THE EXPLANATION.  
To the Tune of, hay Boys up go we.  

I.  
OUr Priests in holy Pilgrimage,  
Quite through the Land have gone,  
Surveying each Religious House  
Of Abbot, Friar, and Nun:  
The yearly Rent,  
And full Extent  
Of every one they know;  
And in whose hands  
Are all our Lands  
As ancient Writers show.   

II.  
Those Places all shall be restored,  
As in short time you'll hear;  
I know the Man has passed his Word,  
Of which you need not fear:  
He did ne'er evade  
One Promise made,  
Nor failed a Friend in Woe;  
But when 'twill be,  
Nor I, nor he,  
Nor the Devil himself does know.   

III.  
Religious Men shall hither haste,  
Their Zeal shall make 'em run;  
The Jesui'ts shall your Wives keep Chaste,  
Each Friar Confess his Nun:  
The Men shall Shrive,  
The Women sweet— ve  
So all shall be forgiven,  
Your Daughter's Whore,  
Then quit their Score,  
And make 'em fit for Heaven.   

iv  
For Lady Abbess shall appear  
An old Fluxed Bawd or Punk,  
Has F— ked and B— ggered Threescore years,  
Talked Bawdy, and been Drunk,  
Religious Puns  
To teach the Nuns  
Committed to her Charge;  
And mortify  
Their Lechery,  
As Nature does enlarge.   

V  
The Vestals all shall Virgins be  
That never went astray,  
Have been trained up Religiously  
The clean contrary way:  
In Julian's Song  
For Whoring long,  
Tho' oft 've noted been;  
Nature of Force  
Will have its Course,  
'Twas all but Venial Sin.   

VI  
Your Colleges shall be our own,  
As Vacancy does fall;  
We'll strip each Doctor of his Gown,  
The Parson's turn out all:  
There Revenues great,  
With pleasant Seat,  
The Church to us has given,  
To sing you Mass,  
Confess each Ass,  
And make you fit for Heaven.   

VII.  
Nor will we any longer wait,  
After such Notice given;  
Nor shall they in the Pulpits prate,  
Or teach the way to Heaven:  
'Tis our Province  
You to convince;  
Our Arguments shall be,  
Without dispute  
To make you mute,  
Then, hay Boys, up go we.   

VII.  
Now, Heretics, consider well  
The Game you have to play;  
You yet may keep on this side Hell,  
If warned by what we say:  
But e'er your Lands  
Shall 'scape our Hands,  
Which have been long our due;  
We'll Stab, we'll Shoot,  
And Damn to boot,  
Then, hay Boys, up go you.   
FINIS.