TONY's Lamentation: OR, POTAPSKI's City-Case. BEING This Last Farewell to the Consectated WHIGS: The Tune is, Let Oliver now be forgotten.  

A 'Las! poor Unfortunate TONY,  
where now must thou hide thy old head?  
That has not so much as one Crony  
dares own the great things thou hast said:  
Is this the thanks of the Nation,  
For thy Association,  
And Liberty,  
That Reformation,  
— which I prescribed to set you all free.   

Ungrateful unsensible Cullies,  
to leave your Decriped Patroon,  
Tothth' merciless rage of the Bullies,  
and Tories in every Lampoon:  
Is then your City protection,  
And all the vowed Affection,  
For your New Church,  
In such Distraction,  
That you will leave your Peer in the Lurch.   

How oft have I treated the Rabble,  
and made the poor Doctor to Peach?  
Confusion to all which were able,  
and did not assist in the Breach:  
Are all your Butchers and Weavers,  
And Mobbily Believers,  
But whilst I treat  
Damned deceivers,  
What Fool by you can hope to be great?   

How much did you praise and adore me,  
for Voting No York, No Lawn Sleeves?  
And now to please those which abhor me,  
have set up two Protestant Sheriffs:  
If ‛ Oats should peach, I'll assure ye,  
You'll hardly find such a Jury,  
As I have done,  
Think of the Fury,  
He once dicharged in Pickerings Gun.   

Remember the Keyhole, and Lined too,  
through which your Divine bravely swore,  
And think of the thing was designed too,  
then tell me whose Visage it wore:  
Were these such petty Inventions,  
And what the Authors did since,  
To be forgot,  
Where's your Conscience?  
If this can be, sure Natures a Scot   

Then farewel thou Treacherous City,  
for ever I'll bid thee adieu,  
Thou never were't Honest and Witty,  
nor never to any side true:  
I see the end that you drive at,  
Which lest your hopes arrive at,  
I have slunk away,  
To Hang in private,  
And rob the World of a Holiday.    

London, Printed for W. Griggs, in the Year, 1682.