AN ANSWER To the Whiggish POEM on the Loyal Apprentices FEAST.  

THe buisy Town grew still, and Traitorous Whigs  
Had lately changed their Looks and Periwigs,  
Left Envy's Face behind, and sniveling Cant,  
And Hector's turned, with Loyalists to Rant.  
I know not which it was, whether They thought  
Some Conventicling Whores might there be brought  
By strict Devotion to meet a BROTHER,  
Or whether 'twas they Scented out some other  
Warm Zealous Game, as Pastry, Pudding-Pie,  
Not Superstitious now, if WHIG be by.  
But something 'twas made Godly'st Men o'th'Nation  
Back-slide a little now for Recreation;  
And here's a Penitential Psalm of One  
That tells his BRETHREN what Himself has done  
At LOYAL-FEAST in MERCHNT-TAYLORS-HALL  
'Mongst Coxcomb-Lords, and Worshippers of BAAL;  
Wither Foolish KING, and PRINCE'S too had sent  
Fat BUCKS, in Sacrifice to IDOLS meant.  
Yet 'mongst such Fools a WHIG can Eat and Drink,  
Whilst H'one thing Speaks, and doth another Think.  
He in Deceit can manage cunning slight;  
Not so the Tories, they must be downright,  
And naturally are so to all men's sight.  
But Whigs with Reservation Speak and Writ,  
And far outdo the greatest Jesuit.  
Well; Fools we must be then, the Whigs will have  
For their dear selves the other Sir name, Knave.  
Then let them have't, we'll give the Devil's due,  
Whig earns it better than Papist, Turk, or Jew:  
'Tis but recounting in FANATIC strain  
The foulest Crimes, and then they're SAINT again.  
A FALLEN STAR to day, perhaps to morrow  
May shine like LUCIFER, and from him borrow  
A brand or two of his Infernal LIGHT,  
T'intoxicate poor people in the Night,  
New Lights, and new Discoveries they bring,  
Dark-Lanthorn-Counsels how t'abuse the King;  
Make every thing Ridiculous appear,  
That pleases HIM, or any LOYAL PEER.  
The ROYAL FAM'LY's but a Popish Crew,  
And Doctor Crape-Gowns are all Papists too;  
A puny Prayers the best thing they can tell ye,  
Whilst their Devotion's fixed upon their Belly:  
Loyal ADDRESSES, and ABHORRENCES,  
(Quoth, Turncoat Whig) are sottish Flatteries,  
The KING delights in Parasites, we see,  
And none but Fools can in His Favour be;  
Dissolving Parliaments deserves Damnation,  
For keeping Public Justice from the Nation;  
And th' Godly Persecuted. 'Lass! 'tis worse  
Than Tyranny, or Arbitrary. Force.  
Popery is come already! Where be we?  
Brethren, stand fast in Christian Liberty.  
See how the Loyal Beagles of the Town  
Flock from their Shops, t'adore the Idol CROWN.  
Those silly Curs, that sometimes used to help's,  
And foll'w our keen Rebellious Blood hound Whelps,  
They're now declaring for the ROYAL CAUSE,  
Think KINGLY BLOOD too sacred for our Jaws.  
Help now or never, Baxter, Cur●is, Care,  
And all True Patriots of our Holy War;  
The KING and COURT can't be more odious made  
Strike now; strike home, or all our, LO●● betrayed.   

Thus far the Whigs; For here the True Sense lies  
Of all their Libels, Rhithmes; and Forgeries;  
And yet they're LOYAL still; But ye must know,  
'Tis with a Mental Reservation though,  
As Brother Poet has at last confessed;  
Who, if he'd hid This Truth, had spoiled his Jest.  
Ay, 've experienced well what LOYALTY  
Since Forty One, his Brethren brood and be  
Are like to show; which makes us think, and say,  
Old Nicks as True, and Loyal too, as They.  
But YOU, Brave Loyal YOUTHS (that Fools and Fops  
Are nicknamed by the Rebel-Rout) Your Shops  
Shall be Protected, by the sovereign Charms  
Of CHARLES and YORK, and their Victorious Arms;  
With Heauns' assistance, win Yourselves Renown,  
Redeem the Credit of this Ancient Town;  
Say, LONDON'S PRENTICES have done the thing,  
Joined Zeal to GOD with Duty to the KING.    

LONDON: Printed for Allen Banks, 1682.