MONMOUTH and BVCLEVGH's WELCOME FROM THE NORTH: OR THE Loyal Protestants joy FOR HIS HAPPY RETURN.  
To the Tune of York and Albany's Welcome to England.  

1.  
WHen stout young Jemmy went abroad  
To see the Northern Races,  
He met ten Thousands in the Road,  
That swore they were his Graces,  
They flock about him day and night,  
And made the Skies to ring  
And every one seem to delight  
In Monmouth and the King.   

2.  
They tossed their Hats up to the Sky,  
The Bells did sweetly sound,  
God bless young James was all the cry,  
No other voice was found,  
By Bonesires they expressed their joy  
In every Town and City.  
We scarce could see one Tory-boy,  
Oh! was not that a pity.   

3.  
Both Grey and Green, both old and young,  
The Rich as well as Poor,  
Had nought but Monmouth on their Tongue,  
In every Loyal Door,  
His Presence made them all rejoice,  
A Happy man was he,  
That could prevail with his loud voice,  
This Noble Duke to see.   

4.  
A sullen look we could not find,  
Where ever Monmouth went  
The Nobles were exceeding kind,  
He gave them great content,  
His very Presence like the Sun,  
Did drive the Clouds away,  
Their Glory they did think begun,  
And blest that Happy-day.   

5.  
And then began the Royal-Cup  
To pass from hand to hand,  
And all with joy did Drink it up  
And wished us Peace i'th' Land,  
The Music played, and some did Sing,  
The worst is past we hope,  
Long live Great Charles our Sacred King,  
The Devil confound the Pope.   

6.  
But on a sudden there was seen  
A Popish Imp draw near,  
We partly guests where he had been,  
So soon as he came here,  
He cast a Cloud upon the Sun,  
And would not let it Shine,  
The Thread that thou for him hast Spun,  
About thy Neck may twine.   

7.  
But now our Sun with much more Glory  
Shoots forth his Golden Rays,  
And now in spite of every Tory,  
He has his former Praise,  
He shows much brighter than before  
Your envy makes him Shine,  
Bucleugh and Monmouth we adore,  
And scorn the Popish Line.   

8.  
In King and Monmouth we delight,  
And for their lives we pray,  
It's they must do the Freeborn right,  
It's they and only they;  
If they be for us, where's the evil  
That we can undergo,  
We fear no Duke, no Pope, nor Devil,  
Nor any other Foe.   

9  
Long may the King and his best Son,  
Be blest with Joy and Peace,  
And may their Threads of life be Spun  
Till all our sorrows cease;  
Nay may they live and never die,  
In everlasting Bliss,  
And may their Foes take Wings and fly  
To th' Arms of Pluto's Miss.   

10.  
May their old Love new bud again,  
May Charles his Son embrace,  
Then we'll scorn Rome, and France, and Spai●  
Our strength is in his Grace,  
If Father and the Son agree,  
Then Heaven is on our side,  
And then Old Pope, a fig for thee,  
That makes our Breach so wide.