A POEM on the DEPONENTS concerning the Birth of the Prince of Wales.  

THE Mighty Monarch of this British Isle,  
Disturbed to hear his Subjects prate and smile,  
That he is so content to own a Son,  
For to inherit the imperial Crown,  
To please his Queen, and put by both his own.  
But finding England not so credulous,  
And cleer-eyed Orange more suspect than us;  
By Instigation of the Queen and P—  
He summoned all together, as you see,  
And there declares his own Sufficiency:  
He says, His Subjects Minds now poisoned are,  
They'll not believe God blessed him with an Heir;  
But to convince them they are in the wrong,  
In come the Swearers, and Depose as long  
A Narrative as perjured Oats could do:  
What these Depose unquestionably's true;  
Our King says so, who dare say other now?  
There Lords, Knights, Ladies, Esquires, Quacks and all  
The Papal Locust that infect Whitehall,  
They swear what King would have to gain their ends,  
Since he's a Prince that ne'er forgets his Friends.  
But witness Bishops, for your Loyalty  
He makes you great, he did bestow on ye,  
To keep you safe, his greatest strongest Fort;  
While you were there, the Tower was the Court:  
All fled from James, to you for Blessings came;  
Imprisonment immortalised your Name;  
Bishops of England's Church are Men of Fame.  
And since his dire Design in Law has failed,  
He seems to smile, you are to council called,  
To hear the worthy loyal Swearers swear,  
That at the Birth of Wales' Prince they were.   

And first gins old England's barren Queen,  
That at her Sister's Labour was not seen  
Till all was passed; yet for the Holy Cause  
She'll do what e'er she can to blind the Laws  
Of England, and doth there declare, and say,  
She hasted to the Queen that very day,  
And never stirred till this great Prince was born  
For the Nation's Glory, but he proves their Scorn;  
Except of those that daily on him wait,  
Whose Loyal Love is only to be great.   

Next comes old Powis, who a Story feigns  
Of riff-raff stuff to fill the People's Brains  
Of what she saw and knew about the thing,  
And in a modest circumstance doth bring  
Of something which into the World he brought,  
And by the Doctors gave him, as she thought.  
Now as a Governess she tends his Grace,  
And would not for all Heaven quit her place;  
So sweet a Babe, so fine a hopeful Lad,  
The forwardest Son the Father ever had.   

Then Aran's Countess with her Oath comes in  
That at the Prince's Birth herself had been,  
And how she heard complain from the Queen  
Of little Pains, and then the Child was seen.  
But oh! he did not cry, the Queen bawled out,  
For fear 'twas dead, but Granny cleared the doubt;  
And further Honour this great Lady had,  
She saw Smock spoiled with Milk (the sign was bad.)   

And Peterborough could not be beguiled,  
Knowing the Father's strength, at thoughts she smiled;  
She saw the Smock, and swears she was with Child.   

While pious Sunderland to Chapel went,  
On purpose to receive the Sacrament;  
Devotion was so great, she disobeyed  
Her Majesty, and said, when she had prayed  
She'd wait on her; but hearing that the Prince  
Was hasting to the World; this, this pretence  
Soon brought our Saintlike Lady quick from thence;  
And from her bended Knees slew to the Queen,  
And there saw all the sight was to be seen;  
The Bed was warmed, and into it she went,  
And asked the King, if for the Guess he'd sent.  
A lingering pain she had, and seemed to fear  
'Twould not be born till all the Fools were there;  
But by her Midwife was assured one pain  
Would bring the Prince into the World amain;  
But Faithless Queen, the Child did lie so high,  
She'd not believe but Judith told a Lie; 
She laid her hand upon the Queen's Belly.   
And such an honour to this Deponent granted,  
It's hardly more by th' Pope for to be Sainted.   

Roscommon swears she stood by Sunderland,  
Near the Queen's Bed, just by the Midwife's hand;  
And saw his Highness taken out of Bed,  
Fit for a Crown t' adorn his Princely Head.   

Fingall Deposed, that in the Queen's distress,  
She stood at the Beds feet just by Mistress,  
And saw the Prince into the World did come,  
And by Delababy carried from the Room.   

Then painted Buckley early in the morn  
Came to St. James' to see his Highness born;  
With all the hast she could she up did rise,  
Soon dressed, she came by Nine a Clock precise,  
And found her Majesty was in the bed,  
And groaning dismally, she further said;  
Cried to the Midwife, Do not the Child part;  
Old Granny craved her leave: With all her Heart  
She granted what the Beldame did desire;  
And certain 'tis, there was no danger nigh her;  
Crying, O King, where are you gone, and fled!  
He said, I'm, Madam, Kneeling on your Bed.  
This plain Deponent bellows Bawdy forth,  
To be exposed East, West, South, and North,  
Without ere fear or shame bars Modesty,  
For to outface the World with such a Lye.  
Then pocky Bellassis, 'tis next comes in,  
And says, She saw the Coach of Charles' Queen;  
And hearing that the Queen in Labour was,  
She hurried in without a Call or Pass;  
With this excuse, she knew she was forgot,  
Where she talks Bawdy, shows Impudence, what not?  
Expose herself in Print to show her love,  
Exalted by the King, and one above,  
She'll lie and swear, forswear to prop the Cause  
That Baffles England's sound and wholesome Laws.   

Then Lady Waldgrave, who was there before  
This Royal Babe was launched from the Shore,  
And heard her Majesty cry out full sore.   

Then Crane and sottish Wentworth say the same,  
With Sawyer, Waldgrave, Dawson, that they came,  
And saw this wonder which the World won't own,  
And blames their little Faith to think this Son  
Espurious, and not in truth proceeding  
From Majesty, when they all saw him bleeding.  
Nay, gave him of his Blood squeezed from th' string,  
That Royal Babe into the World did bring.  
Then Bromely, Turini, and Nan Carry too  
Swear they saw all the Work that was to do,  
And more by half is sworn than they'll prove true.   

Then comes Delababy the great Nurse,  
Who with the Queen is all in all in trust,  
And swears that Danvers, Maid to Princess Ann  
Was joyed to see this little Royal man,  
With former mark on Eye that used to be  
On all Queen Mary's Royal Progeny.  
James seemed to doubt that which before he knew,  
And feared this treacherous Nurse not told him true,  
But he must peep and see the Royal Elf,  
And joyed as if he had got him his own self:  
For Mrs. Wilks, who doubts but she would say  
She brought the Prince to Town that very day?  
And told the King the trembling Queen did fear  
'Twould be hard labour (though no Child was there)  
Explains most impudently those concerns  
That fellow Women when they cast their Bear  
But what cares she, the Heretics she'll blind,  
And then no fear the King will prove most kind  
To all those Wretches that swear to his mind.   

Then comes the Washer-woman, Mrs. Pierce,  
And says, that to the Queen she's Laundress,  
And there declares a Story of Hot Linen,  
That used to come from Childbearing Women.   

Richmond and Litchfield, and fine marshal,  
Tho not at Labour, they believe it all,  
And fain would be believed, if these Tools  
By swearing falsely could make us such Fools:  
They give such Demonstrations, which do lie  
As much aside as they do Modesty.   

Then comes great George of England's Chancellor,  
Who was with expedition called to the Labour.  
The Queen cried out as Women used to do,  
And he believes the Prince is real too;  
But not so certain, nor 'tis feared so true  
As he wears Horns that were by Monford made,  
Them and his noise makes all the Fools afraid;  
Tongue runs at random, and Horns bushes those  
That are so learned his Lordship to oppose.  
He fears to act no wretched Villainies,  
He dreads no Torments for inventing Lies,  
For he of Heaven is sure when  he dies:  
Thanks to the care of fond indulgent Wife,  
To make atonement for his wicked Life:  
Damns her own Soul, and Whores with all she could,  
T' allay the impetuous Sallies of her Blood.   

Lord Precedent comes next, that's now cashiered,  
For only speaking of the Truth, 'tis feared;  
Yet he for to be great again at Court  
Would be forsworn, though he's damned for't.   

Then Arundel of Wardour Privy-Seal  
Was so concerned, that he her pains did feel;  
And 'tis believed this tenderhearted man  
Did feel as much as Majesty did then:  
He showed so great concern to mighty Wem,  
Who knew too much to have concern for him;  
But satisfied the Fool it would be passed,  
And wondered much her pains so long did last.   

Then comes my Lord All-Pride with Modesty, 
Lord Mulgrave, so called.   
And seems unwilling to affirm a Lie;  
With stately Gesture he did himself excuse,  
But setting hand to Paper can't refuse.   

Then foolish Craven comes, and doth depose,  
A Mark he has that he the Prince well knows;  
If it be his Lordship's Mark, he must ne'er rule;  
For Europe knows he's marked out for a Fool.   

Then comes Feversham that haughty Beau,  
And tells a Tale of Dean, and Dat, and how,  
Tho he's not more believed than all the rest,  
Only poor man, he fain would do his best,  
And be rewarded as when come from West.  
Earl of Murry that Alexander Great,  
He doth believe 'twas the King that did the feat,  
And that this Son is true, and not a Cheat.  
Then Middleton and Melford both explained  
The business, which they from the King had gained,  
As knowing Men, his Majesty did trust  
His Consorts Secrets, hoping they'd be just  
To his endeared Son, our mighty Prince,  
That as he thought would hid his impotence.  
Godolphin too with Confidence pretends  
It's true born, but 'tis for his own ends.   

And Fox a Story tells of God knows what,  
To fool the Nation's all he would be at:  
He keeps in favour with his Princely Grace,  
He fawns and flatters for to keep his place.   

Then famous Scarborough and Witherly,  
With Waldgrave, Brady, and Amand do lie,  
And bring their Circumstances to convince  
The World that 'tis a real highborn Prince.  
Thus they stick out at nothing that will do  
The Nations Wrong, and bring to England Woe:  
Base mercenary Slaves, for a King's smile  
Would espurious Issue rear, and us beguile;  
That fawn on him, and more observe a Nod,  
Then fear the vengeance of an angry God;  
And on the turn of Times would all fly back  
And let his Highness' interest go to wrack.  
Two Depositions more to Court were sent 
Lord Peterborough and Huntingdon.   
Ashamed t' appear to further the intent  
Of Popish Principles and Perjuries.  
None but the Devil could invent such Lies.  
Then after this the King himself declares  
He done't design with England to make Wars.  
But he such Aggravations hath of late,  
That he must needs be angry with the State:  
A specious Prologue to conclude withal;  
But all the Protestants he vows shall fall  
A Sacrifice to Rome, and his Revenge:  
Then Soldiers, fear not Fools, but scorn to cringe;  
Be resolute and stout, and scorn to sell  
Your Souls to Rome, but send the Pope to Hell.   
FINIS.