A New BALLAD,  
To the Tune of, I'll tell thee, Dick, etc.  

I'll tell thee, Tom, the strangest story,  
Because thou art an honest Tory;  
'Tis News beyond expressions:  
Zich zights are no where to be zeen  
In any Lond, (God zave the Queen)  
But at our Quarter-Zessions.   

Vor Rogues I zaw in zich a place,  
As would the Gibbet quite disgrace,  
'Tis pity it should want 'em:  
But how the Devil they came there,  
List, Tom, and I'll in brief declare▪  
And How they did recant 'em.   

When I was late at London-Town,  
To see zome zights e'er I went down,  
To Whitehall I did venture;  
And having on my best Array,  
As vine as on a Holiday,  
Zoors I made bold to enter.   

Up stairs I went, which were as brooad,  
And Dirty too as any Rooad,  
Or as the streets o'th' Zity.  
Hadst thou been there, thou wouldst have zaid  
There had been no Servant Maid,  
God's zooks, and that's a pity.   

When I was up, I did discern  
A Chamber bigger than a Barn,  
Where I did zee Voke stand,  
That I was well near urighted quite,  
It was so strange and grim a zight,  
With long things in their hand.   

Their Clothing cannot well be told,  
On which were things of beaten Gold  
Upon their Back and Breast;  
I doffed my Hat when I came in,  
Quoth I▪ Pray which of you's the King?  
Which made a woundy Jest.   

At last came by a Gentleman,  
Who made me zoon to understand  
I need not be aveared;  
Quoth he, Come on, and vollow me,  
I'll show thee straight His Majesty,  
Warrant theas are but his Guard.   

But, Tom, not any Wake or Vair  
Can show zich numbers as are there,  
Still cringeing low, and bowing,  
That I may zwear, and tell no lie,  
They wearier are, than Thou or I  
With Thrashing or with Ploughing.   

No Ants do vaster lead or drive,  
Or Bees buzz to or fro' the Hive▪  
I marl they were not dizzy;  
And zure the Nations great Avairs  
Lay heavily upon their Cares,  
They looked so wise and busy.   

At last came in His Majesty,  
No taller tho' than Thou or I;  
Yet, whatzoe'r I ailed,  
With only gazing on His Face,  
I trembled like a Love-zick-Lass  
Just on the point to yield.   

He looked, methought, above the rest,  
Tho' not by half so vinely dressed,  
Which made me fall a zwearing,  
A Pox upon the Parliament,  
That will not let us pay him Rent,  
Gold's only for his wearing.   

A Ribbon vine came cross avore,  
Zich as our Landlord's Bridemen wore,  
At end of which was hung  
A curious thing, that shone as bright  
As Maudlin's eyes, or morning light,  
When guilded by the Zun,   

But now the News, I'll tell thee Truth,  
Hard by his zide there stood a Youth,  
That looked as trim and gay,  
As if he had not guilty been  
Of wishing e'er to be a King,  
Unless a King of May.   

It was the zame our Vicar zed  
Vor Treason should have lost his Head,  
Warrant which vive hundred Pound  
By Proclamation offered was  
To any that should take his Grace  
In any Kerson ground.   

Won Sunday morn, thou mayst remember▪  
I think the twontieth of Zeptember,  
Our Parson read a thing,  
How this same Spark, (a vengeance on him▪)  
With forty moor, did take upon him  
To kill our Gracious King.   

But scant the urighted harmless Zwain,  
That meets a Wolf upon the Plain,  
Was so aghast with vear:  
Wounds! if His Majesty (quoth I)  
Does keep no better Company,  
I'll stay no longer here.   

With that, the Mon that brought me in  
By th' Jacket pulled me back again;  
Quoth he, Pray hear ye reason;  
He was a What-d'ye-calt▪ 'tis true,  
But's Pardon makes him uree as you  
Vrom Knavery or Treason.   

Whaw whaw! quoth I, a pretty Nick,  
To make Rogues honest by a trick  
Zo often tried in vain;  
As if my Bull should gore me once,  
I'd trust the zenseless Beast with Horns  
To gore me o'er again.   

I'll even to Devonshire again,  
Where honest men are honest men,  
And Rogues are hanged for Rogues.  
God's wounds! were I His Majesty,  
E'er zich a Zon should count'nanced be,  
Chi'd prise him as my Dogs.