LONDON'S Drollery: OR, The Love and Kindness between The POPE and the DEVIL.  
Manifested by some True Protestants, who utterly Defy the Pope and his Romish Faction; as it was to be seen in London, November the 17th. 1680. With Nine Pageants Delightful to behold.  
The Tune is, All you that do desire to Play, As Cards to pass the time away.  
 
 

ALL you tha● do desire to know  
The Mock Procession, how't did go;  
Here unto you I will Relate,  
His Holiness did Ride in State,  
The People Laughed as they did go,  
To see the Devil Kiss his Toe.   

But as they did in Order go,  
The Captain should be first you know;  
Who did command the Guard, and then  
The Pioners in number Ten:  
Did follow him to Clear the Way,  
That the Body might by no means stay   

A Bellman followed, and did Ring,  
His Bell, and oft did sadly Sing,  
Remember Justice Godfry's Death,  
You were the Men that stopped his Breath;  
He made so Sad and strange a Noise,  
He moved poor, ypoung, Regardless Boys   

A Figure that did Represent  
His Bloody Corpse, next after went;  
No better way than could they find,  
But a Jesuit they set him behind;  
A Bloody Dagger he did hold,  
And looked like a Russian bold.   

After this Sad Praeludium,  
A Great large Banner there did come;  
Betwixt two carried, and was meant,  
Their Meetings for to Represent;  
And Madam Celliers there she stood,  
With a Bladder which was filled with Blood.   

On the first Pageant there did stand,  
Dame Celliers with a Note in Hand;  
And on the Meal-Tub she did lean,  
Behind this Bloody wicked Quean  
A Fiddler stood, and near His Back,  
Four Protestants in White and Black.   

After this Pageant there did come,  
One with his Face toth' Horses Bum,  
And on his Back as it was fit,  
There was this Inscription Writ;  
This is an ABHORRER, thus they went,  
Which gave the People much Content.   

And upon the Second Pageant,  
Four Franciscans I imagine;  
Two whereof were Clothed in Grace,  
With Cords about them, as they say:  
Down from their Heads a Tail there hung,  
A Sight here strange to Old and Young.   

The other two it did appear,  
Cinnamon-colour clothes did wear,  
Who think St. Francis now does more,  
Then ever Christ did do before:  
With many more Blasphemous things,  
Which Popish Ignorance still brings.   

O'th' Third were placed Augustine Friars,  
To Represent Notorious Lyors;  
Augustine did himself Confine,  
But these with Sisters do Combine:  
Other strange Orders they do frame,  
Not worthy of a Christians Name.   

Augustine-Fryars being past,  
Dominicans came at the last;  
Who Clothed were in Black and White,  
Methought it was a Pretty Sight:  
From Dominick they took their Name,  
Who did the first Pope-haters blame.   

Four Jesuits were on the Fourth,  
Strutting like Churchmen, nothing worth;  
With Collars like a Pastry Crust,  
Follow this Fashion others must:  
And these and Instruments in France,  
The Devils Cause for to Advance.   

The Bishops that were on the Fifth,  
To Protestants would give a lift;  
Of Dukes and Princes they take place,  
And say they're of St. Peter's Race:  
Of Arch-Bishops Scriptures never speak;  
They're Proud, but Bishops should be meek.   

The sixth two Patriatehs did hear,  
And Cardinals that Scarlet wear;  
This is the Pope's Appointment plain,  
For Papists that are Died in Grain:  
Methinks the Garments that they more,  
Might prove them Kin to'rh Scarlet Whore.   

The next did hear a Triple Cross,  
And Bulls about the Street did Toss;  
And as he passed aloud did Cry,  
For Money you may Heaven Buy:  
But those that have no Money got,  
Hell is their Portion and their Lot.   

The seventh Pageant that did bear,  
The Pope himself in Garments Rare;  
Covered with Gold and Silver Lace,  
A Triple Crown on him they place:  
To fill the Papists full of Hope,  
The Loving Devil Kissed the the Pope.   

Upon the eighth Olimpia came,  
With Former Popes she had great Fame;  
She was their Mistress by her Lust,  
But long since she is turned to Dust:  
Four Nuns about her they did place,  
Who count that Whoring's no Disgrace.   

Upon the ninth a Bishop sat,  
Like an Inquisitor in State;  
And Monks about him you might see,  
Who his Assistants were to be:  
And a Condemned Martyr Lies,  
With burning Flames before His Eyes.   

And in this Fatal Pomp they go,  
From Algate, Temple-Bar unto;  
Where they their Sentence there receive,  
In Scorching Flames the World they lea●●  
and post to him who Loves them well,  
Tormented for to be in Hell.    

Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright, J. Clarke, W. Thackeray, and T. Pa〈…〉