A COLLECTION OF The Newest and Most Ingenious Poems, Songs, Catches, etc. AGAINST POPERY. Relating to the Times. Several of which never before Printed.  
LONDON, Printed in the Year, MDCLXXXIX.   

The CONTENTS.  

THE Man of Honour, occasioned by the Postscript of Pen' s Letter.  
To the Haters of Popery, by what Names or Titles soever Dignified or Distinguished.  
A New Song upon the Hogen mogen's.  
The Poets Address to the King.  
To the King's most Excellent Majesty, The humble Address of the Atheists, or the Sect of the Epicureans.  
The Dream.  
The Vision.  
The Converts.  
The Audience.  
An Epistle to Mr. Dryden.  
A Dialogue.  
Over the Lord D— r' s Door. A Lampoon.  
Another, Over the Lord S—ry' s Door.  
To the Speaking-Head.  
The Ghost.  
A Dialogue between a Loyal Addressor, and a blunt Whiggish Clown.  
The Hieroglyphic.  
To the respective Judges.  
To Tyburn.  
The Advice.  
On the Q—'s Conception.  
A New Song.  
A New Song of an Orange.  
The Orange, another Song.  
Religious Relics: or, the Sale at the Savoy; upon the Jesuits breaking up their School and Chapel.  
A Ballad. To the Tune of Couragio.  
Private Occurrences: or, the Transactions of the four last Years, written in imitation of the old Ballad of hay brave Oliver, Ho brave Oliver, etc.  
Protestantism Revived: or the Persecuted Church Triumphing.  
The Observator: or, the History of Hodge, as reported by some from his siding with Noll, and his scribbling for Rome.  
A New Protestant Litany.  
The Laureate.  
A View of the Religion of the Town, or a Sunday-Mornings Ramble.  
The Papists Examination, on his Highness the Prince of Orange' s Arrival in London.  
A New Song on the Calling of a Free Parliament.  
A New Song.  
A New Catch.  
A New Catch in praise of the Reverend Bishops.  
The Farewell.  
Tom Tyler, or the Nurse.  
The Explanation. To the Tune of Hey Boys up go we.  
A New Song on the Prince and Princess of Orange.  
Packington' s Pound.    

The Man of Honour, Occasioned by the Postscript of Pen's Letter.  

NOT all the Threats or Favours of a Crown,  
A Prince's whisper, or a Tyrant's frown,  
Can awe the Spirit, or allure the Mind  
Of him who to strict Honour is inclined;  
Tho' all the pomp and pleasure that does wait  
On public Places and affairs of State,  
Should fond court him to be base and great.  
With even passions and with settled face  
He would remove the Harlot's false embrace,  
Tho' all the Storms and Tempests should arise  
That Church-Magicians in their Cells devise,  
And from their settled Basis Nations tear,  
He would unmoved the mighty ruin bear;  
Secure in Innocence contemn 'em all,  
And decently arrayed in Honour's fall.   

For this brave Shrewsbury and Lumly's Name  
Shall stand the foremost in the List of Fame,  
Who first with steady minds the Current broke,  
And to the suppliant Monarch boldly spoke.   

Great SIR, renowned for Constancy, how just  
Have we obeyed the Crown, and served our Trust;  
Espoused your Cause and Interest in distress.  
Yourself must witness, and our Foes confess!  
Permit us then ill Fortune to accuse,  
That you at last unhappy Counsels, use,  
And ask the only thing we must refuse.  
Our Lives and Fortunes freely well expose,  
Honour alone we cannot, must not lose:  
Honour that spark of the Celestial Fire,  
That above Nature makes Mankind aspire;  
Ennobles the rude passions of our frame  
With thirst of Glory and desire of Fame.  
The richest Treasure of a generous breast  
That gives the Stamp, and Standard to the rest.  
Wit, Strength, and Courage, are wild dangerous force,  
Unless this softens and directs their Course,  
And would you rob us of the Noblest part,  
Accept a Sacrifice without a Heart?  
'Tis much beneath the Greatness of a Throne,  
To take the Casker when the Jewel's gone:  
Debauch our Principles, corrupt our Race,  
And teach the Nobles to be false and base!  
What confidence can you in them repose,  
Who e'er they serve, you all their value lose;  
Who once enslave their Conscience to their Lust,  
Have lost the Reins, and can no more be just.  
Of Honour Men at first like Women nice,  
Raise Maiden-scruples at unpractised Vice;  
Their modest Nature curbs the struggling flame,  
And stifles what they wish to act, with shame;  
But once this Fence thrown down, when they perceive  
That they may taste forbidden fruit and live;  
They stop not here their course, but safely in,  
Grow strong, luxuriant, and bold in sin;  
True to no Principles, press forward still,  
And only bound by Appetite their Will:  
Now fawn and flatter while this Tide prevails,  
But shift with every veering blast their Sails:  
Mark those that meanly truckle to your power,  
They once deserted and changed sides before,  
And would to morrow Mahomet adore!  
On higher Springs true Men of Honour move,  
Free is their Service, and unbought their Love:  
When danger calls, and Honour leads the way,  
With Joy they follow, and with Pride obey:  
When the rebellious Foe came rolling on,  
And shook with gathering multitudes the Throne;  
Where were the Minions then? What arms, what force,  
Could they oppose to stop the Torrent's course.  
Then Pembroke, than the Nobles firmly stood,  
Free of their Lives, and lavish of their Blood;  
But when your Orders to mean ends decline,  
With the same Constancy they all resign.   

Thus spoke the Youth, who opened first the way,  
And was the Phosphorus to the dawning day;  
Followed by a more glorious splendid host,  
Than any Age, or any Realm can boast:  
So great their fame, so numerous the train,  
To name were endless, and to praise in vain;  
But Herbert, and great OXFORD merit more,  
Bold is their flight, and more sublime they soar:  
So high, their Virtue as yet wants a name  
Exceeding wonder, and surpassing fame:  
Rise, glorious Church, erect thy radiant head,  
The Storm is past, th' impending Tempest fled:  
Had fate decreed thy Ruin or Disgrace,  
It had not given such Sons, so brave a Race.  
When for Destruction Heaven a Realm designs,  
The symptoms first appear in slavish Minds:  
These Men would prop a sinking Nations weight,  
Stop falling Vegeance, and reverse even Fate.  
Let other Nations boast their fruitful soil,  
Their fragrant Spices, their rich Wine and Oil;  
In breathing Colours, and in living Paint  
Let them excel; their Mastery we grant.  
But to instruct the Mind, to arm the Soul  
With Virtue which no dangers can control;  
Exalt the Thought, a speedy Courage lend,  
That Horror cannot shake, or Pleasure bend:  
These are the English Arts, these we profess,  
To be the same in Misery and Success;  
To teach Oppressor's Law, assist the good,  
Relieve the wretched, and subdue the proud:  
Such are our Souls; But what doth Worth avail  
When Kings commit to hungry Priests the Scale?  
All Merit's light when they dispose the weight,  
Who either would embroil, or rule the State.  
Defame those Hero's who their Yoke refuse,  
And blast that Honesty they cannot use;  
The strength and safety of the Crown destroy,  
And the King's power against himself employ:  
Affront his Friends, deprive him of the brave,  
Bereft of these he must become their slave.  
Men like our Money, come the most in play  
For being base, and of a coarse allay;  
The richest Medals, and the purest Gold  
Of native value and exactest mould,  
By worth concealed, in private Closets shine,  
For vulgar use too precious and too fine,  
Whilst Tin and Copper with new stamping bright,  
Coins of base Metal, counterfeit and light  
Do all the business of the Nations turn,  
Raised in Contempt, used and employed in Scorn;  
So shining Virtues are for Courts too bright,  
Whose guilty Actions fly their searching light;  
Rich in themselves, disdaining to aspire,  
Great without pomp they willingly retire:  
Give place to Fools, whose rash misjudging sense  
Increases the weak Measures of their Prince;  
Prone to admire, and flatter him in ease,  
They study not his good, but how to please;  
They blindly and implicitly run on,  
Nor see those dangers which the others eat:  
Who slow to act, each business duly weigh,  
Advise with Freedom, and with Care obey;  
With Wisdom fatal to their Interest strive  
To make their Monarch loved, and Nation thrive;  
Such have no place where Priests and Women reign,  
Who love fierce Drivers, and a loser Rein.    

To the Haters of Popery, by what Names or Titles soever dignified or distinguished.  

THus 'twas of old: then Israel felt the rod,  
When they obeyed their Kings, and not their God;  
When they went whoring after other Loves,  
To worship Idols in new planted Groves.  
They made their Gods of Silver, Wood and Stone,  
And bowed and worshipped them when they had done.  
And to complete their sins in every way,  
They made 'em things called Priests: Priests did I say,  
A Crew of Villains more profane than they.  
Hence sprung that Romish Crew, first spawned in hell,  
Who now in vice their Pedagogues excel;  
Their Church consists of vicious Popes, the rest  
Are whoring Nuns, and bawdy Bugg'ring Priests.  
A Noble Church! daubed with Religious Paint,  
Each Priest's a Stallion, every Rogue's a Saint.  
Come you that Loath this Brood: this murdering Crew  
Your Predecessors well their mercies knew.  
Take courage now, and be both bold and wise;  
Stand for your Laws, Religion, Liberties,  
You have the odds, the Law is still your own,  
They're but your Traitors, therefore pull 'em down;  
They struck with fear for to destroy your Laws  
There, raving mad, you see they fix their paws,  
Because from them they fear their fatal fall,  
And by them Laws, they know you'll hang 'em all,  
Then keep your Laws, the Penal and the rest,  
And give your Lives up  you give the Test.  
And thou great Church of England hold thy own,  
Force you they may, otherwise give up none.  
Robbers and Thiefs must count for what 've done;  
Let all thy mighty pillars now appear  
Zealous and brave, void both of hate and fear.  
That Popish Fops may grin, lie, cheat and whine;  
And curse their Faith, while all admire thine.  
And thou Brave Oxford, Cambridge, and the rest,  
Great Hough and Fairfax, that durst beard the Beast.  
Let all the Just with thanks record their name  
On standing Pillars of immortal fame.   
Let God arise, and, his Enemies perish.   

A New Song upon the Hogen, Mogen's.  

D'ye hear the News of the Dutch dear Frank,  
Sutterkin, Hogen, Herring, Van Dunk;  
That they intent to play us a Prank,  
Sutterkin, Hogen, Herring, Van Dunk; [Van Dunk;  
Hogen, Mogen, Hogen, Mogen, Sutterkin, Hogen, Herring,  
Hogen, Mogen, Hogen, Mogen, etc.  
But if they boldly dare come ashore,  
Sutterkin, etc.  
Some may repent themselves full sore,  
Sutterkin, etc.  
Hogen, Mogen,  
For the brave English, Irish, and Scotch,  
Sutterkin, etc.  
Will in their Guts, make such a hotchpotch,  
Sutterkin, etc.  
Hogen, Mogen, etc.  
Better they'd stuck to the Herring Trade,  
Sutterkin, etc.  
For, in Pickle, themselves shall be laid,  
Sutterkin, etc.  
Hogen, Mogen, etc.  
What, though they have laid their Heads together,  
Sutterkin, etc.  
No Orange can thrive if't prove bad weather,  
Sutterkin, etc.  
Hogen, Mogen, etc.  
Woe be to them, if Dartmouth the Great,  
Sutterkin, etc.  
Should fall upon them with his whole Fleet,  
Sutterkin, etc.  
Hogen, Mogen, etc.  
Pass not Port- Bay, for fear it should Frieze,  
Sutterkin, etc.  
For then, I fack, your Orange we'll squeeze,  
Sutterkin, etc.  
Hogen, Mogen, etc.    

To the King's most Excellent Majesty.  
The humble Address of the Master Poet Laureate, and other the Catholic and Protestant Dissenters, Rhymers, with the rest of the fraternity of Minor Poets, Inferior Versifiers, and sometime of the Corporation of Parnassus, showeth,  

THAT we your Majesty's poor Slaves,  
Your merry Beggars, witty Knaves;  
Being highly sensible how long  
A dull dry Prose addressing throng;  
Has daily vexed your Royal Ears,  
With fulsome Speeches, canting Prayers:  
Unanimously think it better  
To Address your Majesty in Meeter.   

GReat Sir, your healing Declaration  
Hath cured a bare distempered Nation,  
The godly hug it for the ease,  
It gives to squeemish Consciences;  
And by the Mamonists 'tis made,  
The great encouragement to Trade;  
But we must reckon it in our Sense,  
A gracious Poetic Licence:  
'Tis your peculiar Excellency,  
To Indulge Religion to a frenzy;  
And our Religion is our fancy;  
For which we judge 'twill be a crime,  
Not to present our thanks in time:  
We wish all Subjects of our mind,  
To pay like us our deuce in kind,  
That zealous Protestants would greet,  
With Laws and Tests your Royal Feet;  
That all would Sacrifice in course,  
Their stubborn Consciences to yours:  
That Academies would oppose  
On no pretence your Royal cause,  
But quit the Oaths and Founders Laws:  
And no more grudge your Soldier's Quarters,  
That Corporations yield their Charters;  
That Burrough Towns would choose such Men  
That you shan't need send home again;  
That all fit Members take their Stations,  
Such as Sir Roger, and Sir Patience;  
That your new Friends stand every where  
Of which we recommend one pair,  
Honest Will Pen, and Harry Care;  
Dissenters will with all their Heart-a  
Vote for a Gospel Magna Charta:  
Your Judges too will over awe,  
The poor dead Letter of the Law;  
Your high Commissioners from whom  
The obstinate receive their doom,  
For trusty Catholics make room.  
Only one trusty pair of th' Nation,  
Would bind the power of Dispensation;  
For which we'll rate the Rogues again,  
With second part of Hind and Pan;  
We'll Rhyme 'em into better manners,  
And make them lowr their Paper Banners:  
Nor is it all that we will do,  
We Sir, will pray like Poets too.   

May our great God Apollo bless you,  
May June bless the budding Issue,  
May you attempt no Enemies,  
To skirmish with but Butterflies;  
Nor Eternize your martial Arms  
But in mock Siege and false Alarms,  
May you live long, see peaceful days,  
May we live to sing your praise.  
And after all may you inherit,  
The Over-plus of the Saints merit.    

To the King's Most Excellent Majesty, The Humble Address of the Atheists, or the Sect of the Epicureans.  
GREAT SIR.  
SINCE Men of all Factions and Misperswasions of Religion have presented their Thanks for your Majesty's gracious Declaration of Liberty of Conscience, we think ourselves obliged as Gentlemen to bring up the Rear, and become Addressors too. We are sure there is no Party of men more improved and advanced by your Indulgence, both as to Principles and Proselytes of England. And our Cabals are as full as your Royal Chapel, for your unlimited Toleration has freed the Nation from the troublesome Bygottries of Religion, and has taught men to conclude, That there is nothing Sacred or Divine but Trade and Empire, and nothing of such eternal Moment as Secular Interest. Your Majesty's Universal Indulgence hath introduced such unanswerable Objections and happy Interences towards all Religion, that many have given over the troublesome Enquiry after Truth, and set down that easy Inference, That all Religion is a Cheat. In particular, we can never sufficiently Congratulate and Admire that generous Passage in your Majesty's gracious Declaration, wherein you have Freed your People from the solemn Superstition of Oaths, and especially from those slavish Ceremonious ones of Supremacy and Allegiance; and are pleased to declare, That you expect no more from your People, than what they are obliged to by the Ancient Law of Nature; and so have bravely given them leave to preserve and defend themselves, according to the first Chapter of Nature's Magna Charta. Your Majesty was pleased to wish, That all your Subjects were of your own Religion, and perhaps every Divisiou wishes you were of theirs. But, for our parts, we freely declare, That if ever we should be obliged to profess any Religion, we would prefer the Church of Rome, which does not much trouble the World with the Affairs of invisible Being's, and is very Civil and Indulgent to the Failings of humane Nature That Church can ease us from the grave Fatigues of Religion, and, for our Moneys, allow us Proxies, both for Piety and Penances. We can easily swallow and digest a Wafer Deity, and Will never cavil at the Mass in an unknown Tongue, when the Sacrifice itself is so unintelligible. We shall never scruple the Adoration of an Image, when the chiefest Religion is but Imagination: And we are willing to allow the Pope an absolute Power to dispense with all Penal Laws, in this World and in another. But before we return to Rome, the greatest Origin of Atheism, we wish the Pope and all his Vassal Princes would free the World from the fear of Hell and Devils, the Inquisition and Dragoons, and that he would take off the Chimney-Money of Purgatory, and Custom and Excise of Pardons and Indulgences, which are so much inconsistent with the flourishing Trade and Grandeur of the Nation. As for the Engagements of Lives and Fortunes, the common Compliment of Addressees, we confess we have a more peculiar Tenderness for those most sacred Concernments, but yet we will hazard them in defence of your Majesty, with as much Constancy and Resolution, as your Majesty will defend your Indulgence; that is, so far as the Adventure will rerve our Designs and Interest.  
From the Devil-Tavern, the Fifth of November, 1688. Presented by Justice Baldock, and was graciously received.   

The DREAM.  

Wearied with Business, and with Cares oppressed,  
My Faculties were Dozed and fond of rest,  
An unusual heaviness did on me creep,  
My Soul Indulged it: yet I could not sleep,  
Dreams short and frightful vexed me all the Night,  
I found I was betrayed and longed for Light;  
The first such Wonders brought within my view,  
And when I waked I almost thought 'em true:  
Me thought I saw great Julius sadly lie  
Bleeding from all his Wounds, and Brutus by,  
The ungrateful Brutus which he doted on,  
With Meager Cassius pleased with what he had done,  
Crying the World and Brutus are my own;  
I nearer drew to view the Ghastly Trunk,  
But oh! the Scene was changed, Caesar was sunk,  
'Twas Charles the Second, which lay mangled there,  
The Sacrificing-Tribe too did appear,  
Brutus and Cassius, Y—k and Petre were;  
Charles weeping grasped his Brother by the hand:  
I heard him sighing say, within my Land  
A faithful pious Mother thou wilt command,  
Who in the utmost of Extremity,  
When all but her and much upbraided, I  
Would from the Crown have quite excluded thee,  
Preached up thy forfeit Title by our Laws,  
And in thy Banishment maintain thy Cause,  
Passive Obedience thee haste much in store,  
But do not Urge it to thy utmost Power:  
James to preserve Her most devoutly Swore;  
Charles died, and James discharged his Oath next hour.  
I saw the Priests flock in: the Bishops out,  
Saw Peter's cram the Wafers down his Throat,  
Tho' dead it saved the Heretic no doubt,  
I saw him poorly buried in the Night,  
A wretched Train, and a more wretched Sight,  
To me it seemed a Funeral in Disguise,  
For fear his Creditors should his Body Seize,  
I saw him shown for two pence in a Chest,  
Like Monk, Old Harry, Mary and the rest,  
And if the Figure answered its intent,  
In Ten years' time 'twould buy a Monument:  
My Fancy brought me back again to Court  
Where only Fools Advise, and Knaves Resort,  
Our Kingdom's Curse and other Nation's Sport:  
I heard the Jesuits in a grand Cabal  
Resolve to root out Heresy or fall,  
Each his particular Opinion gave,  
They cried an opportunity we have  
To Fetter Her who kept us long Her Slave;  
Immediately they pitched upon a Rule,  
How to suppress it by a forward Fool,  
A Bawling, blundering, Senseless Tool,  
Whose Mouthing at White-Chappel first began,  
Who regularly to his Greatness ran  
Through all the vile degrees of Treachery,  
And now Usurps the Court of Equity:  
He said, if you would bring the Clergy down,  
Erect a Court-Commission from the Crown,  
And for Dispencing Law let me alone,  
They hugged their Bubble, and the Deed was done;  
Petre grew Fat, and with Mandamus'  
Cankered the worthy Universities,  
The Seats of Learning Black-heads might command,  
Yet the King's Promise to the Church doth stand;  
Next Liberty of Conscience was Ordained;  
The Bishops for Contempt were then Arraigned;  
The Nobles and the Commons Closeted,  
The Penal-Laws must be Abolished,  
If you refuse, your Principles are base,  
Disloyal, and you lose our Royal Grace,  
And each that has Dependencies his Place;  
Rochester fell, the Loyal Herbert starved,  
Each that forsook his God his Monarch served,  
Somerset lost his Troops, and Shrowsbury,  
Oxford was stripped, so Scarsdale, Lumbley,  
And many more too tedious to relate,  
By whom in safety James thou now dost sit.  
When thou perceiv'dst no comfort from this Wild,  
Thy Dame immediately was quick with Child,  
The Princess at the Bath when it was Born,  
The Bishops in the Tower, yet had he sworn  
The Church of England never should be wronged,  
Upon this News the Hot-brained Papists thronged;  
I waked, and as I on my Dream reflected,  
My reasonable Notions thus projected,  
O King, I cried, thy Measures run too fast,  
And thou wilt find the Curse of it at last,  
Why dost thou wrong thy Country, shame thy Life,  
To please false Priests, and an ungrateful Wife?  
A Wife whose Character has always been  
A Fawning Duchess, and a Saucy Queen;  
How canst thou suffer Petre's Insolence,  
Who only makes a harvest of his Prince,  
A Slave to Rule Three Kingdoms Govern Thee,  
Yet ne'er was Master of a Family;  
This Serpent envying thy Happiness,  
Has crept into thy Eve whose wilfulness  
Has certainly betrayed thy Paradise,  
Discerning Hallifax thy fall soresaw,  
And early did his slighted Faith withdraw,  
He needs no pardon for the advice he gave,  
Which shows him honester than some that have.  
Under the Rose men use their mind to tell,  
But now, Myne-Heir, 'tis under the Broad-Seal;  
O Nassaw with thy promised Succours come,  
And be to us like Anthony to Rome,  
Thy Wise shall young Octavia's place supply,  
And those that have betrayed our Country fly,  
Unless the King to prove the Prince his own,  
Shall to the Lyon's-Den present his Son,  
And if the Royal Brute do not destroy  
The Infant, by Christ 'tis his none Joy.    

The VISION.  

'TWas at an hour when busy Nature lay  
Dissolved in slumbers from the noisy Day,  
When gloomy Shades and dusky Atoms spread  
A darkness o'er this Universal Bed,  
And all the gaudy beam, of light were fled;  
My fluttering fancy 'midst this silent peace,  
Careless of sleep, and unconcerned with ease,  
Drew to my wand'ring thoughts an object near,  
Strange in its form, and in appearance rare.  
Methought (yet sure it could not be a Dream,  
So real all its Imperfection, seem)  
With Princely Port a stately Monarch came,  
Airy was his mein, and Noble was his frame.  
A sullen sorrow brooded on his Brow;  
He seemed beneath some weighty Fate to bow;  
Distrust and Grief upon his Eyelids rest,  
And show the struggling troubles of his Breast.  
Upon his Head a nodding Crown he wore,  
And in his Hand a yielding Sceptre bore;  
Forlorn and careless did his strokes appear,  
And every motion spoke a wild Despair.   

This mournful Scene did all my passions move,  
And challenged both my pity and my love,  
And yet I thought him by the ruins made  
Above my pity, and beyond my aid:  
Long did he in a pensive silence stand,  
For sure his thoughts could not his words command:  
Too big for Speech—  
Till sullen murmurs from his bosom flew,  
And thus a draught of his disorders drew.   

Almighty Powers! By whose consent alone  
Ordained, I did ascend the Regal Throne,  
Led by your dark Decrees and Conduct there,  
I, as your great Vicegerent, did appear  
Beneath my Charge, whilst crowding Nations sat  
And bowed and did admire my rising Fate,  
'Twas then my Laurels fresh and blooming grew,  
And a loud Fame of all my Glories flew;  
My willing Subjects bless and clap the day,   

The bravest and the best were all my Friends;  
Whilst Faction in confusion sneaked away;   

At distance grinned, but could not reach their ends.  
Such Faith unto my Promises were shown,  
My Word they took, for Oaths were useless grown;  
My very Word composed their hopes and fears,  
Sacred 'twas held, and all serene appears.   

Until my Fate reversed did backwards reel,  
Blurred all my Fame, and altered Fortune's Wheel;  
Ye Gods! Why did ye thus unconstant prove?  
Was I the envy of th' Abodes above?  
Or was this stately Majesty but given  
To be the Cheat and Flattery even of Heaven?  
Can ne'er a Saint implore Celestial aid?  
Nor yet the Virgin Goddess Intercede?  
'Twas for her Cause engaged I suffering jye;  
'Twas to advance her just Divinity:  
Yes, I avow the Quarrel and the Cause,  
'Twas for my Faith, and to out-cope the Laws.  
I'd rather be forsaken and alone,  
Than fit a craving Monarch on a Throne:  
Let all my cringing Slaves at distance stand,  
Fawn on th' Invading Foe, and kiss his Hand;  
Leave me, their Prince, forsaken and forlorn,  
Exposed to all their slights and public scorn.  
Let after Ages judge the mighty Test,  
Judge the Magnify Grandeur of my breast.  
I saw my great forefather yet afore  
Seal all his Sacred Vows with martyred gore;  
His Royal Issue branded with disgrace,  
Saw all th' Efforts they used t' Exclude the Race:  
And yet these Terrors all I dare invade,  
Thus Conscience, thus Religion does persuade.  
I'll stand or fall by both those Tenets still,  
And be the second Martyr to my Will:  
And then he stopped, his fiery Eyeballs move,  
And thus his resisting Fate he strove,  
And stood, like Capaneus Defying Jove.   

When straight a noise, from whence it came unknown,  
Was heard to answer in an angry tone;  
Dye then unpityed Prince, for thus thy Fate  
Long since, by its Decrees, did antedate:  
To such perverseness, what regard is shown,  
What Merit couldst thou plead to mount a Throne?  
To thy repeated Wishes Heaven was kind,  
And pleased the wild Ambition of thy mind;  
It put a Sceptre in thy eager Hand,  
Yet not t' oppose the Genius of the Land;  
If Reason could not sway thy Actions here,  
heavens not obliged by Wonders to appear.   

See how thy Creatures at a distance stand,  
Skulk from thy troubles to a safer Land;  
Those who their Being's to thy bounty own,  
Forsake their fawning Cheats, and now are gone.  
Those who were Friends to thee and to thy Cause,  
Bold for their Rights, and for their Country's Cause,  
Thou, from thy darker Counsels, didst remove,  
And want their aid now they refuse their love.   

Some more imperfect found'st did reach my Ear,  
But sense returned, and daylight did appear.    

The CONVERTS.  

I Did intent in Rhimes Heroic  
To write of Converts Apostolic,  
Describe their persons and their shames,  
And leave the World to guests their Names:  
But soon I thought the scoundrel Theme  
Was for Heroic Song too mean;  
Their Characters we'll then rehearse  
In Burlesque, or in Doggerel Verse;  
Of Earls, of Lord, of Knights I'll sing,  
That changed their Faith to please their King.   

The first an Antiquated Lord,  
A walking Mummy in a word,  
Moves clothed in Plasters Aromatic,  
And Flannel, by the help of a Stick,  
And like a grave and noble Peer,  
Outlives his Sense by sixty year;  
And what an honest Man would anger,  
Outlives the Fort he built at Tanger;  
By Pox, and Whores long since undone,  
Yet loves it still, and fumbles on:  
Why he's a Favourite few can guests,  
Some say it's for his Ugliness;  
For often Monsters (being rare)  
Are valued equal to the Fair:  
For in his Mistresses, kind James  
Loves Ugliness in its extremes;  
But others say 'tis plainly seen,  
'Tis for the choice he madeo'th' Queen;  
When he the King and Nation blest  
With Offspring of the House of Est;  
A Dame whose Affability  
Equals her Generosity:  
Oh! Well matched Pair, who frugally are bend  
To live without the aids of Parliament.  
All this and more the Peer performed,  
Then to complete his Virtues, turned;  
But 'twas not Conscience, or Devotion,  
The hopes of Riches or Promotion  
That made his Lordship first to vary,  
But 'twas to please his Daughter Mary;  
And she to make retaliation,  
Is full as lewd-in her Vocation.   

The next a Caravannish Thief,  
A lazy Mass of damned Rump Beef;  
Prodigious Guts, no Brains at all,  
But very Rhynocerical,  
Was Married ere the Cub was licked,  
And now not worthy to be kicked,  
By Jockeys bubbled, forced to fly,  
To save his Coat, to Italy.  
Where Haynes and he, that Virtuous Youth,  
Equal in Honour, Sense, and Truth;  
By Reason and pure Conscience urged,  
Past Sins by Abjuration Purged:  
But 'tis believed both Rogue and Peer,  
More worldly Motives had to year;  
The Scoundrel Plebeians swerving  
Was to secure himself from starving;  
And that which made the Peer a Starter,  
Was hope of a long wished for Garter.   

Next comes a Peer who sits at Helm,  
And long has steered the giddy Realm  
With Tailor's motion, mein, and grace,  
But a right Statesman in Grimace;  
The Sneer, the Cringe, and then by turns,  
The dully grave, the frowns and scorns,  
Promises all, but nought performs:  
But how e'er great he's in Promotion,  
He's very humble in Devotion;  
With Taper light, and Feet all bare,  
He to the Temple did repair,  
And knocking softly at the Portal,  
Cried, Pity (Fathers) a poor Mortal,  
And for a Sinner make some room,  
A Prodigal returned home.  
Some say that in that very hour,  
Convert Mall Megs arrived at door;  
So both with Penitent Grimace,  
Statesman and Bawd with humble paco  
Entered, and were received to grace.   

The next a Knight of high Command  
Twixt London-Bridge, and Dover-Sand;  
A Man of strict and holy Life,  
Taking example from his Wife;  
He to a Nunnery sent her packing,  
Lest they should take each other napping.  
Some say L'Estrange did him beget,  
But that he wants his Chin and Wit;  
Good natured, as you may observe,  
Letting his Titular Father starve,  
A Man of Sense and Parts we know it,  
But dares as well be damned as show it;  
Bribed by himself, his trusty Servant  
At Kings-Bench-Bar appeared most fervent  
Against his Honour for the Test,  
To him 'twas Gain, to all Mankind a Jest.   

Blue-Bonnet Lords a numerous store,  
Whose best Example is they're Poor;  
Merely drawn in in hopes of Gains,  
And reap their Scandal for their pains;  
Half starved at Court with expectation,  
Forced to return to their Scotch Station,  
Despised and scorned by every Nation.   

A paltry Knight not worth a mention,  
Renounced his Faith for piteous Pension;  
After upon True Protestant Whore,  
HE had spent a large Estate before.   

A thick short Colonel next does come,  
With straddling Legs and massy Bum:  
With many more of shameful Note,  
Whose Honour ne'er was worth a Groat.   

If these be Pillars of the Church,  
'Tis feared they'll leave her in the lurch;  
If abler Men do not support her Weight,  
All quickly will return to Forty Eight.    

The AUDIENCE.  

THE Critics that pretend to sense  
Do cavel at the Audience,  
As if his Grace were not as good  
To bow to, as a piece of Wood  
Did not our Fathers heretofore  
Their senseless Deities adore?  
Did not old Delphos all along  
Vent Oracles without a Tongue?  
And wisest Monarches did importune,  
From the dumb God to know their fortune.  
Did not the speaking Head of late  
Of matters learnedly Debate?  
And rendered without Tongue or Ears  
Wise answers to his whispering Peers?  
And shall we to a living Prince  
Deny the State of Audience?  
What though the Bantling cannot speak?  
Yet like the Blockhead he may squeak;  
Give Audience by Interpreter;  
The wisest Prince can do no more.   

Then enter with a Prince's Banner  
Sir Charles after the usual manner.  
Great Sir, His Holiness from Rome  
Greets your high Birth. The Prince cried Mum.  
The Consecrated Robe and Clout,  
If you'll vouchsafe to hear me out,  
And many other Toys I'm come  
To lay them to your sacred Bum.  
So young, yet such a Godlike Ray!  
Phoebus' your Dad was Priest D— a,  
Great Prince, I have no more to say.  
Conducted next there comes, Great Sir,  
An Envoy from the Emperor,  
To gratulate your lucky fate,  
That gives to England's Throne new date;  
We joy that any Thing should Reign,  
To baffle Orange and the Dane.  
The Youth, to see them thus beguiled,  
In token of his favour, smiled.  
But at the Spaniard laughed outright.  
As shamm'd again in Eighty Eight.  
Next, having passed the inward Sentry,  
The doubtful Monsieur makes his entry.  
The King, my Master, Sir, has sent  
Your Royal Birth to compliment;  
If you will make it but appear,  
That you are England's lawful Heir.  
Here Lady Powis took him short,  
Frenchman Have you a King? Thank Maz'rine for't.  
Whoever the Father was, the Mother  
Was France's Queen. [Powis] Who questions t'other?  
At this reproof he pawned a Purse,  
And parting made his Peace with Nurse.  
The Dane, the Suede, with other Nations  
Come in with loud Congratulations.  
Upon the Suede so famed for Battle  
He cast a frown, and shook his Rattle.  
And for the Dane, who took the part  
Of good Prince George, he let a fart.  
This put him in a sullen fit,  
Nurse scarce could dance him out of it.  
When an Ambassador from Poland  
Knocked at the Door, and Velt from Holland,  
He crying Sucked, and Sucking cried,  
When Lady Governess replied,  
Peace, Prince, Peace, Prince, Peace, pretty Prince,  
And let the States have Audience.  
Dutchman From Holland I am hither sent  
To Challenge, not to Compliment.  
Prepare with speed your Twenty Sail,  
Your twice Four thousand on the Nail;  
Which by your Senate was enacted,  
With Orange when your Sire contracted.  
The name of Holland did affright,  
And make th'young Hero scream outright.  
But, Orange named, the Royal Elf,  
The sweet, sweet Babe beshit himself.  
Tyrconnel, who came o'er no less  
Than to be made his Governess,  
To take her leave, by luck came in,  
She sucked his Nose, and licked him clean.  
Last came the Lady Hales from Play,  
Moved by instinct he cried, Mamma,  
And posted to the Queen away.    

An Epistle to Mr. DRYDEN.  

DRYDEN, thy Wit has catterwauld too long,  
Now only Lero, Lero, is the Song.  
What Singing, Dancing, Interludes of late  
Stuff, and set off our goodly Farce of State?  
Not Abbevil can turn a deep intrigue,  
Till first well warmed with Bishop Talgols' Jig.  
Wem cannot sleep, or if a Nap he takes,  
His Dream some old Tresilian Ballad breaks.  
But was e'er seen the like, in Prose or Metre,  
To this mad Play, or work of Father P?  
At Court no longer Punchionello takes,  
Each Scene, Part, Cue, misshapen to the Mac's.  
Such Plot, and the Catastrophe is such,  
We must be either Irish all, or Dutch.  
Our very Judges in Westminster-Hall,  
Like their old Roof, are Irish Timber all.  
And (bless us!) Irish Wolves are brought to keep  
The Nation, grown now all such silly Sheep;  
Such errand Asses, errand Cattle made,  
Or to be yoked, or saddled, fleeced, or flayed.  
O Martyrs Son! thy destiny is shown,  
Such props are for a Scaffold, not a Throne:  
So Juno, in her impotence of rage,  
By Heaven denied, did Hell's black Powers engage;  
Yet sped the Hero: Jove and Fate were strong;  
Religious care! He took his Gods along:  
But hark, O hark, the Belgic Lion roars,  
And shakes afar the French and British Shores:  
One Brandy drinks, one mad with Prophecies:  
Lord! what they tell us of some Prince from Freeze;  
Arms, and the Man they sing, no French fineness,  
But hearty Blows, and Brandenburg Address.  
Hence Vigour, and our Figure come again,  
We rise, and walk, all true erected men.  
The force of those Circaean Caps subdued,  
And the wild Charms our new Armida brewed,  
The witchcraft he (our true Rinaldo) broke,  
And grubs the base pretenders to his stock.   

But oh, what Spirit of Deceit afar,  
Possessed our Pulpits, and bewitched the Bar?  
What Bane, what Mischief on poor Mortals shed  
By Vermin, from the Laws corruption bred?  
Tho to their Irish Roof no Cobwebs cleave,  
Below what strife and endless toils they wove:  
Wanting brave strength to strangle men to death,  
What Frauds they hid! What Venom underneath!  
And when some shorter course to Murder's shown,  
Cry, O that (luscious) Point! they gained the Crown.  
Sons of the Pulpit the same measures keep,  
And of that same stummed Cup have drank as deep.  
Agog for some odd transubstantiate thing,  
Chimaera reign, and Metaphysic King,  
Sublimed to School Divinity extremes,  
Their Brains would crow with Patriarchal Dreams.  
So high from solid honest wisdom blown,  
They'd have some Hippo Centaur on the Throne.  
Not Law ordained, but by some God appointed,  
Not Lay-elected, but by Priest-anointed.  
Away this Goblin Witchcraft, Priestcraft-Prince;  
Give us a King, divine by Law and Sense.   

Now Bar and Pulpit to Dragoons a sport,  
Their Cause is carried to the last Resort.  
Princes in more compendious method teach,  
Force is their way; let old Apostles preach.  
What's established Law, where standing Armies come,  
Or who'll talk Gospel to a Kettledrum?  
When God would hear, where Giants did oppress,  
The several Nations had their Hercules.  
So were the Horns of grizly violence broke,  
So People freed from triple Geryons yoke.  
The various Snake in Lerna Lough that bred,  
That lolled and hissed to death, at every head.  
Nemaean Lion, Erymanthian Boar,  
In Bogs that wallow, and on Hills that roar:  
All by his Godlike Prowess done away,  
Their lawless rule, and that Gigantic sway.  
In vain whilst this high Virtue Nations sought,  
The Nassau-House were never yet without.  
Nor is confined to Provinces their care,  
Their generous labour neighbouring Kingdoms share.  
Here the foul Herd, flee from his lifted hand,  
That long had made a Stable of the Land.  
The Monster of the Lough, new Lerna-Plague  
(But scarce in head) the Bog-begotten Teague.  
The ravenous kind, the Harpies sharp for prey,  
With Birds obscene, and uncouth to the day.  
No Den, no Ditch, no rousting for 'em more,  
Now, now is come our Hercules ashore.  
Vile Fraud dispelled, and superstitious Mists:  
He from our Temple drives all knavish Priests.  
Then warmer Wallop, in due Scarlet shown,  
To Coffee Dick bequeathes his rusty Gown.  
Oh Dryden, if this Hercules were thine,  
How would his Club, and Atlas' shoulders shine:  
How wouldst thou all our Maids of Honour fright,  
With naughty Tale, of Fifty in a night?  
However, no more let Xaviex mar thy Pen,  
No Miracle to Forty thousand Men.  
When Law, and bald Divinity gins,  
Why then, the marvel that a Poet sins?    

DIALOGUE.  

M. WHY am I daily thus perplexed?  
Why beyond Woman's patience vexed?  
Your spurious Issue grow and thrive;  
While mine are dead ere well alive.  
If they survive a nine days wonder,  
Suspicious Tongues aloud do thunder;  
And straight accuse my Chastity,  
For your damned Insufficiency:  
You meet my Love with no desire,  
My Altar damps your feeble fire:  
Though I have infinite more Charms  
Than all you e'er took to your Arms.   

The Priest at th' Altar bows to me;  
When I appear he bends the knee.  
His Eyes are on my Beauties fixed,  
His Prayers to Heaven and Me are mixed;  
Consusedly he tells his Beads,  
Is out both when he prays and reads.   

I travelled farther for your Love  
Than Sheba's Queen, I'll fairly prove.  
She from the South, 'tis said did room,  
And I as far from East did come.  
But here the difference does arise,  
Though equally we sought the Prize;  
What that great Queen desired she gained,  
But I soon found your Treasury drained;  
Your Veins corrupted in your Youth,  
'Tis said Experience tells this Truth;  
Though I had caution long before  
Of that which I too late deplore.   

J. Pray, Madam, let me silence break,  
As I have you, now hear me speak.  
These stories sure must please you well,  
You're apt so often them to tell  
But, if you'll smooth your brow a while,  
And turn that Pout into a Smile,  
I doubt not, but to make't appear,  
That you the great'st Agressor are.   

I took you with an empty Purse,  
Which was to me no trivial Curse.  
No dowry could your Parents give;  
They'd but a Competence to live.  
When you appeared, your charming Eyes  
(As you relate) did me surprise,  
With Wonder, not with Admiration,  
Astonishment, but no Temptation:  
Nor did I see in all your frame,  
Aught could create an amorous flame,  
Or raise the least Desire in me,  
Save only for Variety.  
I paid such service as was due,  
Worthy myself, and worthy you:  
Caressed you far above the rate  
Both of your Birth, and your Estate.  
When soon I found your haughty mind  
Was unto Sovereignty inclined;  
And first you practised over me  
The heavy Yoke of Tyranny,  
While I your Property was made,  
And you, not I, was still obeyed:  
Nor durst I call my Soul my own,  
You managed me as if I'd none.  
I took such measures as you gave,  
All day your Fool, all night your Slave.   

Nor was Ambition bounded here,  
You still resolved your course to steer:  
All that oppose you, you remove;  
'Twas much you'd own the Powers above.  
Now several Stratagems you try,  
And I'm in all forced to comply.  
To Mother Church you take recourse,  
She tells you' 'tmust be done by force;  
And you, impatient of delay,  
Contrive and execute the way.   

When mounted to the place you sought,  
It no Contentment with it brought:  
One Tree within your Prospect stood  
Fairest and tallest of the Wood:  
Which to your Prospect gave offence,  
And it must be removed from thence.  
In this you also are obeyed,  
While all the Fault on me is laid.   

Now you was quiet for a while,  
As flattering Wether seems to smile,  
Till buzzing Beetles of the Night  
Had found fresh matter for your spite,  
And set to work your busy Brain,  
Which took Fire quickly from their Train.  
Some wise, some valiant, you remove,  
'Cause they your Maxims don't approve:  
And in their stead such Creatures place  
Which to th' Employments brings Disgrace:  
While whatsoe'er you do I own,  
And still the dirt on me is thrown.   

Straight new Chimeras fill your Brain,  
The humming Beetles buzz again;  
A Goal-Delivery now must be,  
All tender Consciences set free;  
Not out of Zeal, but pure Design  
To make Dissenters with us join  
To pull down Test and Penal Laws,  
The Bulwark of the Heretics Cause.  
The sly Dissenters laugh the while,  
They see where lurks the Serpent's guile:  
And rather than with us comply,  
Will on our Enemies rely.  
The Chieftains of the Protestant Cause,  
We did confine, though 'gainst the Laws;  
But soon was glad to set 'em free,  
Fearing the giddy Mobile.   

Now all is turning upside down,  
Loud Murmur in every Town;  
We've Foes abroad, and Foes at home,  
Armies and Fleets against us come:  
The Protestants do laugh the while,  
And the Dissenters sneerand smile;  
But no assistance either sends;  
They're neither Enemies nor Friends.   

Now pray conclude what must be done,  
Consult your Oracle of ROME,  
For next fair Wind before they come.    

LAMPOONS.  

Over the Lord D—rs Door.  

UNhappy Age, and we in it,  
When Truth doth go for Treason;  
Every Blockhead's Will for Law,  
And Coxcombs Sense for Reason.  
Religion's made a Band of State,  
To serve the Pimps and Panders,  
Our Liberty a Prison Gate,  
And Irishmen Commanders.  
O wretched is our Fate!  
What dangers do we run,  
We must be wicked to be great,  
And to be Just, undone,  
'Tis thus our Sovereign keeps his word,  
And makes the Nation Great;  
To Irishmen he trusts the Sword,  
To Jesuits the State.    

Over the Lord S— rys Door.  

IF Cecil the Wise,  
From the Grave should arise,  
And look his fat Beast in the Face,  
He'd take him from Mass,  
And turn him to Grass.  
And swear he was none of his Race.    

To the Speaking-Head.  

I'M come my future Fate to seek,  
Speak then, Celestial Blockhead, speak.   

Answer.  
Hadst thou not consulted with the Witch at Rome,  
Theu needest not thus, like Saul, to Endor come  
To seek out (Brother Solid-head) thy doom,  
The Hearts of all thy Friends are gone:  
Gazing they stand, and grieving round thy Throne,  
And scarce believe thou art the Martyrs Son.  
Those whom thou favourest, merit not thy Grace;  
They, to their Interest, Sacrifice thy Peace.  
And will in sorrow make thee end thy days.  
Tempt not thy Fate too far, do not rely  
On force or fraud; why shouldst thou Monarch, why,  
Live unbeloved, and unlamented dye?    

The Ghost.  

A Papist died; as 'twas Jchovah's will,  
And his poor Soul went trudging down to Hell!  
Where, when he did arrive, just at the Entry,  
He found a Mastive Devil standing Sentry,  
With flaming Eyes, and Face as black as Soot,  
A Musqueteer with a great Cleven Foot:  
And who goes there? I, a poor Papist Ghost,  
That's come to dwell upon the Stygian Coast.  
Stay where you are, and do not press so hard,  
For I must call the Captain of the Guard;  
He gave me Orders to let none come in,  
But only such as should have leave from him.  
The Captain called, accordingly came forth,  
A Devil of integrity and worth:  
Who all in noblest Scarlet being dressed,  
With a most delicate fine embroidered Vest,  
He asks the Ghost, with a great voice, as loud  
As mighty Thunder, breaking from a Cloud,  
What was the business? Sir, I'm come to dwell,  
If you will please to give me leave, in Hell.  
Damn you, you whoreson Dog, said he to him,  
I love my Master, and you shan't come in:  
For if above you Eat your God, I fear,  
Should you come in, you'd eat the Devil here.    

A Dialogue between a Loyal Addressor, and a Blunt Whiggish Clown.  

Ungrateful wretch! Canst thou pretend a cause  
To fear the loss of Liberty and Laws?  
Has not the King been at a vast expense  
To raise the gallant Troops in thy Defence?  
Did he not promise in a Proclamation,  
To rule by Law at's Coronation?   

Clown. But has he not already damned the Test?  
And sure that Prince's word is but a jest,  
Who rules an Army, and obeys a Priest;  
Nor can his solemn Oath make us much safer:  
His Sword is Steel, his God is but a Wafer.    

The Hieroglyphic.  

COme Painter take a Prospect from this Hill,  
And on a well-spread Canvas show thy Skills  
Draw all in Colours as they shall appear,  
And as they stand in merit place them there.  
Draw, as the Heralds do, a spacious Field;  
And, as directed, so let that be filled.  
First, draw a Popish Army brisk and gay,  
Fight, and beat, destroyed, and run away.  
Then draw a Hearse, and let it stand in view,  
The Mourners more, far more than they're in show,  
Cursing their Fate, their Stars, and in that fear,  
Show, if thou canst, how these damned Sots prepare  
To run, or stay and skulk in holes alone;  
By them this Motto, Gallows claim thy own.  
Now, to the Life, let thy brisk Pencil show  
Distinctly what they are, and what's their due.  
Now draw a crowd of Priests prepared to run,  
Like broken Merchants when their stock is gone;  
Some howling out their Prayers forget and say,  
Save us St. Catch: Are all our Saints away?  
Draw 'em in hurry, running to and fro,  
Posting to Dover, Portsmouth, Tyburn too.  
Next draw a crowd of Lords. This Label by,  
The great Design is lost. Alas, they cry,  
Who'd serve a Cause of such cursed destiny.  
Now draw four Priests, show how they Rome adore,  
And each Man's Scarf hang to be seen before.  
Two brace of Bishops, fallen to despair,  
Armed Cap-a-pe, but running God knows where.  
Now show the Judges, and with them thy Skill,  
That all who see it done may say, 'Tis well;  
In Caps and Gowns, as they in order sat  
'Twixt Heaven and Earth do thou them elevate:  
For their grave Noddles can dispense with that.  
Now draw the little Rogues, the scoundrel Crew,  
Knights, Knaves, & Beggars, they must have their due,  
Gadbury, Butler, ay, and R— too.  
Amidst this crowd, on a fit spot of Land,  
To crown the Work, let a large Gallows stand:  
All trembling by, armed with their guilt and fears,  
Kneel to this Image, and pour out their Prayers.  
And théns die by Suffocation.    

To the respective Judges.  

Dignisied things, may I your leaves implore,  
To kiss your hands, and your high heads adore,  
Judges you are, but you are something more.  
May I draw near, and with rough-hewed Pen,  
Give a small draught of you, the worst of Men:  
Tell of your Merits, and your mighty Skill,  
And how your Charms all Courts of Justice fill,  
Your Laws, far stronger than the Commons Votes,  
So finely flows from your Dispensing Throats.  
What Rome will ask, you must not her deny:  
If Hell command you too, you must comply.  
There's none but you would in this cause combine,  
Things made like Men, but-act like Brutes and Swine.  
Law Books are trash, a Student he's a drudge:  
Learn to say, Yes, he's an accomplished Judge;  
He wins the Scarlet Robe, and wears it too:  
Ay, and deserves it well, for more's his due;  
All that completes a Traitor dwells in you.  
Thus you like Villains to the Benches get,  
And, in defiance to the Laws, you sit,  
And all base actions that will please commit:  
There must you toil for Rome, and also try  
Your Irish Sense and Cobweb Policy,  
Complete your Crimes; and then you're fit to die.  
True Loyal Babes! Pimps to the Church of Rome.  
Tresilians Heirs: Heirs to his crimes and doom.  
Was ere the Hall filled up with such a Brood,  
All dipped in Treason, Villainies or Blood:  
Worse than Fanatic Priests: for they being pressed  
By a wise Prince, Preached to Repeal the Test.  
Then here's the difference, 'twixt you Popish Tools,  
You're downright Rogues: they, only Knaves and Fools.     

To TYBURN.  

OLD Reverend Tripos Guardian of the Law,  
Sacred to Justice, Treason's greatest awe;  
Do thou decide the Nation's weighty cause,  
and judge between the Judges and the Laws;  
So shall no guiltless blood thy Timber e'er pollute,  
And righteous Laws shall vouch all thou shalt execute.    

The ADVICE.  

WOuld you be famous and renowned in Story,  
And after having run a Stage of Glory,  
Go strait to Heaven, and not to Purgatory:  
This is the time.  
Would you surrender your Dispensing Power,  
And send the Western Hangman to the Tower,  
From whence he'll find it difficult to scour:  
This, etc.  
Would you send Father Pen, and Father Job,  
Assisted by the Poet Laureate Squab,  
To teach obedience passive to the Mobb:  
This, etc.  
Would you let Reverend Father Peter know  
What thanks the Church of England to him own  
For favours past, he did on them bestow:  
This, etc.  
Would you with expedition send away  
Those four dim Lights made Bishops t'other day,  
To Convert Indians in America:  
This, etc.  
Would you the rest of that Bald-pated Train  
No longer flatter with thin hopes of Gain,  
But send them to St. Omers back again:  
This, etc.  
Would you (instead of holding Birchen Tool)  
Send Pulton to be lashed at Butby's School,  
That he in Print no longer play the Fool:  
This, etc.  
Would you that Jack of all Religions scare,  
Bid him for Hanging speedily prepare,  
That Harry H—s may visit Harry Care;  
This, etc.  
Would you let Ireland no more fear Macdonnel,  
And all the Rabble under Philem O Neale,  
And Clarendon again succeed Tyrconnel;  
This, etc.  
Would you Court Ear-wiggs banish from your Ears,  
Those Carpet Knights, and Interested Peers,  
And rid the Kingdoms from impending fears;  
This, etc.  
Would you at once make all the Hogan Mogans yield,  
And be at once their Terror and our Shield,  
And not appear by Proxy in the Field;  
This, etc.  
Would you not more a Woman's Counsel take,  
But love your Kingdoms for your Kingdom's sake,  
Make Subjects love, and Fnemies to quake;  
This, etc.    

On the Q—'s Conception.  

YE Catholic Statesmen, and Churchmen rejoice,  
And praise Heaven's Goddess with Heart and with Voice,]  
None greater on Earth or in Heaven than she,  
Some say, she's as good as the best of three;  
Her miracles bold  
Were famous of old,  
But a braver than this was never yet told;  
'Tis pity that every Catholic living  
Had not heard on't before the last day of Thanksgiving.   

II.  
In Lombardy Land great Modena's Duchess,  
Was snatched from her Empire by deaths cruel clutches,  
when to Heaven she came (for thither she went)  
Each Angel received her with joy and content,  
On her Knees she fell down  
Before the bright Throne,  
And begged that God's Mother would grant her one Boon,  
Give England a Son in this critical point,  
To put little Orange's Nose out of Joint.   

III.  
As soon as our Lady had heard her Petition,  
To Gabriel the Angel she strait gave Commission,  
She plucked off her Smock from her Shoulders Divine  
And charged him to hasten to England's fair Queen;  
Go to th' Royal Dame  
To give her the same,  
And bid her for ever to praise my great Name;  
For I in her favour will work such a wonder  
Shall keep the most insolent Heretic under.   

iv  
Tell James (my best Son) his part of the matter  
Will be with this only to cover my Daughter;  
Let him put it upon her with his own Royal Hand,  
Then let him go Travel and visit the Land:  
And the Spirit of love  
Shall descend from above,  
Though not as before in the shape of a Dove;  
Yet down he shall come in some shape or other,  
Perhaps like Count Dada and make her a Mother   

V.  
This message with Hearts full of Faith was received,  
And the next News we heard was Q. Mary conceived,  
You great ones converted, poor cheated Dissenters,  
Grave Judges, Lords, Bishops, and common Consenters,  
You Commissioners all  
Ecclesiastical,  
From M—ve the doubtful to Chester the Tall,  
Pray Heaven to strengthen her Majesty's Placket,  
For if this trick fail then beware of their Jacket.    

A New SONG.  

HO Brother Teague dost hear de Decree,  
Lil— li Burlero Bullen a— lafoy,  
Dat we shall have a new Debittie,  
Li-li Burlero Bullen a-la,  
Le-ro, Le-ro, Le-ro, Le-ro, Li-li Burlero, Bullen a-la,  
Le-ro, Le-ro, etc.   

Ho by my my Shoul it is a T— t,  
Lilli Burlero, etc.  
And he will Cut all de English T— t,  
Lilli, etc.  
Lero, Lero, etc.  
Lero, Lero, etc.   

Though by my shoul de English do Prat,  
Lilli, etc.  
De Laws on dare side, and Chreist knows what,  
Lilli, etc.  
Lero, Lero, etc.  
Lero, Lero, etc.   

But if Dispense do come from the Pope,  
Lilli, etc.  
we'll hang Magna Carta and demselves in a Rope,  
Lilli, etc.  
Lero, Lero, etc.  
Lero, Lero, etc.   

And the good T— t is made a Lord,  
Lilli, etc.  
And he with brave Lads is coming aboard,  
Lilli, etc.  
Lero, Lero, etc.  
Lero, Lero, etc.   

Who'! all in France have taken a swear,  
Lilli, etc.  
Dat day will have no Protestant h— r,  
Lilli, etc.  
Lero, Lero, etc.  
Lero, Lero, etc.   

O but why does he stay behind,  
Lilli, etc.  
Ho be my Shoul 'tis a Protestant wind,  
Lilli, etc.  
Lero, Lero, etc.   

Now T— l is come a shore,  
Lilli, etc.  
And we shall have Commissions gillore,  
Lilli, etc.  
Lero, Lero, etc.   

And he that will not go to M—ss,  
Lilli, etc.  
Shall turn out and look like an Ass,  
Lilli, etc.  
Lero, Lero, etc.   

Now now the Heretics all go down,  
Lilli, etc.  
By Chreist and St. Patrick the Nation's our own,  
Lilli, etc.  
Lero, Lero, etc.    

A New Song of an Orange,  
To that excellent Old Tune of a Pudding, etc.  

GOOD People come buy  
The Fruit that I cry,  
That now is in Season, tho' Winter is nigh,  
'Twill do you all good,  
And sweeten your Blood,  
I'm sure it will please you when once understood  
'tis an Orange.   

It's Cordial Juice  
Does much Vigour produce,  
I may well recommend it to every man's use;  
Tho' some it quite chills,  
And with fear almost kills,  
Yet certain each honest man benefit feels  
by an Orange.   

To make Claret go down,  
Sometimes there is found  
A Jolly good Health to pass pleasantly round:  
But yet I'll protest,  
Without any Jest,  
No flavour is better than that of the taste  
of an Orange.   

Perhaps you may think  
At White H— they stink,  
Because that our Neighbours come over the Sea,  
Yet sure 'tis presumed  
That they may be perfumed  
By the scent of a Clove when once it is stuck  
in an Orange.   

If they'd cure the ails  
Of the Pr— of Wa—  
When the Milk of Milch Tyler does not well agree,  
Though he's subject to cast  
They may better the taste,  
Yet let 'em take heed lest it Curdle at last  
with an Orange.   

Old Stories rehearse  
In Prose and in Verse,  
How a Welsh Child was found by loving of Cheese,  
So this will be known  
If it be the Q—s own;  
For the taste it utterly then will disown  
of an Orange.   

Though the Mobile bawl,  
Like the Devil and all,  
For Religion, Property, Justice and Laws;  
Yet in very good sooth  
I'll tell you the truth,  
There nothing is better to stop a man's mouth  
than an Orange.   

We are certainly told  
That by Adam of old  
Himself and his Bearns for an Apple was sold;  
And who knows but his Son  
By Serpents undone,  
And his Juggling Eve may chance lose her own  
for an Orange.    

The ORANGE.  

1. GOod People I pray  
Throw the Orange away,  
'Tis a very sour Fruit, and was first brought in play  
When good Judith Wilk  
In her pocket brought Milk,  
And with Cushions and Warming-pans laboured to bilk  
this same Orange.   

2. When the Army retreats  
And the Parliament sits  
To vote our K— the true use of his Wits:  
'Twill be a sad means  
When all he obtains  
Is to have his Calves-head dressed with other men's Brains,  
and an Orange.   

3. The sins of his Youth  
Made him think of one Truth,  
When he spawled from his Lungs, and bled twice at the mouth,  
That your fresh sort of Food  
Does his Carcase more good,  
And the damned thing that cured his putrefied blood  
was an Orange.   

4. This hopeful young Son  
Is surely his own  
Because from O— it cried to be gone,  
But the Heretics say  
He was got by Da—  
For neither K— nor the Nuncio dare stay  
near an Orange.   

5. Since Lewis was cut  
From his Breech to the Gut,  
France fancies an open-arse delicate Fruit,  
We wiser than so  
Have too strings to our bow  
For 've a good Q— that's an open-arse too,  
and an Orange.   

6. Till Nanny writ much  
To the Rebels the D—  
Her Mother, good Woman, ne'er owed her a grudge,  
And the box of the Ear  
Made the matter appear,  
That the only foul savour the Q— could not bear  
was an Orange.   

7. An honest old Peer  
That forsook God last year,  
Pulled off all his Plasters, and Armed for the War;  
But his Arms would not do,  
And his Aches throbbed too,  
That he wished his own Pox and his M—s too  
on an Orange.   

8. Old Tyburn must groan,  
For Jeffreys is known  
To have perjured his Conscience to marry his Son;  
And D— s Cause  
Will be tried by just Laws,  
And Herbert must taste a most damnable Sauce  
with an Orange.   

9 Lob, Penn, and a score  
Of those honest men more  
Will find this same Orange exceedingly sour;  
The Q— to be seized  
Will be very ill pleased,  
And so will K— Pippin, too dry to be squeezed  
by an Orange.    

Religious Relics; Or, The SALE at the SAVOY; Upon the JESUITS breaking up their SCHOOL and CHAPEL.  

[1]  
LAST Sunday, by chance,  
I Encountered with Prance,  
That Man of Upright Conversation,  
Who told me such News,  
That I could not choose  
But Laugh at his sad Declaration.   

[2]  
Says he, if you'll go,  
You shall see such a Show  
Of Relics Exposed to be Sold,  
Which from Sin and Disease  
Will Purge all that please  
To lay out their Silver and Gold.   

[3]  
Strait with him I went,  
Being zealously bend,  
Where for Sixpence the Man let me in,  
But the Crowd was so great,  
I was all in a Sweat  
Before the rare Show did begin.   

[4]  
The Curtain being drawn,  
Which I think was of Lawn,  
The PRIEST crossed himself thrice, and bowed;  
Then with a sour Face,  
Denoting his Case,  
He addressed himself thus to the Crowd.   

[5]  
You see our sad State,  
'Tis a folly to prate,  
Our Church and our Cause is aground;  
So in short, if 've Gold,  
Here is to be sold  
For a Guinny the worth of Ten Pound.   

[6]  
Here's St. James' old Bottle,  
It holds just a Pottle,  
With the Pilgrim's Habit he wore;  
The same Scollop shells,  
As our Holy Church tells,  
Who denys its a Son of a W—   

[7]  
Here's a piece of the Bag,  
By Age turned to a Rag,  
In which Judas the Money did bear;  
With a part of his Rope,  
Bequeathed to the POPE,  
As an Antidote 'gainst all despair.   

[8]  
Here's a Rib of St. Laurence,  
'Tis also at Florence,  
And it may be in France, or in Spain;  
It cures Stone and Gravel,  
And Women in Travel  
It delivers without any Pain.   

[9]  
Here's St. Joseph's old Coat,  
Though scarce worth a Groat.  
It's plainness does show he'd no Pride;  
Yet this he had on,  
For besides it he'd none,  
The day that he married his Bride.   

[10]  
His Breeches are there,  
A plain Leather pair,  
Come buy the whole Suit if you please;  
They'll defend you from th' Itch,  
From Hag and from Witch,  
And preserve you from Bugs and from Fleas.   

[11]  
Here's the Gall of a Saint,  
For such as do faint,  
Or are troubled with Fits of the Mother;  
Nay, if your breath stink,  
Worse than Close-stool or Sink,  
It will cure you as soon as the other.   

[12]  
Here's a Prayer of Pope John,  
The like to't is none,  
If you say it but three times a year;  
Three hundred in grace,  
And three hundred 'twill place  
In Heaven, if they ever come there.   

[13]  
Here's our Lady's old Shoe,  
Which in Old-time was new,  
It will cure all your Kibes and your Corns;  
With the Coif of St. Bridget,  
To be worn by each Idiot,  
Whose Head is tormented with Horns.   

[14]  
Here's a Bottle of Tears,  
Preserved many years,  
Of Mary's that once was a Sinner;  
Some o'th' Fish and the Bread  
That the Five Thousand fed,  
Which cur Saviour invited to Dinner.   

[15]  
Here's St. Francis own Cord,  
You may take't on my word,  
Who dies in it cannot be damned;  
Do but buy it, and try,  
If tell you a lie,  
Many Thousands of Heaven are shamm'd   

[16]  
Here's his Holiness' Beard,  
Of whom ye have heard,  
That the Heretics called Pope Joan,  
Yet this I dear swear  
Was his natural Heir,  
Or else I'll be sworn he had none.   

[17]  
It's virtue is such,  
That if it does touch  
Your Head, your Face, or elsewhere,  
It does straightway restore  
More than e'er was before,  
Though by Age or by Action worn bare.   

[18]  
Here's St. Christopher's Boot,  
For his Right Leg and Foot  
Which he wore when he plied at the Ferry,  
When on's Shoulders he bore  
His Blessed Lord or're,  
For the poor Man had never a Whereby.   

[19]  
Such as Sail on the Seas,  
I am sure it will please,  
For its parallel never was found;  
Neither Tempest nor Storm  
Can e'er do 'em harm,  
Nor is't possible they should be drowned.   

[20]  
Here's infinite more,  
I have by me in store,  
All which lie concealed in this Hamper;  
Either buy 'em to day,  
Or I'll throw 'em away,  
For to morrow, by Heaven, I'll scamper.   

[21]  
Our Market is done  
We must shut up at Noon.  
We expect 'em each hour at the Door;  
We are hanged if we stay,  
We can't get away,  
For none will nor dare carry us o'er.   

[22]  
But by th' Faith of a PRIEST,  
This is no time to jest,  
Since we be balked in our great Expectation;  
Before I will swing  
Like a Dog in a String,  
I'll Renounce the Transubstantiation.    

BALLAD. To the Tune of Couragio.  

[1.]  
Come, come, great Orange, come away  
On thy August Voyagio:  
The Church and State admit no stay,  
And Protestants would once more say  
Couragio, Couragio, Couragio.   

[2.]  
Stand East, dear Wind, till they arrive  
On their designed Voyagio,  
And let each Noble Soul alive  
Cry loud, Qu'il Prince d' Aurange vive!  
Couragio, etc.   

[3.]  
Look sharp, and see the Glorious Fleet  
Appear in their Voyagio!  
With loud Huzza's we will them greet,  
And with both Arms and Armies meet;  
Couragio, etc.   

[4.]  
Then, welcome to our English shore:  
And now I will Engage— o:  
We'll thump the Babylonish Whore,  
And kick her Trump'ries out of Door;  
Couragio, etc.   

[5.]  
Poor Berwick, how will thy Dear-Joys  
Oppose this brave Voyagio?  
Thy tallest Sparks will be mere Toys  
To Brandenburg and Swedish Boys;  
Couragio, etc.   

[6.]  
Dunbarton sputters now like mad,  
Against this great Voyagio;  
Old Craven too in Sable's clad;  
And Feversham looks monstrous sad;  
Couragio, etc.   

[7.]  
But Solmes has took a Glorious Cause  
In this warlike Voyagio,  
To guard us from their ravening Paws,  
And to protect our Lives and Laws;  
Couragio, etc.   

[8.]  
Nassaw will ridicule the Fop  
By this Belgic Voyagio,  
And make their gaudy Feathers drop;  
Their Slaughter's but a Harvest-Crop;  
Couragio, etc.   

[9]  
Stirum, advance the Buda Blades  
Thou'st brought in this Voyagio:  
And, since thy Laurel never fades,  
Send our Foes to the Stygian shades;  
Couragio, etc.   

[10.]  
Schombergh thunders Hero-like  
In this Stormy Voyagio;  
His very Name does horror strike,  
And will slay more than Gun or Pike;  
Couragio, etc.   

[11.]  
Thus they the Victory will gain,  
After their brave Voyagio;  
And all our Liberties maintain,  
And settle Church and State again;  
Couragio, etc.   

[12.]  
Then 'twill be Just, and no Extreme,  
To see by this Voyagio,  
That Wem should have th' effect of's Dream  
For driving head long with the Stream;  
Couragio, etc.   

[13.]  
The Judges too, that Traitors be,  
Must truss by this Voyagio;  
'Twill be a Noble Sight, to see  
Dispensing Scarlet on a Tree;  
Couragio, etc.   

[14.]  
The Monks away full swift will hie  
On their dismal Voyagio:  
Ten pounds a Post-horse than they cry,  
And all away to Calis fly;  
Couragio, etc.   

[15.]  
Sunderland has shot the Pit  
And is on his Voyagio;  
D'ada must no more hatching sit;  
And Petre too the Board must quit;  
Couragio, etc.   

[16.]  
Old Arundel does hang his Ears  
Because of this Voyagio;  
And Miser Powis stews in Tears;  
Bellasis roars, and damns, and swears;  
Couragio, etc.   

[17.]  
When all is done, we then shall hope  
To see by this Voyagio,  
No more Nuncio, no more Pope,  
Except it be to have a Rope;  
Couragio, Couragio, Couragio.    

Private Occurrences; Or, the Transactions of the four last Years,  
Written in Imitation of the old Ballad of hay brave Oliver, Ho brave Oliver, etc.  

1.  
A Protestant Muse, yet a lover of Kings:  
On th' Age, grown a little Satyrical, Sings,  
Of Papists, their Counsels, and other fine things.  
Sing hay brave Popery, ho rare Popery, oh fine Popery,  
Oh dainty Popery, oh.   

2.  
She hopes she offends no Englishman's patience;  
Tho Satyr's forbidden on all such occasions,  
She's too good a Subject to Read Declarations.  
Sing hay brave Popery, etc.   

3.  
If the saying be good, of Let him laugh that Wins,  
Sure a Loser may smile without any offence:  
My Muse then is gamesome, and thus she gins:  
With hay brave Popery, etc.   

4.  
When Changed— deceased, to his Kingdoms dismay,  
By an Appolex, or else some other way;  
Our Brother with shouts was proclaimed the same day.  
Sing hay brave Popery, etc.   

5.  
His first Royal Promise was never to touch  
Our Rights, nor Religion, nor Privilege grudge:  
But Pet— sworn Damn him, he granted too much.  
Sing hay brave Popery, etc.   

6.  
Then Mon— came in with an Army of Fools:  
Betrayed by his Cuckold, and other dull Tools  
That painted the Turf of Green Sedgmore with Gules.  
Sing hay brave Popery, etc.   

7.  
That Victory gotten, some think to our wrong:  
The Priests braid our Joy in a Thanksgiving Song,  
And Teague with the Baldpates were at it ding dung.  
Sing hay brave Popery, etc.   

8.  
Then strait a strong Army was levied in haste,  
To hinder Rebellion; a very good Jest;  
For some Rogues will swear 'twas to Murder the Test,  
Sing hay brave Popery, etc.   

9  
A Politic Law which Recusants did doom;  
That into our Senate, they never might come;  
But Equivalent since, was proposed in its Room.  
Sing hay brave Popery, etc.   

10.  
As if a True Friend should in Kindness demand  
A Tooth in my Head, which firmly doth stand,  
To give for't another he had in his hand.  
Sing hay brave Popery, etc.   

11.  
Then Term after Term, this great Matter was weighed,  
Old Judges turned out, and new Block— ds made:  
That Cook or wise Littleton never did read.  
Sing hay brave Popery, etc.   

12.  
The good Church of England with speed was run down,  
Whose Loyalty ever stood fast to the Crown  
And Presbyter John was made Mayor of the Town.  
Sing hay brave Popery, etc.   

13.  
The Bishops Disgrace made the Clergy to sob:  
A Prey to Old Pet— and Precedent Bob:  
And hurried to Prison as if they did rob.  
Sing hay brave Popery, etc.   

14.  
Then into the World, a Dear P— of W— slipped.  
'Twas plain, for we hear a great Minister peeped.  
The Bricklayer for prating had like t'a been whipped.  
Sing hay brave Popery, etc.   

15.  
Thus England's Distresses more fierce than the Plague,  
That during three Years, of no Quiet could brag.  
The Prince van Auraignia has brought from the Hague.  
Sing hay brave Popery, etc.   

16.  
A strong Fleet and Army t' invade us are bend,  
We know not the Cause, tho' there is something in't,  
But we doubt not, e'er long we shall see it in print.  
Sing hay brave Popery, etc.   

17.  
Ah England, that never couldst value thy peace:  
Had matters been now as in Elsabeth's Days,  
The Dutch had ne'er ventured to fish in our Seas.  
Then Curse of Popery, pox o' Popery, plague o' Popery.  
Oh Senseless Popery, oh.    

Protestantism Revived: OR THE Persecuted Church Triumphing.  

IN Sable weeds I saw a Matron clad,  
Whose Looks were grave, whose Countenance was sad;  
Pensive with Care, she musing sat alone,  
Her State, too too unhappy, to bemoan:  
Deep bitter pangs I saw her undergo,  
And pay the tributary Drops of woe.  
So wept Deucalion when he saw the State  
And Face of Nature changed and desolate.  
By this dumb Elegy a while she expressed  
The gloomy Sorrows of her troubled Breast.  
Then heaving up her Head, she silence broke,  
And with a heavy Sigh dejected spoke.   

Good God what Grief surrounds my aged Head!  
What new distracting woes I daily wed!  
Who am by spiteful Foes in Triumph led:  
They pierce my side with wounds, they break my rest,  
And snatch my sucking Children from my Breast:  
My elder Sons inhumanely they treat,  
My weaker ones they bubble with Deceit.  
Thus they insult, thus put me to disgrace,  
And spit their frothy Venom in my Face:  
My growing sorrows to complete the more,  
I'm flouted by a Babylonish Whore.  
Put me to death they can't since Heaven decreed,  
I must not die, though with my Saviour bleed,  
But humbly should in aftertimes succeed:  
What most my anxious Soul tormented hath,  
Is, He that should defend, betrays my Faith.  
Thus, thus abused, I'm to all Griefs betrayed,  
Thus my Delights are double Sorrows made.  
Who e'er was curbed by such a Concubine?  
Who so perplexed? was ever grief like mine?   

Then she bowed down her Head, and with her Tears  
Bedewed the parched Earth: when straight appears  
A Comforter by pitying Heaven sent  
To raise her drooping Spirits, almost spent:  
Who when he had respectful Homage paid,  
In terms obliging reverently said,   

Mother, I know the cause of all thy Grief,  
I'm sent thy Succour, and thy true Relief:  
Thy God has heard thy Sighs, thy faithful Prayers,  
And graciously received thy flowing Tears:  
I'll wipe them off, I'll rugged Grief expel,  
And usual Joy shall in thy Count'nancedwell:  
I've made thy haughty Domineerers bow,  
And own their Lives they to my bounty owe:  
I've foiled them all, I have disarmed them quite,  
They have the power to bark, but not to by't.  
To ease your pain by th' God of Heaven I'm sent,  
He acts, and I'm the Honoured Instrument.   

Then she arose, Joy smiling in her Eye,  
And with a cheerful Voice did thus reply:  
Thanks Gracious God, thanks thou Victorious Son,  
By whom I have my wont Glory won:  
Rejoice my Sons, and Hallelujahs sing  
Unto our Saviour, our Triumphant King.  
For I an Anthem will compose, and then,  
We'll sweetly sound it to our God. Amen.    

The OBSERVATOR. Or the History of Hodge, as reported by some from his siding with Noll, and scribbling for Rome.  

STand forth thou grand Impostor of our time  
The Nations Scandal, Punishment and Crime;  
Unjust Usurper of ill gotten praise,  
Unmatched by all but thy lewd Brother Bays;  
How well have you your several Gallants chose,  
Damnably to plague the World in Verse and Prose.  
Like two Twin Comets: when you do appear  
We justly may suspect some danger near.  
He lately did under correction pass,  
Honoured by that great hand that gave the Lash,  
A doom too glorious for that cursed head,  
And unproportioned to the Life he lead,  
But you are to a viler fate designed,  
To suffer by a vulgar hand like mine,  
we'll tear your Visar and unmask your shame,  
And at each corner Gibbet up your name.  
Expose you to the scorn of all you meet,  
As Dogs drag grinning Cats about the Street.  
Under usurping Noll you first began  
To rear your head and show yourself a Man,  
Unpitying saw the Royal party fall,  
And danced, and fiddled to the Funeral;  
Disclaimed their interest and renounced their side,  
And with the Independent strait complied;  
Officious in their Service, wrote for hire,  
A brisk Crowdero in the Factious Choir:  
Your nimble Pen on all their Errants run;  
The Horoscope still opens to the Sun.  
There 'twas in those unhappy days,  
You laid foundation for designed praise,  
By disrespect ignobly purchased shame,  
And damned your Soul to scandalise your Name:  
When Charles at length by Providence came in,  
You faced about and quickly changed the Scene;  
Tuned to new Notes your mercenary strings,  
Began to play Divinity of Kings:  
Your former Master straightway is forgot,  
Styled Villain, Rogue, Thief, Murderer, what not?  
Such recompense he doth deserve to have,  
Who for his interest durst employ a Knave,  
Now 'twas a time you thought to take your ease,  
After such great Exploits performed as these:  
Applauding to yourself your own deserts,  
You strait set up for a vain Ass of parts;  
Resolving that the Ladies too should know,  
What other Tricks and Gambols you could do.  
Was there a skipping Whore about the Town?  
Or private Bawdy-house to you unknown?  
Here for a Stallion, there for a Pimp you went,  
To do both drud geries alike content.  
Till fair I— nam B—m possessed your Eyes  
Whom you with powerful Guinea's did surprise,  
And spent her Husbands pay betwixt her Thighs:  
The crafty Cuckold winked at the deceit,  
For who e'er lost he was sure to get.  
But worse success you had with Madam C— k,  
Whom in the act her Husband took.  
Strong Bastinado o'er your shoulders laid,  
Made you a while surcease that lecherous trade,  
Till growing old in customary sin,  
You with a chaster Lady did begin,  
Whom when you found she all assaults refused,  
And would not yield herself to be abused;  
Down on your Knees you presently was laid,  
And thus (O Righteous Heaven) devoutly prayed:  
Since you disdain the kind request to grant,  
Dear Madam let me lay my hand upon't.  
This is the Man whose whole discourse and Tone,  
Is Honour, Justice, Truth, Religion,  
Was such a godly Rascal ever known?  
But now reformed by indigence of Gold,  
Your former wanton course grew slack and cold,  
For 'twas indeed at first to hot to hold.  
Now new expedients must employ your Brain,  
And other methods for advance of gain,  
Something contrived in private touched the State,  
Which made you timely think of a retreat;  
Beyond Sea then the wretched Caitiff flies  
A guilty Conscience has quick sighted eyes.  
When you returned you fell to work amain,  
And took up your old scribbling trade again,  
Some sorry scandal on fanatics thrown,  
And viler canting upon Forty one;  
You though sufficient to oblige the Crown;  
Then who but you the world was all your own.  
Now for the Church of England you declare,  
A witty zealous Protestant appear;  
Your secret Spies and Emissaries use,  
To pay for false intelligence and news:  
When named into Diurnals you dispense  
Equally void of Reason, Truth, and Sense.  
Guinea's now from every quarter came  
To pay respect to your increasing fame,  
While you at sam's like a grave Doctor sat,  
Teaching the Minor Clergy how to prate,  
Who licked your Spittle up and then came down,  
And shed the nasty Drivel o'er the Town.  
Ay these were blessed times and happy days,  
When all the world conspired to your praise:  
He who refused and would no Token send  
Must be traduced as the Dissenters Friend:  
And that your Greatness no regard might lack,  
You got a Knighthood chopped upon your back.  
But something now has stopped that rapid stream,  
And you have nothing more to say for them:  
Your piercing Eye discovers from afar,  
The glittering glory of some further Star,  
Which bids you pay your adoration there.  
Inconstant Rover, whither dost thou tend?  
When will thy tedious Villainies have end?  
Wither at last dost thou design to go?  
Of which party wilt thou  prove true?  
To Turk, or Pope, to Protestant, or Jew?  
Should I here all thy Villainies recount,  
To what a mighty sum do they amount?  
Thy solemn Protestations, Oaths and Lies,  
Devices, sham's, Evasions, Perjuries,  
My Paper to a Volume would exceed,  
Of greater bulk than Holinshed and Speed.  
For thou art now so scandalously known,  
And so remarkable in Vice alone,  
That every one can find a stone to throw  
At such a snarling, pimping Cur as thou.  
But wretch! if still thou art not past all Grace,  
And wholesome counsel can with thee find place;  
If thou at last sincerely wouldst atone,  
And expiate thy former mischiefs done,  
Like dying Judas render back thy pelf.  
Recant thy Books and then go hang thyself.    

A New Protestant Litany.  

FRom the Race of Ignatius, and all their Colleagues,  
From all the long Counsels of Bougres and Teagues,  
And from Papacy Rampant, and all her Intrigues,  
Libera Nos, etc.  
From Cobweb-Lawn-Charters, from sham-freedom banters,  
Our Liberty-keepers and new Gospel-planters,  
In the trusty kind hands of our great Quo Warrantors,  
Libera Nos, etc.  
From High-Court Commissions, to Rome to Re-join us,  
From a Rhadamant Chancellor, the Western Judge Minos,  
Made Head of our Church by new Jure Divino's,  
Libera Nos, etc.  
From our great Test Records, cut out into Thrums,  
From Waste paper Laws, used with Pasties and Plums,  
Magna Cnarta, Magna Farta, made Fodder for Bums,  
Libera Nos, etc.  
From a new-sound Stone-Doublet to th' old Sleeve of Laun,  
And all to make Room for the Pope Lander-Spawn;  
To see a Babe born through Bed-curtaines Close Drawn,  
Libera Nos, etc.  
From resolving o'er Night, where to lye-in to Morrow,  
And from cunning Backdoor to let Midwife thorough,  
Eight Months Fullgrown Man Child, Born without Pang or Sorrow.  
Libera Nos, etc.  
From a Godfather Pope to the Heir of a Throne;  
From Three Christian Names to one Surname unknown,  
With a Tyler Milch-Nurse, now the Mother's Milk's gone,  
Libera Nos, etc.  
From Gun-Powder-Bonfires, all turned out of play,  
Not a poor Window Candle dare to give a stolen Ray,  
But all kept reserved for Great Simnels Birth Day,  
Libera Nos, etc.  
From Dad Petre Pilots at th' Helm to befriend us,  
With all Hands that Pope, Turk, or Devil can lend us,  
And all from a Second Queen-Bess to defend us,  
Libera Nos, etc.  
From Nuntios from Rome to consult how to drub  
The Protestant Hydra by our Hercules' Club;  
And a Warming-Pan-Plot, worse than Celiers Meal-Tub,  
Libera Nos, etc.  
From old Hundred of Thousand Pound Fines under-rated,  
russel's Head for his Common-House-Votes Elevated,  
And Essex's Razor at Rome Consecrated,  
Libera Nos, etc.  
From Sampson-Cord Oaths, snapped a sunder with Ease;  
From No faith in Man, Colemans' Mouth with a squeeze  
Stopped to tell no more Tales of Father Le Cheese,  
Libera Nos, etc.  
From old Dunkirk sold for a Song and a Dance,  
The Protestant long designed Cause to Advance.  
By Most Christian Reformers, the Dragoons of France,  
Libera Nos, etc.  
From supporting our Church Alamode Magdalano,  
From Mahomet Monsieur our new Lord Soldano,  
And the English Pipes tuned to French Fistula in ano,  
Libera Nos, etc.  
From Tyrconnels Bogtrotters at th' old Trade of Throat-Cutting,  
From new Conquering Ireland for th' English oed footing  
And from Sacrament Oaths of North-Heresie Rooting,  
Libera Nos, etc.  
From Judges with Epsom and Dudleys' Infection  
From Knaves in Fools Coats, by Infallible Direction,  
Raising Heretic Armies for the Roman Protection,  
Libera Nos, etc.  
From threescore thousand Crowns, under Planet malignant  
Given Lorettoes great Lady, that famous Heav'n-Regnant,  
To purchase no more than a poor Cushien Pregnant,  
Libera Nos, etc.    

The Laureate. Jack Squabb's History in a little drawn, Down to his Evening, from his early dawn.  

APpear, thou mighty Bard, to open view;  
Which yet we must confess you need not do:  
The labour to expose thee we may save,  
Thou standest upon thy own Records, a Knave;  
Condemned to live in thy Apostate Rhimes,  
The Curse of Ours, and Scoff of Future Times.  
Still tacking round with every turn of State,  
Reverse to Shaftsbury! thy cursed Fate  
Is always at a change to come too late:  
To keep his plots from Coxcombs was his Care;  
His Villainy was masked, and thine is bare:  
Wise Men alone could guests at his Design  
And could but guests, the Thread was spun so fine;  
But every purblind fool may see through thine.  
Had Dick still kept the Regal Diadem,  
Thou hadst been Poet Laureate to him,  
And, long e'er now, in Lofty Verse proclaimed  
His high Extraction, among Princes Famed;  
Diffused his Glorious Deed from Pole to Pole,  
Where Winds can carry, and where Waves can roll.  
Nay, had our Charles, by Heaven's severe Decree,  
been found, and Murdered in the Royal Tree,  
Even thou hadst praised the Fact; his Father Slain,  
Thou call'st but gently breathing of a Vein:  
Impious, and Villainous! to bless the blow  
That laid at once three Lofty Nations low,  
And gave the Royal Cause a Fatal Overthrow.  
What after this could we expect from thee?  
What could we hope for, but just what we see?  
Scandal to all Religions, New and Old;  
Schandal to thine, where Pardon's bought and sold,  
And Mortgaged Happiness Redeemed for Gold:  
Tell me, for 'tis a Truth you must allow,  
Whoever changed more in one Moon, than thou?  
Even thy own Zimri was more steadfast known;  
He had but one Religion, or had none:  
What Sect of Christians is't thou hast not known,  
And, at one time or other, made thy own?  
A bristled Baptist bred; and then thy strain  
Immaculate, was free from sinful stain.  
No Songs in those blessed times thou didst Produce  
To brand, and shame good manners out of use:  
The Ladies than had not one Bawdy Bob,  
Nor thou the Courtly Name of Poet Squab  
Next, thy dull Muse, an Independent Jade,  
On Sacred Tyranny five Stanza's made:  
Praised Noll, wha even to both extremes did run,  
To kill the Father, and dethrone the Son.  
When Charles came in, thou didst a Convert grow,  
More by thy Interest, than thy Nature so.  
Under his Liv'ning Beams thy Laurels spread;  
He first did place that wreath about thy Head;  
Kindly relieved thy Wants, and gave thee Bread.  
Here 'twas thou made'st the Bells of Fancy chime,  
And Choked the Town with suffocating Rhyme.  
Till Heroes, formed by thy Creating Pen,  
Were grown as Cheap, and Dull, as other men.  
Flushed with Success, full Gallery, and Pit,  
Thou bravest all Mankind with want of Wit.  
Nay, in short time, were't grown so proud a Ninny,  
As scarce t'allow that Ben himself had any.  
But when the men of Sense thy Error saw,  
They Checked thy Muse, & kept the Termagant in awe.  
To satire next thy Talon was Addressed,  
Fell foul on all, thy Friends among the rest:  
Those who the oft'nest did thy wants supply,  
Abused, Traduced, without a Reason why.  
Nay, even thy Royal Patron was not spared,  
But an obscene, a Santring wretch declared.  
Thy Loyal Libel we can still produce,  
Beyond Example, and beyond Excuse.  
O strange return, to a forgiving King,  
But the warmed Viper wears the greatest Sting.  
Thy Pension lost, and justly without doubt,  
When Servants snarl, we ought to kick 'em out,  
They that disdain their Benefactors Bread,  
No longer ought by Bounty to be fed.  
That lost, the Visor changed, you turn about,  
And straight a True Blue Protestant crept out;  
The Friar now was writ: and some will say  
They smell a Malcontent through all the Play.  
The Papist too was damned, unfit for Trust,  
Called Treacherous, Shameless, Profligate, Unjust,  
And Kingly Power thought Arbitrary Lust.  
This lasted till thou didst thy Pension gain,  
And that changed both thy Morals, and thy strain.  
If to write Contradictions, Nonsense be,  
Who has more Nonsense in their works than thee?  
We'll mention but thy Layman's Faith, and Hind,  
Who'd think both these (such Clashing do we find)  
Could be the product of one single mind:  
Here, thou wouldst Charitable fain appear,  
Findest fault that Athanasius was severe;  
Thy Pity straight to Cruelty is raised,  
And even the Pious Inquisition praised,  
And recommended to the present Reign:   

O happy Countries, Italy and Spain!  
Have ewe not cause, in thy own words, to say,  
Let none believe what varies every day,  
That never was, nor will be at a stay.  
Once, Heathens might be saved, you did allow;  
But not, it seems, we greater Heathens now:  
The Loyal Church, that buoys the Kingly Line,  
Damned with a breath, but 'tis such a breath as thine:  
What Credit to thy party can it be,  
T' have gained so lewd a Profligate as thee?  
Strayed from our fold, makes us but laugh, not weep;  
We have but lost what was disgrace to keep:  
By them Mistrusted, and to us a scorn;  
For it is weakness, at the best to Turn.  
True, hadst thou left us in the former Reign,  
T' had proved, it was not wholly done for Gain;  
Now, the Meridian Sun is not so plain.  
Gold is thy God, for a substantial sum  
Thou to the Turk, wouldst run away from Rome,  
And Sing his Holy Expedition against Christendom.  
But to conclude, blush with a lasting Red,  
(If thou'rt not moved with what's already said)  
To see thy Boars, Bears, Buzzards, Wolves and Owls,  
And all thy other Beasts, and other Fowls,  
Routed by two poor Mice: (Unequal sight)  
But easy 'tis to Conquer in the Right.  
See there a Youth (a shame to thy grey hairs)  
Make a mere Dunce of all thy threescore years.  
What in that Tedious Poem hast thou done,  
But crammed all Aesop's Fables into one.  
But why do I the precious minutes spend  
On him, that would much rather hang, than mend.  
No, Wretch; continue still just as thou art,  
thou'rt now in this last Scene, that Crowns thy Part;  
To purchase Favour, veer with every Gale,  
And, against Interest, never cease to rail;  
Tho' thou'rt the only proof how Interest can prevail.    

A View of the Religion of the Town, or, A Sunday-Morning's-Ramble.  

I.  
ON Saturday Night we sat late at the Rose,  
Carousing a Glass to our Wive's Repose,  
After our usual Mode;  
Till we drank so long,  
That Religion came on,  
For we were full of the God.  
At Pro and Con  
We held till One,  
And then we agreed in the Close,  
To let Wording alone,  
And Ramble the Town,  
To see how Religion grows.   

II.  
We began at the Church of Saint Peter,  
Whose prebend's make many Mouths water,  
Religion did here,  
Like Grave Matron appear,  
Neat, but not Gawdy, like Courtesan Rome,  
Plain, but no Slut like you Geneva Dame.  
She hath on an old Stuff,  
With a Primitive Ruff,  
And round the Seam of her Vest,  
In Music-notes scrawled all o'er  
Loyalty expressed she bore,  
By which at her Church we guessed.   

III.  
At the Tombs we did peep,  
Where the Kings were asleep,  
And the Choir melodiously Chanted,  
Without any concern,  
As we could discern  
Of being Be-Quo-warranted.  
And we fancy, at the last cast (Sir)  
When among the rest  
They come to the Test,  
Saint Peter will deny his Master.   

iv  
Then shifting our Protestant-Dress,  
To the Royal Chapel we press,  
Where Religion was fine indeed,  
But with Face and Fringing,  
With Cross nnd Cringing,  
Entirely run up to Seed.  
Good God, what Distraction there reigned,  
Where Union in Worship was feigned!  
For I spied a poor Maid  
Just come to the Trade,  
(For I fancy she was but a Learner)  
Who was but at most (Sir)  
Half-through Paternoster,  
When the Priest was at Amen-Corner.   

V  
Not an Irish-man's Breeches has half the Petitions  
We saw put up there for various Conditions,  
Sent to the blessed Maid  
With Care and with Speed,  
And she soon had a Fellow-feeling,  
For she was not far off,  
But got up aloff,  
Most curiously drawn on the Ceiling  
By the Royal Command;  
Where Verrio's great Hand  
(Such to the Saints is his Love)  
To the Virgin has given  
As glorious a Heaven,  
As that she enjoys and reigns in above,  
Whether like the Rogue drew her,  
They can tell best that knew her,  
Tho' most Men are apt to conjecture,  
When he drew the blessed Maid  
(Moral Fancy to aid)  
His Mistress sat for the Picture.   

VI  
Then, bidding Farewell to their Goddess and them,  
We put in at the Savoy, or New Amsterdam,  
Not to find our Religion, but to see some odd Sights  
To which Father Corker's Chapel invites:  
As in ours sometimes we placed Saints and Martyrs,  
So this Holy Room was surrounded with Traitors,  
In Halters there hung,  
Just so as they swung,  
Saint Coleman, and most of the Gang (Boy)  
And wasn't it for something  
That's just next to nothing,  
Perhaps there had hung our new Envoy.    

The PAPISTS EXALTATION, On his Highness the PRINCE of ORANGE his Arrival in London.  

NOw, now, the Prince is come to Town,  
The Nation's Dread and Hope;  
Who will support the Church and Throne,  
Against the Turk and Pope.  
The Folks are fled, that were the Head,  
The Prop of Popery, if all be true as it is said:  
Then hay Boys up go we.   

The Queen with her Adopted Heir,  
Is on her way to Rome;  
And all undone, has left us here,  
To end the Dance at home.  
The Holy Fathers too are flown,  
Saint Petre, Gregory,  
And if our Cause should once go down,  
Then hey Boys up go we.   

Shelton, Sherbourn, fled for fear,  
Have Rendered up the Keys;  
And now our Magazine of War  
Is made the seat of Peace.  
The Chancellor is in the Tower,  
A woeful sight to see;  
And when he by the Head is lower,  
Then hey Boys up go we.   

Lord Arundel, and Bellasis,  
With Powis are withdrawn;  
The World had not such Braves as these  
To guard a Popish Throne.  
When Peterborow turned of late,  
With brawny Salisbury;  
Their haughty Necks submit to fate,  
Then hay Boys up go we.   

Poulton is in Newgate fast,  
And some say Father Petre;  
If they at Tyburn swing at last,  
Who can die Martyrs greater?  
When Father Ellis is withdrawn,  
Who was so bold and free,  
And Conquest for his Tongue is flown,  
Then hay Boys up go we.   

The Orange grafted in Whitehall,  
And Lucas in the Tower;  
The Fathers fled, both great and small,  
'Tis time that we should scour.  
The Rabble, they have eased the Town  
Of Priests and Popery;  
When once they pull the Chapels down,  
Then hey Boys up go we.    

A New SONG on the Calling of a Free Parliament, Jan. 15. 1688/ 9  

A Parliament with one Consent,  
Is all the Cry o'th' Nation;  
Which now may be,  
Since Popery is growing out of fashion.  
The Belgic Troops approach to Town,  
The Oranges come pouring;  
And all the Lords agree as one,  
To send the Papists scouring.   

The Holy Man, shall lead the Van,  
Our Father and Confessor;  
In Robes of Red, the Jesuits fled,  
Who was the chief Transgressor.  
In this disguise he thought to escape,  
And hoped to save his Bacon;  
But Herbert he has laid a Trap,  
The Rat may be retaken.   

The Nuncio too, the day may Rue,  
That he came o'er the Ocean;  
I'th' English Court, to keep's Resort,  
And teach his blind Devotion.  
The Prelates, Ellis, Smith, and Hall,  
Have sold their Coach and Horses;  
And will no longer in Whitehall  
Foment their learned Discourses.   

The Groom o'th' Stool, that played the Fool,  
Full sorely will repent it;  
And Sunderland did barefoot stand,  
For Penance shall lament it.  
Milford and the Scotch are fled,  
Whom hopes of Interest tempted;  
Those Lords did turn for want of Bread,  
And aught to be Exempted.   

But Salisbury, what cause had he  
To fear his Highness Landing?  
Who by his Arse and Legs might pass  
For one of understanding.  
To take up Arms at such a time  
Against the Rules were gave him;  
His Head must answer for the Crime,  
His Pardon will not save him.   

The Friars and Monks, with all their Punks,  
Are now upon the Scamper;  
Tirconnel swears, and Rants and tears,  
And Teige does make a Clamper.  
The Foreign Priests that Posted o'er  
Into the English Nation,  
Do now repent that on that Shore  
They laid their weak Foundation.   

'Twou'd be a Sight, would move Delight  
In each obdurate Varlet;  
To see the Graves, that made us Slaves,  
Hang in Dispencing Scarlet.  
And every Popish Counsellor,  
That for the same Cause pleaded  
Shall all turn off, at the same score,  
Be hanged, or else Beheaded.    

A New SONG.  

Would you be a Man of Favour?  
Would you have your Fortune kind?  
Wear the Cross, and eat the Waser,  
And you'll have all things to your mind.  
If the Priest cannot convert you,  
Interest then must do the thing;  
There be Friars can inform you  
How to please a Popish King.   

Would you see the the Papist Lowering,  
Lost in a hurry, and a fright;  
And there Father Peter's scouring,  
Glad of Times for happy flight.  
Stay but till the Dutch are Landed,  
And the show will soon appear;  
When th' Infernal Court's Disbanded,  
Few will stay for Tyburn here.    

A New CATCH.  

THis worthy Corpse, where shall we lay?  
In hallowed or unhallowed Clay?  
Th' Unhallowed best befits him dead,  
Who Living from the Hallowed fled.   

Then in the Vestry be his Tomb,  
Since that he made his Drinking-Room;  
While, to avoid the Common-Pray'r,  
He sooped off his French Pottage there.   

But now, alas! near Newgate thrown,  
E'er Tyburn could obtain his own;  
He's gone to sleep with Brethren blest,  
In Baxter's Saints E'erlasting Rest.    

A New CATCH in Praise of the Reverend BISHOPS.  

TRue English Men, Drink a good Health to the Mitre;  
Let our Church ever flourish, tho' her Enemy's spite her.  
May their Cunning and Forces no longer prevail,  
And their Malice, as well as their Arguments, fail.  
Then remember the Seven, which supported our Cause,  
As stout as our Martyrs, and as just as our Laws.    

The FAREWELL.  

FArewell Petre, farewell Cross;  
Farewell Chester, farewell Ass.  
Farewell Peterborow, farewell Tool;  
Farewell Sunderland, farewell Fool.   

II.  
Farewell Milford, farewell Scot;  
Farewell Butler, farewell Sot.  
Farewell Roger, farewell Trimmer;  
Farewell Dreyden, farewell Rhimer.   

III.  
Farewell Brent, farewell Villain;  
Farewell Wright, worse than Tresilian.  
Farewell Chancellor, farewell Mace;  
Farewell Prince, farewell Race.   

iv  
Farewell Queen, farewell Passion;  
Farewell King, farewell Nation.  
Farewell Priests, and farewell Pope;  
Farewell all deserve a Rope.    

TOM TYLER, Or the NURSE.  

OLd Stories of a Tyler sing,  
That did attempt to be a King:  
Our Age is with a Tyler graced,  
By more preposterous Planets raised.  
His Cap with Jocky's matched together,  
Turned to a Beaver and a Feather;  
His Clay transformed to Yellow Gild,  
And Trowel to a Silver Hilt.   

His Lady from the Tiles and Bricks,  
Kidnapped to Court in Coach and Six;  
Her Arms a sucking Prince embrace,  
(Whate'er you think) of Royal Race:  
A Prince, come in the Nick of Time,  
(Blessed Dada! 'tis a Venial Crime  
That shall repair our Breach of State,  
While all the World congratulate,  
Shall, like his Sire, suppress the Just,  
Raise Knaves and Fools to Place of Trust,  
Titus and Vane, who sought his Fate,  
Tilers and Macs to Chits of State.  
But here, unhappy Babe, Alas,  
I cannot but lament thy Case!  
That's Thou, fed up with Rome's strong Meats,  
Should long for Milk of Heretic Teats!  
Among the Daughters was there none  
Worthy to Nurse a Monarch's Son,  
That Thou, in spite of all the Priests,  
Shouldst long for Milk of Heretic Breasts?  
But if thy Uncle, who before  
Was always right, changed the last hour,  
If thy undoubted Sire, so sage,  
Declared i'th' Evening of his Age;  
Why shouldst not thou, Papist so soon  
Be a staunch Protestant e'er Noon?   

This said, the Tyler laughed in's Sleeve,  
And took his Audience of Leave:  
The Prince, who answered ne'er a Word,  
That he should Travel did accord;  
To Paris sent to learn Grimace,  
To Swear and Damn with a Bon Grace.    

The EXPLANATION.  
To the Tune of, hay Boys up go we.  

I.  
OUR Priests in holy Pilgrimage,  
Quite through the Land have gone,  
Surveying each Religious House  
Of Abbot, Friar, and Nun:  
The yearly Rent,  
And full Extent  
Of every one they know;  
And in whose hands  
Are all our Lands,  
As ancient Writers show.   

II.  
Those Places all shall be restored,  
As in short time you'll hear;  
I know the Man has passed his Word,  
Of which you need not fear:  
He did ne'er evade  
One Promise made,  
Nor failed a friend in Woe;  
But when it will be,  
Nor I, nor he,  
Nor the Devil himself does know.   

III.  
Religious Men shall hither haste,  
Their Zeal shall make 'em run;  
The Jesuits shall your Wives keep Chaste,  
Each Friar confess his Nun:  
The Men shall Shrive,  
The Women sweet— ve,  
So all shall be forgiven;  
Your Daughter's Whore,  
Then quit their Score,  
And make 'em fit for Heaven.   

iv  
For Lady Abbess shall appear  
An old Fluxed Bawd or Punk,  
Has F— ked and B— ggered Threescore years,  
Talked Bawdy, and been Drunk,  
Religious Puns  
To teach the Nuns  
Committed to her Charge;  
And mortify  
Their Lechery,  
As Nature does enlarge.   

V  
The Vestals all shall Virgins be  
That never went astray,  
Have been trained up Religiously  
The clean contrary way:  
In Julian's Song  
For Whoring long,  
Tho' oft 've noted been;  
Nature of Force  
Will have its Course,  
'Twas all but Venial Sin.   

VI  
Your Colleges shall be our own,  
As Vacancy does fall;  
we'll strip each Doctor of his Gown,  
The Parson's turn out all:  
Their Revenues great,  
With pleasant Seat,  
The Church to us has given,  
To Sing you Mass,  
Confess each Ass,  
And make you fit for Heaven.   

VII.  
Nor will we any longer wait,  
After such Notice given;  
Nor shall they in the Pulpits prate,  
Or teach the way to Heaven:  
'Tis our Province  
You to convince;  
Our Arguments shall be,  
Without dispute  
To make you mute,  
Then, hay Boys, up go we.   

VIII.  
Now, Heretics, consider well  
The Game you have to play;  
You yet may keep on this side Hell,  
If warned by what we say:  
But e'er your Lands  
Shall 'scape our Hands,  
Which have been long our due;  
we'll Stab, we'll Shoot,  
And Damn to boot,  
Then, hay Boys, up go you.    

A New SONG on the Prince and Princess of ORANGE.  

I.  
SInce Orange is on British Land,  
That Protestant who will not stand  
To him, and under his Command,  
Befriends the Romish Cause,  
Gives all our Liberties away,  
Our Lives to Popish Priests a prey,  
And Magna Charta does betray  
The Test and Penal Laws.   

II.  
Bid too Illustrious Moll appear,  
We shan't have then more cause to fear,  
From any Jesuit practice here,  
The Lawful Heir to cheat.  
Then to her Highness a full Glass,  
The Second Faith-defending Lass,  
And to her Good Man: but the Mass  
Let Providence defeat.    

Packington's Pound.  

I.  
WHen the Joy of all Hearts, and Desire of all Eyes,  
In whom our chief Refuge, and Confidence lies,  
The Protestant Bulwark against all Despair,  
Has deprived us at once, of herself, and her Heir:  
That hopeful Young Thing,  
Begot by a King,  
And a Queen, whose Perfections o'er all the world ring.  
A Father whose Courage no Mortal can daunt,  
And a Mother whose Virtue no Scandal can taint.   

II.  
When Jeffryes resigns up the Purse and the Mace,  
Whose impudent Arrogance gained him the place:  
When, like Lucifer, thrown from the height of his pride,  
And the Knot of his Villainies strangely untied.  
From the Chancery Bawling,  
He turns a Tarpaulin,  
Men still catch at any thing when they are falling:  
But to hasten his Fate, before he could scour,  
He was taken at Wapping, and sent to the Tower.   

III.  
When Confessor Petre's does yield up the Game,  
And proves to the worst of Religion a shame,  
When his cheating no more o'er our Reason prevails,  
But is blasted like that of his true Prince of Wales:  
Which was his Contrivance,  
And our wise K— s Connivance,  
To establish the Papists, and Protestants drive hence:  
But their Cobweb Conception is brought to the Test,  
And the coming of ORANGE has quite spoiled the Jest.   

iv  
When Peterborough Noted for all that's ill,  
Was urged by his Wife to the making his Will;  
At the hearing which words, he did stare, foam & roar,  
Then broke out in Cursing, and calling her Whore.  
And for two Hours at least  
His Tongue never ceased,  
He railed on Religion, and damned the poor Priest,  
And his friends, who had hope to behold him expire,  
Are afraid by this Bout they shall lose their desire.   

V  
Young Salisbury famed in this great Expedition,  
Not for going to War, but obtaining Commission;  
It's no Mystery to me if his Courage did fail,  
When the Greatest of Monarches himself did turn Tail:  
So that it he took Flight,  
With his betters by Night  
I am apt to to believe the pert Spark was i'th' right:  
For the Papists this Maxim do every where hold,  
To be forward in Boasting, in Courage less Bold.   

VI  
Nor should Bellasis, Powis, and Arundel throng,  
But each in due place have his Attributes sung.  
Yet since 'tis believed by the strange turn of Times,  
They'll be called to account for their Treasonable Crimes,  
While the Damned Popish Plot  
Is not yet quite forgot.  
For which the Lord Stafford went justly to Pot;  
And to their great comfort I'll make it appear,  
They that gave 'em their Freedom, themselves are not clear.   

VII.  
W. W's. that Friend to the Bishops and Laws,  
As the Devil would have it, espoused the wrong Cause;  
Now loathed by the Commons, and scorned by the Peers,  
His Patent for Honour, in pieces he tears.  
Both our Britain's are fooled,  
Who the Laws overruled,  
And next Parliament each, will be plagu'ly Schooled:  
Then try if your Cunning can find out a Flaw  
To preserve you from Judgement according to Law.   

VIII.  
Sir Edward Hale's Actions I shall not repeat,  
Till by Axe, or by Halter, his Life he complete;  
Pen's History shall be related by Lob,  
Who has ventured his Neck for a Snack in the .  
All their Priests and Confessors,  
With their dumb Idol-Dressers,  
Shall meet that Reward which is due to Transgressor's.  
And no Papist henceforth shall these Kingdoms inherit,  
But ORANGE shall reap the Reward of his Merit.   
FINIS.