Monmouth's Downfall; OR, THE ROYAL VICTORY.  
To the Tune of, Hark, I hear the Cannons Roar.  

I.  
HArk, I hear the Trumpets found,  
The Loyal Joys and Shouts go round;  
Whilst th' Echoing Hills and Dales rebound,  
The whigs are all surrounded.  
At Jove's dread Thunder, James' Frown,  
Behold the Foes of Church and Crown;  
Th'old Rebel Giants tumbling down,  
To Death and Hell Confounded.   

II.  
Argyle and Rumbold's Losing Chance  
Began to lead the solemn Dance:  
And Monmouth's Fate does next advance,  
To fill the fatal Chorus.  
Their mounted Heads begin to make  
Our baffled Hero's Courage quake,  
And the Good Old Cause a tottering shake;  
For James' Sword's Victorious.   

III.  
Come ye great Fanatic Dons,  
Welcome all my Tyburn Sons;  
Whilst the bending Gibbet groans  
With loads of whigs all round her:  
And th' Imperial Tony's Ghost,  
Lord of all the Stygian Coast,  
Salutes the vast descending Host;  
The mighty Whigland-Founder.   

IV.  
No more that little Crop-eared Saint,  
Ferguson's Tub-Gospel Cant  
Shall th' aspiring Fop Enchant,  
And make dull fools adore him.  
Great James, in spite of Scotch Kirk Loons,  
The feeble Rumbold Musquetoons,  
And all the Zealous Taunton Clowns,  
Shall drive the World before him.   

V.  
Rampant Zeal's for ever tamed,  
The Tecklite Reformation shamm'd,  
The Presbyter- Turk, and Devil damned,  
And the long charm all ended.  
Quenched are now th' Infernal brands,  
Whilst safe from Impious Rebel Hands,  
Great James' Life and Empire stands,  
By Angel Guards defended.   

VI  
Then our Fears and Sorrows drowned,  
Let the Jocund Bowls go round,  
With Royal Caesar's Health all Crowned,  
And farewel all Delusion.  
To the sanctified True-Blue,  
That Hypocrite, false, pretending Crew;  
To give the Rebel Devil his due,  
Perdition and Confusion.    

This may be Printed.  
July 7. 1685. R. L S.   

LONDON: Printed for Nicholas Wolf, at the Leopard in Newgate-street. 1685.