THE LOYAL HEALTH.  
A Court Song,  
to a Delicate new Tune, called, At the Foot of a Willow, close under the Shade.  

I.  
SInce Plotting's a Trade,  
Like the rest of the Nation.  
Let 'em Lie, and Swear on,  
To keep up the Vocation;  
Let Tinkers, and Weavers,  
And Joiner's agree,  
To find work for the Cooper,  
They'll have none of me;  
Let Politic sham's,  
In the Statesman abound,  
While we quaff our Bumpers,  
And set the Glass round:  
The jolly true Toper's  
The best Subject still,  
Who drinks off his Liquor,  
And thinks no more ill.   

2.  
Then let us stand to't,  
And like honest Men fall,  
Who love King and Country,  
Duke, Duchess and all;  
Not such as would blow up  
The Nation by stealth,  
And out of the flame  
Raise a new Commonwealth.  
Nor such, who against Church  
And Bishops do rage,  
To advance old Jack Presbyter,  
On the new Stage.  
But to all honest Tories,  
Who'll fight for their King,  
And to Crown the brave Work,  
With the Court we'll begin.   

3.  
Here's a Health to the King,  
And his Lawful Successors,  
To honest Tantivies,  
And Loyal Addressors;  
But a pox take all those,  
That promoted Petitions  
To Poison the Nation,  
And stir up Seditions;  
Here's a Health to the Queen,  
And her Ladies of Honour,  
And a pox take all those,  
That put Sham-Plots upon her.  
Here's a Health to the Duke,  
And the Senate of Scotland,  
To all honest Men,  
That from Bishops ne'er got-Land.   

4.  
Here's a Health to L'estrange,  
And the boon Heraclitus:  
With true Tory Thompson  
Who never did slight us;  
But confounding Broom, Paulin,  
And Alderman Wrightus,  
With Tony and Bethel,  
Ignoramus, and Titus  
Here's a Health to the Church,  
And all those that are for it,  
Gonfusion to Zealots,  
And Whigs that abhor it;  
May it ever be safe,  
From the new mode Refiners:  
And Justice be done  
Upon Cooper's and Joiner's.   

5.  
Here's a Health to old Hall—,  
Who our joys did restore;  
And pox take each Popular  
Son of a Whore;  
To the Spaniard and Daxe,  
The brave Russian and Moor,  
Who come from far Nations,  
Our King to adore;  
To all that do Worship,  
The God of the Vine,  
And to old Jolly Bowman  
Who draws us good Wine;  
And as for all Traitors,  
Whether Baptist or Whig,  
May they all trot to Tyburn,  
To dance the old Jig.   

6.  
Here's a Health to all those,  
Love the King and his Laws,  
And may they near Pledge it  
That Broach the Old Cause.  
Here's a Health to the State,  
And a Plague on the Pack  
Of Commonwealth Canters  
And Presbyter Jack;  
To the uppermost pendent  
That ever did play  
On the highest Top-gallant  
Oth' Sovereign o'th' Sea;  
And he that denies,  
To the Standard to lore,  
May he sink in the Ocean,  
And never Drink more.    

LONDON: Printed for A. Banks, MDCLXXXII.