The Oxford Health: OR, The Jovial Loyalist: A New Song.  
We will be Loyal and Drink off our Wine,  
Though Pope or Presbyter should both repine;  
No State-affairs shall e'er turmoil our brain,  
Let those take care to whom they appertain:  
We'll love our King, and wish him happy days,  
And drink to all that daily speak his praise;  
We'll Loyal prove, and evermore will be  
With Plotter and their Plots at enmity.  
To the Tune of, On the Bank of a River: Or, Packington's Pound.  
 

HEre's a health to the King and his lawful Successors  
To Tantivy Tories, and Loyal Addressers;  
No matter for those that promoted Petitions,  
To poison the Nation and stir up Seditions:  
Here's to the Queen and her Ladies of Honour,  
A por take all them that put sham-plots upon her:  
Here's a health to the Duke and the Senate of Scotland,  
And to all Honest Men that from Bishops ne'er got land.   

Here's a health to L'Estrange, and to boon Heraclitus,  
A fig for those Whigs that for Papist indict us;  
Not forgetting those that continually spite us,  
For Loyalty still to our King does unite us:  
Here's a Health to our Church and to all that are for it,  
A shame take all Papists and Whigs that abhor it;  
Safe may she be still from the new ways of Refiners,  
And justice be done to true protestant joiners.   

Let all the contrivers of our Last trouble,  
Have their reward at last heaped on them double;  
Here's a health to the downfall of those whose devotion,  
Does tend to nought else but to raise up commotion:  
Come round let it go boys, let each drink his Bumper,  
To all honest men that ne'er loved a Rumper:  
The thirtieth of January let us remember,  
And let it be joined to the fifth of November.   

Here's a health to all loyalists, let us carouse it,  
For why there is Wine to be had in the house yet:  
Here's to all those who yet never spoke evil  
Of Church or of State, but that still have been civel:  
Come let it go round boys, and fill up our Glasses,  
We'll now be more merry than Whigs with their Lasses:  
Let Hypocrites who dare in all things dissemble,  
And by changing shapes the Chameleon Resemble,   

With twenty wry faces, and all to disguise 'em,  
Yet from sedition none e'er can advise 'em;  
Here's to the Cenfusion of Plots and all Plotters,  
And here's a good health to him that ne'er altars;  
Come let it go round, and fill each man his brimmer,  
For he's no good diver that first ened a swimmer;  
And here's to our happiness that we see dawning,  
In spite of the Plots that Geneva is spawning.   

A fig for their policies, they shall ne'er fright us,  
Do all what they can they shall never more bite us;  
For Oliver now and old Bradshaw are rotten,  
Tho' their cursed names shall ne'er be forgotten:  
Here's a Health to all Cavaliers that ne'er were turncoats  
We'll drink it in spite of the Pope and his Cutthroats;  
Drin spite of those Rebels that envy our blessing,  
Who once more our Land would so fam be possessing.   

Here's a Health to the Burghers who still in their choices  
For eminent Loyalists do give their voices;  
And will not be Byased whatever betid 'em,  
Who fear no Whigg-Landlords who for it shall chide 'em  
To the Prince and the Princess of Orange come fill it,  
To the brim let it flow, but beware how you spill it:  
Not forgetting the rest of the Royal Branches.  
We'll drink our brisk Wine till each his sour drenches.   

Here's a health to all that express their good meaning,  
And hold to the end as they make their beginning  
Come fill it away Boys, and let us be merry,  
We'll drink each his Bumper, and never be weary:  
And no true Subject we're sure will deny it,  
For this is the way that we always deny it;  
Come fill it again to the ruin of the Rumpers,  
I'll make no scruple to turn off three Bumpers.   

Then come all you Loyalists though the Whigs mutter,  
And about nothing do make all this clutter:  
In spite of the Pope or jack Presbyter either,  
We will live merry, and will regard neither.  
Although they Tory or Tantivy name us,  
We care not a pin there's none honest will blame us:  
We'll drink to the King and his Lawful Successors,  
And to all those that prove Loyal Addressers.   
FINIS.   

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball, near the Hospital-gate, in West-smithfield.