The LYING WHIG Drawn in his own Colours;  
The Whigs who such damnable falshoods device,  
Are true begot Sons of the Father of lies.  
To the Tune of Packingtons Pound.  

this may be printed  
R. L. S.   

I.  
HOw wretched is England above any Nation  
E're since the rebellious Whig-reformation!  
The Gospel our Faith did formerly guide,  
But it would not with Traytors principles side:  
When other Grounds needed,  
The Whig-lyes succeeded,  
And by the Saint-party are equally headed:  
These carry on cleverly the Good old Cause  
In spite of all Truth, Religion and Laws.   

II.  
The Heads of the Party first met in cabal  
coin lies, and then toss them about like a Ball;  
The rabble to fright, or keep them in mettle,  
For fear they should to the King's Government settle:  
As soon as come out  
They spread them about  
By Gossips and Block-heads 'mongst the rabble rout,  
which they blindly credit, and each silly Soul  
Drinks poisonous Treason by swallowing them whole.   

III.  
No more holy Bibles now Printed must be,  
Says Whig, though the contrary daily we see;  
The City must fall by Cannon or Fire  
Or Massacres none but themselves do conspire:  
Thus the rabble they ply  
With many a damned lie,  
That desperate grown they may rise at their cry.  
Their merciful sovereign thus they traduce,  
And his Generosity daily abuse.   

IV.  
What Prophesies did the King's Crowning fore-run,  
Assuring us sadly 't should never be done!  
The Drum in Well-bottom did sound the same tone,  
And under St. James's was heard many a groan;  
Nay wright was seen there,  
To put folks in fear,  
Which ne'er but before a Kings death did appear;  
All which blazed about by the bus●y Whig-Elves,  
Show plain they intended to kill him themselves.   

V.  
King Charles, whose mildred soul no malice could move  
These Whigs summoned down from Heaven above;  
His errand contrived was on the best fashion,  
To usher in Perkin's foul-mouthed Declaration:  
While he was alive  
The Villains did strive  
Of life with a Blunderbuss him to deprive:  
And now that with Happiness his Soul is blessed,  
These Sorcerers will not allow his Ghost rest.   

VI.  
Brave Albemarle, as we were  told without erring,  
Was certainly killed as dead as a Herring;  
His Corps brought nea● 〈…〉 Coffin bespoke  
And the Ground for 〈…〉 broken;  
 
 
 
 
  

 
 
 
 
None must trust their Eyes  
In their Mysteries,  
These infallible Coxcombs can never tell lies  
What e're they hold forth to the Whig-ridden rabble  
Is sure as their Faith and made current by babble.   

VIII.  
Argyle, that arch-traitor, half Scotland had won  
Crys Whig, when his party was utterly undone:  
His Armey did full forty thousand contain,  
When the run-away Rebel alone did remain;  
Though beat and forsaken  
He could not be taken,  
Nay now his Head's off they to life him awaken.  
So all the Whig says must backward be red,  
Argyle is still living and Albemarl's dead.   

IX.  
This Bully your Id'ot, that small man of might,  
With three hundred men would kill all out-right:  
His invincible Army was fifteen mile long,  
And full fifty thousand in number was strong;  
Nay when he was beat  
They tell us that yet  
At Chester he has twenty thousand complete:  
But sure now Jack Catch has chopped off his head,  
At length you'l believe your great Hector is dead.   

X.  
You thought your grand Worthies so valiant and brave  
theyed die in the Field e'r their party they'd leave;  
But Gray's matchless valour, his friends all forsaken  
Was in a vile habit rediculously taken,  
And Monmoueh was such  
He did not think much  
To run from the battle, and lurk in a Ditch;  
And die on a Scaffold in shamfulest manner,  
Rather than in the Field. the bed of honour.   

XI.  
You obstinate Whigs at length open your Eeys,  
See how the Worlds sovereign Rebellion defys!  
Consider what Providences daily meet,  
Our Kings to protect, and your Plots to defeat.  
What e're you contrive  
It never can thrive,  
And all your attempts 'gainst the stream do but strive;  
Then give God the Glory, fall to your Vocation,  
That Trade may enrich, and Peace bless our Nation   

XII.  
Behold our great King like the glorius Son  
In full lustre shines while your Meteor falls down:  
Three thousand of his, to kerb your vain boast,  
Has beaten your Rebels invincible host:  
He's generous and brave  
Weak Penitents to save,  
But obstinate Ring-leaders Justice must have:  
Crave mercy and leave your lies framed to affright  
The Nation distracted, and do the Truth right.   

XIII.  
And all you good people, at length for more shane