A Trick for Tyburn: OR A PRISON RANT. BEING A SONG of the Prisoners of Newgate, at the GAOL-DELIVERY.  
To the Tune of Hark the Thundering Canons Roar  

trumpets sound and Steeples Ring  
Every Loyal Subject Sing,  
With a Health to James our King  
For his Pardon granted.  
Prisoners half Dead that lay,  
Closed in Stone, in stead of Clay,  
Have their Liberty to Day,  
Which before they wanted.   

Newgate lately did bring forth  
Seventy Children at a Birth,  
All in Wantonness and Mirth,  
At a Gaol-Delivery.  
But her Keepers they Lie In,  
Money sick for want of Sin;  
They will look both Pale and Thin,  
Till a new Recovery.   

Now the Doors are open wide,  
Jack may take his Mare and Ride;  
With a Leg on every side;  
And the Jade be flinging.  
Take her Halter Catch, and try  
What's the nearest course to Die;  
And we'll write thine Elegy,  
He's Hanged for want of Hanging.   

Henceforth we will Steal no more,  
Tho we should be ne'er so Poor,  
If (by chance) we take a Whore  
In single Fornication.  
We Get a Soldier to the King,  
Or a Seaman who doth bring  
From the Indies every thing,  
It doth not Wrong the Nation.   

We were Rebels (more than Base)  
To abuse an act of Grace:  
We'll ne'er do't in any Case;  
We'll Legal be and Loyal.  
If the French begin to Reel,  
English Hearts are true as Steel;  
We'll make their Breasts our Bullets feel  
For James our King the Royal.   

Should our Case be ne'er so bad,  
We will never be so mad  
As to go upon the Pad,  
Whilst our Life endureth  
This Rogue that was a great Trapan,  
Is two parts turned a Civil Man,  
And honestly Drinks off his Can,  
And nothing deadly feareth.   

We wish that those that cannot pay  
Their Debts, may have a Jubiley;  
That Poor Men for the King may Pray  
At his Great Coronation.  
To see the Usurers go Mourn  
And take with Jack a second Turn,  
When their Bills and Bonds they Burn;  
Would overjoy the Nation.   

Whitington did build an House  
Enough to Starve a Rat or Mouse,  
But left Allowance for a Louse,  
To give Poor Men the Fever.  
But James the Great hath found a way  
To turn his Sceptre to a Key,  
And give his Children all the Play;  
God Bless him then for Ever.    

LONDON, Printed by G. C. for J. Cox, at the Blue-Ball in Thames-street. 1685.