Good News in Bad Times; OR Absaloms' Return to David's Bosom.  
To the Tune of, Adieu to the pleasures and Follies of Love.  

A Dieu to the hopes of the Whigs of the State,  
The long-wished for News is arrived, tho' late;  
Reflections of Conscience did Monmouth convince,  
How much he had wronged his dear Father, and Prince;  
So heinous a Crime there's none durst befriend,  
But only the Monarch which he did offend;  
Great YORK intercedes for him,  
And Nature Pleads for him,  
to Kiss the Hand of his Monarch again.   

II.  
So humble a Submission, so pensive a Face,  
So glorious an Advocate needs must find grace;  
The Godlike great Brothers did Monmouth restore,  
The height of whose Crime showed their mercy the more:  
As before in the Court all together they shined,  
In the Presence again they will strike envy blind;  
For York has retrieved him,  
The King received him,  
Monarches have mercy, and Nature is kind.   

III.  
The Peace you made so successful will prove,  
No Separatist dares to add Gall to your Dove;  
Be deaf to those Crocodiles if they do Whine,  
They love not your Father, nor none of his Line:  
A Presbyter-Priest when his Zeal does provoke,  
Is a heap of Combustables in a long Cloak:  
Who e'er Burned the City down,  
Now 'tis a pretty Town,  
But they once made the three Nations to Smoak.   

IV.  
Away to the Court and Survey ev'ry Room,  
Your presence will bring there a richer Perfume:  
Each Picture will bow there, and smile in your face,  
And those that detracted will pray for your Grace;  
Then keep in the Court, and your favour renew  
With Caesar, and those that have loved you so true:  
And let the Rabble know,  
You'll have no more to do  
With such a Factious Illiterate Crew.   

V.  
The Faction who carries Religion in's face, (Grace;  
Will make no more Treats, nor drink healths to your  
For since you're returned to Great Caesar's Breast,  
They swear you're a Papist as well as the rest;  
And now they remember their Machine of State  
Was afraid that your Father and you were too great:  
And nothing troubles them,  
But that you Bubbled them,  
Of all their hopes, and of many a Treat.   

VI  
Keep close to your Gracious forgiving Great King,  
And every day some new Offering bring;  
Discover Great-Brittain's Intestine Foes,  
And those that the Church and her Interest oppose;  
By this you'll deserve the great favour obtained,  
And wipe off that Blemish with which you were stained  
And like a Glorious Star,  
Of our bright Hemisphere,  
One of her Patrons for ever proclaimed.   

VII.  
Then bless the good Duke, and your Father renown,  
But hate those that put you in thoughts of a Crown;  
Live under its beams, for the shelter is good,  
But think not to injure the old Royal Blood:  
Who Heaven has adopted for a Crowned Head,  
Must wait for the hour of the Field or the Bed;  
And there in Honour's fight,  
Take naught but what is right,  
Wronging Succession is wronging the dead.   
FINIS.  
Printed for P. Brookshy, near the hospital-gate, in West-Smithfield.