LOYALTY TRIUMPHANT: OR, paroxysm displayed,  
A SONG.  
 

JOY to th' bonny bold Britains did merrily sing, In Oats his Reign,  
And stood up for their Senses, their Liberties, Lives, and their King,  
Who in Bumpers would boldly assert Charles's Right, And still maintain,  
That 'tis just the true Heir should Inherit, for whom they would Fight.  
While the villainous Whiggs would be  
Bawling 'gainst Plotting and Popery,  
bounce for Oats and a Parli'ment,  
When see what 'twas they meant,  
To kill the King, and so undo us  
With True Protestant Blunderbuss,  
'Cause the Votes of their Commons House  
proved not all worth a Louse:   

But kind Heaven that waited on Charles from the Womb,  
Assisted now,  
And broken their damned Plot, and Rewarded them with their just Doom.  
Now they find that to murmur 'gainst Kings is in vain,  
And all must bow,  
And submit to the Fate, with the mark of cursed Murdering Cain,  
While the Tories may Glory still,  
And of Pleasure enjoy their fill,  
'Cause they in the Gap firmly stood,  
And stemmed the growing Flood,   

While the sneaking Whiggs hang or hid,  
And nor can, nor dare th' Test abide  
So may all be Cursed, I sing,  
That do not love their King.   By the Author of Ferguson's Remonstrance.  

Printed for Charles Corbet, at the Oxford Arms in Warwick-Lane. 1684.