               Fortune
               sunk
               low
               ,
               and
               detested
               by
               many
               ,
            
             
               Kick'd
               out
               at
               St.
               Omers
               ,
               not
               pity'd
               by
               any
               :
            
             
             
               
                 Some
                 whisperers
                 fix'd
                 him
              
            
             
               
                 Upon
                 this
                 Design
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               with
               
                 promis'd
                 Reward
              
               did
               him
               countermine
               ▪
            
             
               Though
               his
               Tale
               was
               ill
               told
               ,
               it
               serv'd
               to
               give
               fire
               ;
            
             
               Despis'd
               by
               the
               Wise
               ,
               whilst
               Fools
               did
               admire
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               The
               next
               that
               appear'd
               ,
               was
               a
               
                 fool-hardy
                 Knave
              
               ,
            
             
               who
               'd
               ply'd
               the
               High-ways
               ,
               and
               to
               Vice
               was
               a
               Slave
               ;
            
             
               Being
               fed
               out
               of
               Basket
               ,
               in
               Prison
               forlorn
               ,
            
             
               No
               wonder
               that
               Money
               should
               make
               him
               forsworn
               :
            
             
               
                 He
                 boldly
                 dares
                 swear
              
            
             
               
                 What
                 men
                 tremble
                 to
                 hear
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               learns
               a
               false
               Lesson
               without
               any
               Fear
               ;
            
             
               For
               when
               he
               is
               out
               ,
               there
               's
               one
               that
               's
               in
               's
               place
            
             
               Relieves
               his
               invention
               ,
               and
               quickens
               his
               pace
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               In
               a
               
                 Countrey
                 Prison
              
               another
               was
               found
               ,
            
             
               Who
               had
               cheated
               his
               Lord
               of
               
                 One
                 thousand
                 Pound
              
               ;
            
             
               He
               was
               freed
               from
               his
               Fetters
               ,
               to
               swear
               and
               inform
               ,
            
             
               Which
               very
               couragiously
               he
               did
               perform
               :
            
             
               
                 To
                 avoid
                 future
                 strife
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 He
                 takes
                 away
                 Life
              
               ,
            
             
               To
               save
               poor
               Protestants
               from
               
                 Popish
                 Knife
              
               :
            
             
               Which
               only
               has
               edge
               to
               cut
               a
               
               Rogue
               's
               ears
               ,
            
             
               For
               abusing
               the
               People
               with
               
                 needless
                 Fears
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Another
               starts
               up
               ,
               and
               tells
               a
               
                 false
                 Tale
              
               ,
            
             
               Which
               strait
               he
               revok'd
               ,
               his
               courage
               frail
               :
            
             
               But
               ,
               to
               fortifie
               one
               that
               needeth
               his
               Aid
               ,
            
             
               (
               Being
               tempted
               by
               Money
               ,
               which
               much
               doth
               persuade
               )
            
             
               
                 He
                 swore
                 he
                 knew
                 all
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 contrived
                 the
                 fall
              
            
             
               Of
               one
               ,
               who
               that
               day
               was
               seen
               near
               to
               White-hall
               ;
            
             
               Where
               he
               by
               an
               Officer's
               powerful
               breath
            
             
               More
               l●kely
               by
               far
               received
               his
               death
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               7.
               
            
             
               A
               Gown-man
               most
               grave
               ,
               with
               
                 Fanatical
                 Form
              
               ,
            
             
               With
               his
               scribling
               wit
               doth
               blow
               up
               this
               storm
               ;
            
             
               For
               moth-eaten
               Records
               he
               worships
               the
               Devil
               ,
            
             
               Being
               now
               lodg'd
               at
               Court
               ,
               he
               must
               become
               civil
               .
            
             
               
                 He
                 hunts
                 all
                 about
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 makes
                 a
                 great
                 Rout
              
               ,
            
             
               To
               find
               some
               o●d
               Prophecy
               to
               help
               him
               out
               ;
            
             
               But
               his
               Friend
               that
               was
               hous'd
               with
               him
               at
               Foxhall
               ,
            
             
               Being
               joyn'd
               with
               his
               Master
               ,
               still
               strengthens
               'em
               all
               ▪
            
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               Then
               comes
               a
               crack'd
               Merchant
               ,
               with
               his
               shallow
               Brain
               ,
            
             
               Who
               first
               did
               lead
               up
               this
               
                 stigmatiz'd
                 Train
              
               :
            
             
               He
               since
               is
               grown
               useless
               ,
               his
               Skill
               being
               small
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               at
               a
               dead
               lift
               he
               's
               still
               at
               their
               call
               :
            
             
               
                 He
                 has
                 pester'd
                 the
              
               Press
               ,
            
             
               
                 In
                 ridiculous
                 dress
              
               ,
            
             
               In
               this
               scribling
               Age
               he
               could
               do
               no
               less
               :
            
             
               But
               to
               so
               little
               purpose
               as
               plainly
               appears
               ,
            
             
               With
               Pen
               he
               had
               as
               good
               sate
               picking
               his
               ears
               .
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               To
               end
               with
               a
               Prayer
               ,
               as
               now
               't
               is
               my
               lot
               ,
            
             
               Confounded
               be
               Plotters
               ,
               with
               their
               
                 Popish
                 Plot
              
               :
            
             
               God
               bless
               and
               preserve
               our
               Gracious
               Good
               KING
               ,
            
             
               That
               he
               may
               ne'r
               feel
               the
               Presbyters
               sting
               ;
            
             
               
                 As
                 they
                 brought
                 his
                 Father
              
            
             
               
                 With
                 rage
                 to
                 the
                 Block
              
               ,
            
             
               So
               would
               they
               extirpate
               all
               the
               whole
               Stock
               :
            
             
               But
               with
               their
               
                 false
                 Plots
              
               I
               hope
               they
               will
               end
            
             
               At
               Tyburn
               ,
               where
               the
               Rabble
               will
               surely
               attend
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             Whigs
             lamentable
             Condition
             ;
             Or
             ,
             the
             Loyallists
             Resolution
             .
          
           
             To
             a
             pleasant
             new
             Tune
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               THe
               Deel
               assists
               the
               
                 Plotting
                 Whigs
              
            
             
               To
               carry
               on
               their
               
                 damn'd
                 Intrigues
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               does
               provide
               them
               new
               supplies
               ,
            
             
               Gin
               any
               faus
               and
               Raskal
               dies
               ;
            
             
               Up
               starts
               some
               
                 Bankrupt
                 perjur'd
                 Loon
              
               ,
            
             
               Instructed
               by
               the
               Polish
               Prince
               ,
            
             
               How
               to
               amuse
               th'unthinking
               Toon
               ,
            
             
               And
               make
               the
               Bigots
               leese
               their
               sense
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               This
               squinting
               and
               Curmudgeon
               sits
            
             
               Consulting
               with
               his
               
                 Whiggish
                 Chits
              
               ,
            
             
               Who
               treacherously
               with
               him
               combine
            
             
               To
               root
               out
               a●
               the
               
                 Royal
                 Line
              
               :
            
             
               But
               Heaven
               ,
               which
               has
               disclos'd
               their
               Plots
               ,
            
             
               Confound
               their
               vain
               Inventions
               ,
            
             
               Disperse
               the
               wretched
               hai●-brain'd
               Sots
               ,
            
             
               And
               cross
               their
               curs'd
               Intentions
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Whither
               d'
               ye
               hurry
               Phaeton
               ?
            
             
               Is
               't
               not
               enough
               that
               he
               's
               undone
            
             
               By
               your
               persideous
               Treachery
               ,
            
             
               The
               source
               of
               au
               his
               Infamy
               ?
            
             
               But
               ,
               to
               promote
               your
               wretched
               ends
               ,
            
             
               Ye
               make
               the
               Lorden
               a
               stop-gap
               ;
            
             
               Like
               Croc●diles
               ,
               ye
               fawning
               Friends
            
             
               Pretendedly
               mourn
               his
               mis-hap
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               The
               Bearn
               may
               see
               how
               he
               is
               feul'd
               ,
            
             
               Tea
               late
               may
               find
               that
               he
               is
               gull'd
               :
            
             
               Wha●
               then
               shall
               pity
               his
               Estate
               ,
            
             
               That
               toil'd
               to
               be
               unfortunate
               ?
            
             
             
               He
               's
               now
               a
               hardy
               Rebel
               grown
               ,
            
             
               And
               glories
               in
               base
               actions
               ;
            
             
               The
               silly
               Lad
               gangs
               up
               and
               down
               ,
            
             
               To
               make
               Feuds
               and
               Distractions
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Wa●
               to'l
               the
               Nations
               Scabs
               and
               Boils
               ,
            
             
               Ye
               that
               delight
               in
               
                 Civil
                 Broils
              
               ,
            
             
               Wha'd
               set
               us
               by
               the
               ears
               again
               ,
            
             
               Ye
               Worriers
               of
               Loyal
               men
               :
            
             
               ●'se
               mean
               the
               pert
               blew-apron
               Fops
               ,
            
             
               Wha
               meddle
               with
               the
               
                 State
                 affair
              
               ,
            
             
               Leuk
               to'l
               your
               Wives
               ,
               and
               mind
               your
               Shops
               ,
            
             
               
                 Whig
                 Gold
              
               nor
               Cornish
               shan't
               be
               May'r
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               All
               Aegypts
               Plagues
               seize
               Doctor
               T.O.
            
             
               Who
               did
               design
               the
               overthrow
            
             
               Of
               Church
               and
               State
               :
               Have
               we
               forgot
            
             
               'T
               was
               He
               contriv'd
               the
               
                 Popish
                 Plot
              
               ?
            
             
               Can
               we
               forget
               our
               
                 Martyr'd
                 Prince
              
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               Blood
               does
               loud
               for
               veng'ance
               ca●l
               ?
            
             
               Shall
               we
               not
               stand
               in
               's
               Son's
               defence
               ,
            
             
               '
               Gainst
               Whigs
               ,
               wha●
               wish
               for
               his
               doonfal
               ?
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               Take
               courage
               ,
               pull
               a●
               Rebels
               down
               ,
            
             
               Obey
               the
               KING
               ,
               and
               guard
               His
               Throne
               ;
            
             
               Commit
               the
               rest
               to
               th'
               prudent
               care
            
             
               Of
               our
               Tribunes
               and
               geud
               
                 L●ird
                 May'r
              
               :
            
             
               As
               for
               our
               Foes
               the
               Rebel-Rout
               ,
            
             
               He
               timely
               curb'd
               the
               stubborn
               Elves
               ;
            
             
               Their
               Villainy
               he
               has
               found
               out
               ,
            
             
               And
               now
               they
               're
               fit
               to
               hang
               themselves
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             Present
             State
             of
             ENGLAND
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               It
               was
               in
               the
               prime
               of
               Cucumber
               time
               .
            
          
           
             
               JAck
               Presbyter's
               up
               ,
               and
               hopes
               at
               one
               swoop
            
             
               To
               swallow
               
                 King
                 ,
                 Bishops
              
               ,
               and
               all●a
               :
            
             
               The
               Mitre
               and
               Crown
               must
               both
               tumble
               down
               ,
            
             
               Or
               the
               Kingdom
               ,
               he
               tells
               you
               ,
               will
               fall●a
               .
            
          
           
             
               Sure
               't
               is
               a
               hard
               Fate
               ,
               that
               to
               prop
               up
               the
               State
               ,
            
             
               We
               must
               pull
               down
               the
               State-Religion
               :
            
             
               But
               the
               Saints
               have
               a
               
                 new
                 one
              
               ,
               more
               holy
               &
               
                 true
                 one
              
               ,
            
             
               Composed
               of
               Fox
               and
               Wigeon
               .
            
          
           
             
               An
               Engine
               they
               've
               got
               ,
               call'd
               
                 a
                 damn'd
                 Popish
                 Plot
              
               ,
            
             
               Which
               will
               bring
               in
               a
               Through-Reformation
               ;
            
             
               Which
               ,
               tho
               't
               be
               half
               Fable
               ,
               it
               mads
               the
               
                 poor
                 Rable
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               puts
               out
               of
               wits
               half
               the
               Nation
               .
            
          
           
             
               Thus
               their
               
               work
               's
               quickly
               done
               for
               each
               
                 Mothers
                 Son
              
            
             
               That
               to
               Church
               or
               to
               King
               is
               Loyal
               ,
            
             
               Shall
               strait
               be
               indicted
               ,
               or
               else
               be
               sore
               frighted
            
             
               To
               be
               brought
               to
               their
               
                 f●ry
                 Tryal
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               T
               is
               no
               more
               but
               pretend
               he
               's
               to
               
                 Pop'ry
                 a
                 Friend
              
            
             
               The
               Brethren
               cry
               loud
               ,
               he
               's
               a
               Traytor
               ;
            
             
               And
               their
               Evidences
               bring
               against
               him
               pretences
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               of
               a
               
                 Treas'●able
                 nature
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               Th'
               Impeachers
               are
               such
               ,
               so
               Hon'rable
               and
               Rich
               ,
            
             
               That
               no
               Bribe
               can
               to
               Falshood
               invite
               'em
               ;
            
             
               Tho'
               they
               
                 contradict
                 themselves
              
               and
               
                 ev'ry
                 body
                 else
              
               ,
            
             
               A
               good
               lusty
               Vo●e
               can
               right
               '
               em
               .
            
          
           
             
               No
               matter
               for
               blood
               ,
               their
               Oaths
               shall
               stand
               good
               ▪
            
             
               ●n
               despight
               of
               all
               circumstances
               :
            
             
               The
               City-Cabals
               say
               they
               cannot
               swear
               false
               ,
            
             
               And
               each
               Pamphlet
               their
               Honour
               enhances
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               Who
               dares
               to
               deny
               but
               One
               single
               Lie
            
             
               Of
               the
               Many
               they
               swear
               on
               their
               credit
               ,
            
             
               Must
               down
               on
               his
               knees
               ,
               is
               rebuk'd
               ,
               and
               
                 pays
                 Fees
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               must
               cry
               Peccavi
               he
               did
               it
               .
            
          
           
             
               If
               any's
               so
               bold
               their
               tricks
               to
               unfold
               ,
            
             
               or
               offers
               to
               prove
               them
               Lyars
               ,
            
             
               Strait
               up
               steps
               another
               ,
               and
               swears
               for
               Rogue-brother
               ,
            
             
               And
               flings
               the
               poor
               Wretch
               in
               the
               Bryars
               .
            
          
           
             
               Thus
               Villains
               bout
               Ten
               ,
               the
               worst
               scum
               of
               men
               ,
            
             
               (
               While
               the
               
                 Godly
                 Party
              
               maintain
               'em
            
             
               All
               England
               do
               govern
               ,
               and
               each
               such
               a
               Sov'reign
               ,
            
             
               The
               King
               must
               not
               speak
               again
               '
               em
               .
            
          
           
             
               Old
               Noll
               and
               Dad
               Nick
               have
               taught
               'em
               the
               trick
            
             
               To
               
                 Make
                 Plots
              
               ,
               and
               then
               to
               Reveal
               'em
               :
            
             
               Thus
               runs
               round
               the
               Jig
               of
               Politick
               Whig
               ,
            
             
               Sure
               Pardon
               ,
               if
               they
               do
               not
               conceal
               '
               em
               .
            
          
           
             
               Then
               inspir'd
               they
               bring
               in
               for
               sad
               men
               of
               sin
            
             
               Any
               one
               that
               is
               Honest
               and
               Loyal
               :
            
             
               But
               if
               Pardon
               's
               deny'd
               ,
               all
               flock
               on
               
               Fitz-side
               ,
            
             
               To
               hector
               the
               Mercy
               Royal.
               
            
          
           
             
               Thus
               most
               men
               for
               fears
               dare
               not
               for
               their
               ears
            
             
               But
               Whig
               and
               his
               Rout
               to
               second
               ;
            
             
               Which
               if
               they
               refuse
               ,
               they
               're
               far
               
                 worse
                 than
                 Jews
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               Papists
               or
               Traytors
               are
               reckon'd
               .
            
          
           
             
               And
               ev'ry
               poor
               Ape
               who
               for
               Changes
               does
               gape
               ,
            
             
               And
               to
               be
               preferr'd
               by
               the
               Party
               ,
            
             
               To
               help
               
                 Good
                 Old
                 Cause
              
               wide
               stretches
               his
               ●aws
               ,
            
             
               With
               loud
               Lies
               to
               shew
               himself
               hearty
               .
            
          
           
             
               And
               those
               Worthies
               Three
               ,
               
                 Care
                 ,
                 Vile
              
               &
               Langley
               ,
            
             
               Do
               publish
               as
               fast
               as
               they
               make
               them
               :
            
             
               The
               
                 being
                 in
                 Print
              
               ,
               signifies
               something
               in
               't
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               Rabble
               for
               Gospel
               mistake
               them
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               Mean
               while
               Pendent
               laughs
               ,
               and
               at
               Byter
               scoffs
               ,
            
             
               And
               at
               's
               hot-headed
               Zeal
               does
               flout-a
               ;
            
             
               The
               Coxcomb
               to
               see
               thus
               shaking
               the
               Tree
               ,
            
             
               While
               he
               's
               ready
               to
               gather
               the
               Fruit-a
               .
            
          
           
             
               Let
               Papists
               be
               hang'd
               ,
               and
               Presbyters
               damn'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               may
               goggle-ey'd
               Traytors
               perish
               ,
            
             
               But
               let
               
                 true
                 hearts
              
               sing
               ,
               
                 Long
                 live
              
               Charles
               
                 our
                 King
              
               ,
            
             
               The
               Church
               and
               the
               State
               to
               cherish
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Raree
             Show
             ;
             Or
             ,
             The
             True-Protestant-Procession
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               The
               Northumberland-man
            
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               THis
               is
               the
               Cabal
               of
               some
               
                 Prot.
                 Lords
              
               ,
            
             
               A
               forging
               the
               turn
               that
               
                 not
                 long
                 since
              
               they
               had
               ;
            
             
               Here
               
                 W
                 —
                 ton
              
               sitteth
               ,
               and
               searcheth
               Records
               ,
            
             
               To
               
                 find
                 flaws
              
               in
               
                 good
                 Statutes
              
               ,
               and
               varnish
               the
               bad
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               This
               is
               the
               Lord
               Toney
               that
               slily
               sits
               here
               ,
            
             
               Who
               to
               sham
               and
               contrive
               has
               never
               deny'd
               ;
            
             
               And
               rather
               than
               th'
               Cause
               shou'd
               fall
               thro'
               his
               fear
               ,
            
             
               He
               'll
               let
               out
               Rebellion
               by
               broaching
               his
               side
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               This
               is
               popular
               Perkin
               that
               smirks
               &
               looks
               gay
               ,
            
             
               The
               women
               extoll
               the
               Spark
               up
               to
               the
               Sky
               ▪
            
             
               None
               danceth
               with
               so
               great
               a
               grace
               ,
               as
               they
               say
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               somebody
               thinks
               that
               he
               capers
               too
               high
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Here
               flourishing
               E
               —
               ,
               the
               Tongue
               o'
               th'
               Gang
               ,
            
             
               With
               
                 Rhetorical
                 Artifice
              
               fancies
               fine
               things
               ;
            
             
               First
               vainly
               composeth
               a
               
                 taking
                 Harangue
              
               ,
            
             
               Then
               fosters
               a
               Villain
               in
               
                 Libelling
                 Kings
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Here
               's
               
                 Doctor
                 Informant
              
               ,
               that
               ne'r
               wou'd
               stick
               out
            
             
               To
               traffique
               in
               Oaths
               ,
               or
               tell
               a
               State-lie
               ;
            
             
             
               Observe
               how
               he
               firks
               all
               the
               Jesuits
               about
               ,
            
             
               First
               
                 blaws
                 on
                 a
                 Beuk
              
               ,
               and
               so
               
                 Papists
                 God
                 b'we
                 ye
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Here
               's
               Wilmore
               ,
               that
               's
               troubl'd
               with
               scruples
               and
               stings
               ,
            
             
               His
               
                 Citizens
                 Conscience
              
               is
               nice
               and
               demure
               ,
            
             
               A
               
               Traytor
               's
               indicted
               for
               Treas'nable
               things
               ;
            
             
               But
               he
               tells
               you
               'tis
               false
               ,
               he
               's
               a
               Protestant
               sure
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               These
               are
               some
               sage
               Citizens
               that
               you
               see
               there
               ,
            
             
               Who
               (
               out
               of
               their
               Zeal
               all
               our
               Rights
               to
               maintain
               ,
            
             
               And
               to
               keep
               out
               all
               Slav'ry
               )
               have
               taken
               a
               care
            
             
               To
               put
               up
               in
               the
               Streets
               two
               Posts
               and
               a
               Chain
               .
            
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               These
               are
               some
               Apprentices
               still
               do
               retain
            
             
               Some
               Tenets
               their
               Masters
               approve
               and
               allow
               ;
            
             
               They
               come
               to
               direct
               a
               
                 wise
                 Monarch
              
               to
               Reign
               ,
            
             
               '
               Stead
               of
               sweeping
               their
               Shop
               ,
               and
               cleaning
               of
               Shoes
               .
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               This
               is
               the
               Committee
               where
               
               Grievance
               ●s
               scann'd
               ,
            
             
               Which
               remonstrates
               dangers
               that
               threat●n
               the
               State
               :
            
             
               Good
               service
               is
               here
               by
               suspicion
               trepann'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               Allegiance
               is
               reckon'd
               Malignancy
               strait
               .
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               Here
               's
               the
               
                 Synod
                 of
                 Saints
              
               ,
               that
               will
               sometimes
               refresh
            
             
               The
               failings
               of
               Nature
               with
               means
               of
               their
               own
               ;
            
             
               They
               'll
               preach
               you
               
                 the
                 mortification
                 of
                 Flesh
              
            
             
               With
               
                 Eyes
                 up
                 to
                 Heav'n
              
               ,
               and
               
                 Breeches
                 let
                 down
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               11.
               
            
             
               These
               are
               the
               Cabal
               of
               the
               Covenantiers
               ,
            
             
               That
               think
               they
               maintain
               the
               Religion
               the
               best
            
             
               By
               pulling
               down
               Churches
               and
               their
               Overseers
               ,
            
             
               And
               routing
               the
               
                 Defender
                 of
                 Faith
              
               with
               the
               rest
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               12.
               
            
             
               These
               are
               the
               Remains
               of
               the
               
                 Levelling
                 Rump
              
               ,
            
             
               That
               stink
               in
               the
               House
               ,
               and
               fresh
               Commons
               annoy
               ;
            
             
               And
               lest
               the
               
                 right
                 James
              
               shou'd
               be
               turn'd
               up
               Trump
               ,
            
             
               They
               cry
               out
               ,
               
                 A
                 Court
                 Card
                 will
                 their
                 gaming
                 destroy
              
            
          
           
             
               13.
               
            
             
               That
               Lumber
               of
               Trumpery
               buzzing
               abou●
               ▪
            
             
               Are
               silly
               Subscribers
               that
               come
               at
               first
               dash
               ,
            
             
               To
               make
               up
               a
               large
               
                 Petitioning
                 Rout
              
            
             
               Of
               Link-boys
               ,
               and
               all
               such
               
                 True-Protestant
                 trash
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               14.
               
            
             
               These
               there
               are
               the
               Hucksters
               that
               Treason
               retail
               ,
            
             
               They
               'll
               sell
               you
               a
               sheet
               with
               a
               penymorth
               in
               't
               .
            
             
               That
               's
               
                 Courantier
                 Care
              
               ,
               that
               never
               will
               fail
            
             
               To
               scrible
               ,
               while
               Langley
               dares
               publish
               and
               print
               .
            
          
           
             
               15.
               
            
             
               That
               's
               the
               Club
               of
               a
               pack
               of
               ingenious
               Friends
               ,
            
             
               That
               made
               Charles
               a
               
               Scotch-Pedlar
               ●th
               
                 Raree
                 Show
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               I
               hope
               that
               our
               Monarch
               ,
               to
               make
               'em
               amends
               ,
            
             
               Will
               give
               them
               a
               Yard
               of
               
                 St.
                 Johnstons
              
               or
               two
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Pot-Companions
             ;
             Or
             ,
             Drinking
             and
             Smoaking
             preferr'd
             before
             Caballing
             and
             Plotting
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Thus
               all
               the
               day
               long
               we
               're
               frolick
               and
               gay
               .
            
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               COme
               make
               a
               good
               Toast
               ,
            
             
               and
               stir
               up
               the
               Fire
               ,
            
             
               And
               fill
               the
               great
               Tankard
            
             
               of
               what
               we
               admire
               :
            
             
               Then
               bring
               in
               a
               Paper
            
             
               of
               excellent
               Fogoe
               ,
            
             
               That
               we
               may
               perfume
            
             
               the
               whole
               house
               with
               the
               〈◊〉
            
             
             
               And
               here
               let
               us
               sit
            
             
               Like
               honest
               brave
               Fellows
               ,
            
             
               That
               neither
               are
               Tories
            
             
               Nor
               Whigs
               in
               an
               Ale-house
               .
            
             
               
                 And
                 here
                 let
                 us
                 sit
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               We
               'll
               raise
               no
               disputes
            
             
               Of
               the
               Church
               nor
               the
               State
               ,
            
             
               To
               waken
               the
               PLOT
               ,
            
             
               which
               has
               slept
               out
               its
               date
               ;
            
             
               Nor
               came
               we
               to
               treat
            
             
               of
               the
               Cities
               great
               Charter
               ,
            
             
               But
               only
               to
               drink
            
             
               to
               the
               Sons
               of
               the
               Martyr
               :
            
             
               For
               better
               it
               is
            
             
               to
               be
               honestly
               Sotting
               ,
            
             
               Than
               live
               to
               be
               hang'd
            
             
               For
               Caballing
               and
               Plotting
               .
            
             
               
                 For
                 better
                 it
                 is
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Since
               Freedom
               or
               Death
            
             
               is
               not
               in
               our
               power
               ,
            
             
               What
               have
               we
               to
               do
            
             
               with
               the
               Lords
               in
               the
               Tower
               ?
            
             
               We
               'll
               leave
               them
               to
               Justice
               ,
            
             
               let
               that
               take
               its
               course
               ,
            
             
               And
               set
               ev'ry
               Saddle
            
             
               upon
               the
               right
               Horse
               ;
            
             
               Though
               the
               Witnesses
               fade
               ,
            
             
               and
               the
               Plot
               's
               almost
               rotten
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               Presbyter-Jack
            
             
               will
               ne'r
               be
               forgotten
               .
            
             
               
                 Though
                 the
                 Witnesses
                 fade
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
             
               4.
               
            
             
               We
               have
               nothing
               to
               do
            
             
               with
               the
               Feuds
               of
               the
               Nation
               ,
            
             
               With
               old
               
                 Magna
                 Charta
              
               ,
            
             
               nor
               the
               Association
               ▪
            
             
               Let
               Shaftsbury
               fancy
            
             
               himself
               to
               be
               crowning
               ,
            
             
               Or
               beg
               his
               Quietus
               ,
            
             
               and
               venture
               a
               Drowning
               ;
            
             
               Let
               Black-coat
               swear
               on
               ,
            
             
               and
               raise
               up
               his
               story
               :
            
             
               That
               's
               nothing
               to
               us
               ,
            
             
               let
               the
               Saints
               have
               their
               glory
               .
            
             
               
                 Let
                 Black-coat
                 swear
                 on
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Though
               the
               Spaniards
               were
               landed
               ,
            
             
               which
               Bedlow
               recounted
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               the
               Commissions
            
             
               which
               Coat
               gave
               were
               mounted
               ;
            
             
               And
               little
               
                 Don
                 John
              
            
             
               did
               lead
               these
               brave
               Fellows
               ,
            
             
               The
               Devil
               a
               foot
            
             
               would
               we
               stir
               from
               the
               Ale
               house
               :
            
             
               When
               they
               have
               rais'd
               Armies
            
             
               by
               praying
               and
               winking
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               we
               that
               maintain
               them
            
             
               with
               Smoaking
               and
               Drinking
               ▪
            
             
               
                 When
                 they
                 have
                 rais'd
                 Armies
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Then
               away
               to
               the
               King
               ,
            
             
               let
               the
               Tankard
               go
               round
               ;
            
             
               May
               the
               Plots
               and
               the
               Plotters
            
             
               each
               other
               confound
               :
            
             
               To
               His
               Highness
               the
               Duke
               ,
            
             
               and
               the
               Royal
               Successors
               ,
            
             
             
               And
               every
               Member
            
             
               of
               Loyal
               Addressers
               ;
            
             
               To
               the
               honest
               Lord
               Mayor
               ,
            
             
               and
               all
               other
               old
               Christians
               ;
            
             
               But
               guard
               us
               ,
               good
               Lord
               ,
            
             
               from
               these
               whining
               Philistims
               .
            
             
               
                 To
                 the
                 honest
                 Lord
                 Mayor
              
               ,
               &c.
               
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Bully
             Whig
             ;
             Or
             ,
             The
             poor
             Whores
             Lamentation
             for
             the
             Apprehending
             Sir
             
               Thomas
               Armstrong
            
             .
          
           
             Tune
             ,
             
               Ah!
               Cruel
               bloody
               Fate
            
             !
             &c.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               AH
               !
               Cruel
               bloody
               Tom
               !
            
             
               What
               could'st
               thou
               hope
               for
               more
               ,
            
             
               Than
               to
               receive
               the
               Doom
            
             
               Of
               all
               thy
               Crimes
               before
               ?
            
             
               For
               all
               thy
               bold
               Conspiracies
            
             
               Thy
               Head
               must
               pay
               the
               score
               ;
            
             
               Thy
               Cheats
               and
               Lies
               ,
            
             
               Thy
               Box
               and
               Dice
               ,
            
             
               Will
               serve
               thy
               turn
               no
               more
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               ●ngrateful
               thankless
               Wretch
               !
            
             
               How
               could'st
               thou
               hope
               in
               vain
            
             
               ●out
               the
               reach
               of
               Ketch
               )
            
             
               Thy
               Treasons
               to
               maintain
               ?
            
             
               For
               Murders
               long
               since
               done
               and
               past
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               Pardons
               hast
               had
               store
               ,
            
             
               And
               yet
               would'st
               still
            
             
               Stab
               on
               ,
               and
               kill
               ,
            
             
               As
               if
               thou
               hop'dst
               for
               more
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               Yet
               Tom
               ,
               e'r
               he
               would
               starve
               ,
            
             
               More
               Blood
               resolv'd
               to'●e
               spilt
               ;
            
             
             
               Thy
               flight
               did
               only
               serve
            
             
               To
               justifie
               thy
               Guilt
               :
            
             
               While
               They
               whose
               harmless
               Innocence
            
             
               Submit
               to
               Chains
               at
               home
               ,
            
             
               Are
               each
               day
               freed
               ,
            
             
               While
               Traytors
               bleed
               ,
            
             
               And
               suffer
               in
               their
               room
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               When
               Whigs
               a
               PLOT
               did
               Vote
               ,
            
             
               What
               Peer
               from
               Justice
               fled
               ?
            
             
               In
               the
               FANATICK
               PLOT
            
             
               Tom
               durst
               not
               shew
               his
               Head.
            
             
               Now
               Sacred
               Justice
               rules
               above
               ,
            
             
               The
               Guiltless
               are
               set
               free
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               Napper's
               napt
               ,
            
             
               And
               Clapper
               clapt
               ,
            
             
               In
               his
               CONSPIRACY
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Like
               Cain
               ,
               thou
               hadst
               a
               Mark
            
             
               Of
               Murder
               on
               thy
               Brow
               ;
            
             
               Remote
               ,
               and
               in
               the
               dark
               ,
            
             
               Black
               Guilt
               did
               still
               pursue
               ;
            
             
               Nor
               
                 England
                 ,
                 Holland
                 France
              
               ,
               or
               Spain
               ;
            
             
               The
               Traytor
               can
               defend
               ;
            
             
               He
               will
               be
               found
            
             
               In
               Fetters
               bound
               ,
            
             
               To
               pay
               for
               't
               in
               the
               end
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Tom
               might
               about
               the
               Town
            
             
               Have
               bully'd
               ,
               huff'd
               and
               roar'd
               ,
            
             
               By
               every
               Venus
               known
               ,
            
             
               Been
               for
               a
               Ma●s
               ador'd
               :
            
             
               By
               friendly
               Pimping
               ,
               and
               false
               Dice
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               might'st
               have
               longer
               liv'd
               ,
            
             
             
               Hector'd
               and
               shamm'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               swore
               and
               gam'd
               ,
            
             
               Hadst
               thou
               no
               Plots
               contriv'd
               .
            
          
           
             
               7
            
             
               Tom
               once
               was
               Cock-a-hoop
            
             
               Of
               all
               the
               Huffs
               in
               Town
               ;
            
             
               But
               now
               his
               Pride
               must
               stoop
               ,
            
             
               His
               Courage
               is
               pull'd
               down
               :
            
             
               So
               long
               his
               Spurs
               are
               grown
               ,
               poor
               Tom
            
             
               Can
               neither
               fly
               nor
               fight
               ;
            
             
               Ah
               Cruel
               Fate
               !
            
             
               That
               at
               this
               rate
            
             
               The
               '
               Squire
               should
               foil
               the
               Knight
               !
            
          
           
             
               8
               ▪
            
             
               But
               now
               no
               remedy
               ,
            
             
               It
               being
               his
               just
               Reward
               ;
            
             
               In
               his
               own
               Trap
               ,
               you
               see
               ,
            
             
               The
               ●ygre
               is
               ensnar'd
               :
            
             
               So
               may
               all
               Traytors
               fare
               ,
               till
               all
            
             
               Who
               for
               their
               Guilt
               did
               fly
               ,
            
             
               With
               Bully
               Tom
            
             
               By
               timely
               Doom
               ,
            
             
               Like
               Him
               ,
               unpity'd
               die
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             Jealous
             Ladies
             Complaint
             .
          
           
             To
             an
             Excellent
             New
             Tune
             .
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               TEll
               me
               no
               more
               ,
            
             
               There
               must
               be
               something
               in
               't
               ;
            
             
               Think
               what
               you
               swore
            
             
               When
               first
               you
               did
               begin't
               ,
            
             
               That
               n●n●
               but
               I
            
             
               Could
               e●r
               your
               heart
               suffice
               ;
            
             
               And
               my
               Eyes
               and
               my
               Thighs
               ,
            
             
               How
               your
               mind
               it
               did
               surprize
               :
            
             
               But
               now
               ,
               
                 You
                 Bitch
                 ,
                 you
                 look
                 so
                 leam
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 You
                 damn'd
                 confounded
                 stinking
                 Quean
              
               ,
            
             
               Are
               all
               the
               words
               that
               I
               can
               gain
            
             
               For
               my
               great
               pain
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Can
               you
               forget
            
             
               The
               ●oys
               you
               did
               delight
               in
               ,
            
             
               And
               those
               great
               Pleasures
            
             
               You
               us●d
               to
               spend
               the
               night
               in
               ?
            
             
               When
               with
               sweet
               Raptures
            
             
               So
               close
               you
               did
               embrace
               ▪
            
             
               And
               your
               Love
               us'd
               to
               move
            
             
               In
               another
               pretty
               place
               ;
            
             
               But
               now
               you
               turn
               away
               your
               head
               ,
            
             
               And
               there
               you
               lie
               as
               tho'
               you
               're
               dead
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               the
               joys
               I
               had
               in
               Bed
            
             
               Are
               gone
               and
               fled
               .
            
          
        
      
       
         
         
           ANAGRAM
           and
           ACROSTICK
           On
           the
           Salamanca-Sizer
           .
        
         
           
             Ana
             
               
                 TITUS
                 OATS
                 ,
              
               
                 JUST
                 A
                 SOT
                 .
              
            
             gram
             .
          
           
             WHen
             Adam
             proper
             Names
             on
             Beasts
             conferr'd
             ,
          
           
             The
             Salamanca-Doctor
             was
             i'
             th'
             Herd
             ;
          
           
             The
             Midwife
             ,
             she
             fore-saw
             't
             wou'd
             prove
             a
             Dunce
             ,
          
           
             So
             gave
             him
             Name
             and
             Character
             at
             once
             :
          
           
             Which
             but
             unfold
             ,
             and
             joyn
             again
             with
             Art
             ,
          
           
             Both
             Sot
             and
             Drunkard
             lurk
             in
             ev'ry
             part
             ;
          
           
             Nor
             in
             his
             Temper
             thus
             alone
             betray'd
             ,
          
           
             'T
             is
             on
             his
             Face
             in
             
               Ruby
               Signs
            
             display'd
             .
          
           
             Well
             may
             we
             doubt
             the
             Gospel
             of
             that
             PLOT
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             chiefest
             Evidence
             is
             
               JUST
               A
               SOT
            
             .
          
        
         
           
             An
             ACROSTICK
          
           
             Traytor
             to
             God
             ,
             damn'd
             Source
             of
             Blasphemy
             ,
          
           
             Insect
             of
             Hell
             ,
             grand
             Mass
             of
             Perjury
             ;
          
           
             Thorough-pac'd
             Villain
             ,
             second
             unto
             none
             ,
          
           
             Vnless
             to
             Judas
             ,
             (
             if
             by
             Him
             out-done
             ;
             )
          
           
             Satans
             black
             Agent
             ,
             Hells
             Monopoly
          
           
             Of
             all
             that
             's
             called
             Sin
             and
             Villainy
             ;
          
           
             A
             cursed
             Parent
             of
             an
             Hell-bred
             Brood
             ,
          
           
             Teacher
             of
             Lies
             ,
             Spiller
             of
             guiltless
             Blood
             ;
          
           
             Englands
             dark
             Cloud
             ,
             eclipsing
             all
             her
             Glory
             ;
          
           
             Satans
             Delight
             ,
             and
             Hells
             Repository
             .
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
      
    
     
       
         Notes, typically marginal, from the original text
         
           Notes for div A62418-e123160
           
             *
             To
             the
             Butchers
             Wife
             
          
        
      
    
  

