DAGON's FALL OR, The WHIGS Lamentation for the Death of Anthony King of Poland.  
Ag 〈…〉 Ld shaftsbury  
To the Tune of, Philander, etc. 3. feb. 1683/2  

[1]  
AH Cruel Bloody Fate!  
What canst thou now do more?  
Alas! 'tis now too late  
Poor Toney to restore:  
Why should the flattering Fates persuade,  
That Toney still should live,  
In England here,  
Or in Holland there,  
Yet all our hopes deceive.   

[2]  
A Noble Peer He was,  
And of Notorious Fame;  
But now He's gone (alas!)  
A Pilgrim o'er the Main:  
The Prop and Pillar of our hope  
The Patron of our CAUSE;  
The Scorn and Hate  
Of Church and State,  
The Urchin of the Laws.   

[3]  
Of matchless Policy  
Was this Renowned Peer,  
The bane of Monarchy,  
The People's Hope and Fear,  
The Joy of all True-Protestants,  
The Tories Scorn and Dread;  
But now He's gone  
Who cursed the Throne,  
Alas! poor Toney's dead.   

[4]  
For Commonwealth He stood,  
Pretending Liberty;  
And for the Public Good  
Would pull down Monarchy:  
The Church and State he would divorce,  
The Holy CAUSE to wed:  
And in time did hope  
To confound the Pope,  
To be himself the Head.   

[5]  
A TAP in's side he bore,  
To broach all forts of Ill,  
For which Seditious Store  
The Crowd adored him still:  
He spit his Venom through the Town,  
With which the Saints possessed,  
Would preach and prate  
'Gainst Church and State,  
While He performed the rest.   

[6]  
When any change of State,  
Or Mischief was at hand,  
He had a working Pate,  
And Devil, at command:  
He forged a PLOT, for which the Heads  
Of Faction gave their Votes;  
But now the PLOT  
Is gone to pot,  
What will become of Oats?   

[7]  
Under the fair pretence  
Of Right, Religion, Law,  
Excluding the True Prince,  
The Church would overthrow:  
With such Religious sham's he brought  
The Rabble on his side;  
And, for his sport,  
The Town and Court  
In Parties would divide.   

[8]  
Now what's become of all  
His squinting Policy  
Which wrought your Dagon's Fall,  
From Justice forced to fly?  
Old and Decrepit, full of pains,  
As he of Gild was full:  
He fell to Fate,  
And now (too late)  
He leaves us to condole.   

[9]  
Now, learn ye Whigs in time,  
By his deserved Fall,  
To expiate his Crime,  
E'er Fate revenge you all;  
For Rights, Religion, Liberty,  
Are but the Sham-pretence  
To Anarchy;  
But Loyalty  
Obeys the Lawful Prince:    

LONDON: Printed by Nath. Thompson, at the Entrance into the Old-Spring-garden near Charing Cross, Anno Domini, 1683.