THE STATE EMPIRIC A New BALLAD.  
To the Tune of, Which no body can deny.  

[1]  
FRom over the Seas not long since there came,  
A Doctor of most Notorious Fame,  
If you please, you may guests at his Unchristian name.  
Which no body can deny.   

[2]  
This Doctor came hither to cure three Nations.  
Who were so Silly as to be his Patients;  
And first he Blooded 'em for the Fashions.  
Which, etc.   

[3]  
The Medicine he brought was called a PLOT,  
Which was Compounded of th● Devil knows what:  
When first he Arriv●d it was Piping-Hot.  
Which, etc.   

[4]  
But if We may guests at the Damned Composition,  
'Twas a mess of all sorts of English Sedition,  
Made by a Presbyterian Physician.  
Which, etc.   

[5]  
To make each Dose go down the safer,  
What do▪ s me still This Learned Gaffer,  
But Cover it or with a Papist's Water.  
Which, &c   

[6]  
As soon as 'twas Swallowed, the Patient began,  
To Stare and to Talk like a Lunatic Man,  
Of Pistols and Daggers, to Kill and Trepan.  
Which, etc.   

[7]  
To some 'twas Fmetick, to others Cathartick;  
(I mean, to all those who of it did partake;)  
In short, it made every Honest Man's heart-ake.  
Which, etc.   

[8]  
To say truth we were all in a filthy Condition,  
This voided a Libel, that Spewed a Petition,  
For which we may thank in part our Physician.  
Which, etc.   

[9]  
At last it made our Blood so ferment,  
That a Rancorous Sore from Men's Body's was sent:  
The Ulcer, I mean, of a strange Parliament.  
Which, etc.   

[10]  
It's Venom upon each Member was shed;  
The Body it almost had overspread;  
Nay, it had even like to have seize▪ d on the Head.  
Which, etc.   

[11]  
But one wiser than all▪ did gvied such a Thump,  
That ●t burst and went out, just next to the Rump,  
Which made with Joy every Loyal Heart Jump.  
Which, etc.   

[12]  
This Ulcer was full of Pistol and Sword,  
With Blunderbuss and with your things made of Board;  
Your Protestant flails to Fight for the Lord.  
Which, etc.   

[13]  
O Doctor! I fear, you studied Art Magic,  
To Compass your Ends, which still were so Tragic:  
But now it is hoped that we may lead You-a-Jig.  
Which, etc.   

[14]  
Or else I am sure, without being uncivil,  
A Man my believe you deal with the Devil,  
For no body else could have wrought us such Evil.  
Which, etc.   

[15]  
Your Canting was Charm, Rebellion your Witch,  
With these you gave the Poor Rabble the Itch,  
When like Emp'rick on Stage you made 'em a Speech.  
Which, etc.   

[16]  
Y'are Jilted you see by Faction your Whore,  
Your little Tap-Pug can help you no more:  
Hell owes Both a Spite, and will pay ye the score.  
Which no body can deny.    

LONDON: Printed for ALLEN BANKS. 1682.