The Kings-Bench Cabal, A SONG.  
To the Tune, hark, hark, I hear the Cannons roar.  

I.  
FTernal Whigs that still depends  
On Old Sham-Plots & perjured ends,  
Tothth' Kings-Bench amongst your friends  
Repair to make new Orders:  
Make haste, contrive some better way,  
Or by the Gods you'll lose the day,  
Great York is now above half way,  
To Revenge all Rape and Murders.   

II.  
We're the best House of Commons now,  
That once have made three Kingdoms bow  
Put in, spew out, as you know how,  
fear Popery the old Notion:  
Let's purge the House of all that's good,  
That have our Cause so long withstood,  
And dares not thirst for guiltless blood,  
E'er York's upon the Ocean.   

III.  
Great Hamden, Rouse, thy wont strain,  
Bring Trenchard into play again;  
Vote down the guards and every swain,  
That dares oppose our pleasure:  
For to submit they would be loath,  
Thy Father and thy Grandsire both,  
To have one's hands tied up by Oath,  
That may be loose at leisure.   

IV.  
Let's Vote the Duke of the Town,  
The King out of both Life and Crown,  
Vote Death to all that keeps us down,  
To leave the Cause a bleeding,  
Shall we lie here tied up like Dogs,  
Only Croaking our minds like Frogs,  
While here the Doctor swears and flogs,  
And leaves off all proceeding.   

V.  
Come Speak and Bradon, Arnold too,  
Colt, and Cauldron, what shall's do,  
Shall's lie like Oysters here in stew?  
And ne'er look out for help for't;  
Let's send for Oxford Parliament,  
With all their Guards for murder bend,  
Come let's attempt e'er Coin be spont,  
Tho' each one Damn himself for't.   

VI  
Shall we who were so great before,  
Have neither power to plot nor whore,  
Come let's resolve, break down the door,  
And join the Kent-street Rabble.  
Then Wapping and the Rump will rise,  
The Tower and Westminster surprise,  
While Charles and York at Windsor lies,  
We'll make this Town like Babel.    

LONDON Printed for J. Dean, Bookseller in Cranborn-street near Newport House in Leicester Fields, 1684.