A NEW SONG.  
To the Tune of Robin Goodfellow.  

THough S— s cleared by  
The Cunning Ignoramus Sway:  
He guilty stands of Treachery  
That does not Heavens decrees obey,  
Kings are Elected,  
Never rejected,  
But by the Heavenly powers above;  
Then pray you why  
Should little An—  
Then have a hand in a Kings remove.   

II.  
He is so mad, I wonder much,  
That's going to his Grave on Crutch,  
That Knows the Laws, some Princes draws  
Amongst the Whiggs, to The Good Old Cause.  
His praises aloud  
Are resounded by the crowd,  
Makes the little Pigmy strut and stare;  
Then pray you why  
May not little An—  
Once more wear his Loyalty thread bare.   

III.  
His Policy must greater be,  
Ere he attains his Zealous ends;  
Although he wheadles the City Beagles,  
And such poor mechanic Friends,  
They will turn as fast  
Honest men at the last  
As they before turned fools and Knaves;  
Then pray you why  
May not little An—  
Once more his Turn-coat honor save.   

IV.  
Must we be lead in Misery  
By the blind that can but will not see;  
Their frantic brains brought into th' wain  
Those Royal Stars of charlemagne;  
And if not watched,  
Or by Ty— catched,  
Will strive to do it once again;  
Then pray you why  
May not little An—  
Be the bearer up of that fine Train.   

V.  
Might they have their wills, what would they make  
Of this small gruntling groaning Ape,  
A God they cannot, a King they shall not:  
An Idol their zealous concerns may not,  
No, but they would,  
If that they could  
Set up him a second cronwell soon;  
Then pray you why  
May not little An—  
For once be made the man i'th' Moon.   

VI.  
This changing Imp is now become  
Our Loyal Cities only grace,  
The Devil ne're made sick another Loon  
To aim before at a Royal place,  
Nothing but Coo—  
M●st be ●hei●●oope●,  
On Ashl●● not ●n H●●ven, th●y call  
Then p●●y you why  
May not little An—  
Once in a Chair of State Look Tall.   

VII.  
But if the Law, as once before,  
Was of the Tyrant Sword in Awe:  
Little Jack a Dandy that never yet swore,  
For safety would to a Monarch draw,  
He would leave the City,  
Yes, and Committee;  
To the King he would for mercy hast;  
Then pray you why  
Should little An—  
Any more idle-time in his Cabals waste   

VIII.  
To jealousy now more are given  
Than ancient lechers, wise and grave:  
This cunning Fox, though he be Poxt,  
His policy will honor save.  
He scorns for to rail,  
Though a Cla● seize his Tail  
At any thing of woman Kind;  
Then pray you why  
May not little An—  
With Whor— be both lame and blind.   

IX.  
But if he said the Whore was honest  
That betrayed him in his Youth,  
The zealous all, both great and small,  
would all believe it for a truth,  
Bear him to Wallbrook across,  
And Set him on the Horse,  
Dismount the Image of your King;  
Then pray you why  
May not little An—  
Look as like as he can to sick a Thing.   

X.  
Then on your Knees, most reverently,  
Fall down and worship the melted Calf:  
Or take him and hang— him decently,  
For that's the better way by half,  
Then all may see  
●ur●● Policy and  
Brought to 〈◇〉 ●ight de●e●●ed en●●  
Then pray you why  
May not little An—  
Shake hands at T— hill with his friends.   

XI.  
Some old men doubtless there are  
Of women mad past all compare:  
This Lustful Ram, we need not doubt,  
Although he is pinched with the Gout,  
Will sit in State,  
Frigg into debate  
The factious people all he can;  
Then pray you why  
May not little An—  
Or wheedled M— led the Van.   

XII.  
No place within the Earthly Ball,  
Besides this Kingdom giveth birth  
To men so vile, as would beguile  
Their Country, lay their Kings in Earth  
Before they are grown,  
Scarce Set upon a Throne,  
They are degraded and cast down;  
Then pray you why  
May not little An—  
Be seen like a Mouse in an ermine Gown.   

XIII.  
When they are well they cannot keep so,  
All the Universe can tell,  
Their zealous Piety makes them weep so,  
They are not afraid to rule in Hell:  
Give them the sceptre,  
Drunk with a Lector,  
Tey sell both Kings and Souls for Gold;  
Then pray you why  
May not little An—  
With a Second Monarch now make bold.    

LONDON, Printed for C. Tebroc, Anno Dom. 1682.