The Tories Confession, Or, A merry song in Answer to The WHIGS Exaltation:  
To the same Tune of Forty One.  

[1]  
A Pox on Whigs we'll now grow wise  
Let's cry out guard the Throne,  
By that we'll damn the Good Old Cause  
And make the Game our own  
Religion, that shall stoop to us,  
and so shall Liberty,  
We'll make their Laws as thin as Lawn,  
such Tory Rogues are we.   

[2]  
When once that Preaching Whining Crew  
are crushed and quite undone,  
The Poor we'll banish by our Laws,  
and all the rest we'll burn.  
Then Abbey-Lands shall be possessed  
by those whose Right they be,  
We'll cry up Laws, but none we'll use,  
such Tory Rogues are we.   

[3]  
The Name of Protestant we hate,  
the Whigs they know it well,  
And since we can't it longer hide  
let's Truth genteely tell.  
Now Damn me is good Manners grown,  
and tends to Gallantry,  
We'll 〈◊〉 the Nation out of Doors,  
such cursed Rogues are we.   

[4]  
What care we for a Parliament,  
no Money comes from thence,  
Would they but give us Coin enough,  
would spend the Nations pence.  
These twopenny Statesmen all shall down,  
a glorious sight to see,  
To finish all we'll plunder 'em too,  
such Sons of Whores are we.   

[5]  
We'll build more Universities,  
for there lies all our hope,  
And to th' Crape Gown we'll cringe & creep  
supposing 'twere a Pope;  
Say what he will we'll him believe,  
if true or false it be,  
And while he prays we'll Drink his Health,  
such Tory Rogues are we.   

[6]  
What pimping Whig shall dare control,  
or check the lawful Heir,  
We'll take the Rascal by the Pole,  
and Pox of all his Hair.  
Then here goes honest James' Health,  
come drink it on your Knee,  
Dzowns we'll have none but honest souls,  
such Tory Rogues as we.   

[7]  
These Crafty Whigs are subtle Knaves  
to give 'em all their due,  
And yet we balked the Popish Plot,  
though they had sworn it true.  
For this you know who we may thank,  
But Mum for that, yet we  
Are bound to pray and praise him for't,  
such Tory Rogues are we.   

[8]  
When all these zealous Whigs are down,  
we'll drink and fall a roaring,  
And then set up the Triple Crown,  
'twill Saint us all for whoring.  
When we have quite enslaved 'em all,  
ourselves cannot be free.  
Then prithee Devil claim thy own,  
for hey to Hell go we.   

[9]  
We'll choose their Sheriffs and Juries too  
and then pretend 'tis Law,  
We'll bring more Irish o'er to swear  
'gainst those they never saw:  
We'll seize their Charters, than they must  
come beg 'em on their Knee,  
If this won't do we'll call the French,  
such cursed Rogues are we.    

LONDON Printed for T. H. MDCLXXXII.