York and Albany's Welcome to ENGLAND. OR, The Loyal Subjects Joy for his most Miraculous Deliverance:  
To a New Play-House Tune, much in request.  

( 1)  
NOw, now the Duke is safe return'd,  
in spite of all the Whigs,  
May they be damned don't wish um burnt  
that slit him across the Legs:  
May he be pox'd, and plagued, and damned  
that will not drink his Health,  
And cry God bless the King and Duke,  
and Damn a Common-wealth.   

( 2)  
And that this Health be not profaned,  
come Boys fill us a Bumper,  
And may his blood for e're be stained,  
that drinks the Health of a Rumper;  
May Halter here, and Hell hereafter  
such Vagrants portions be,  
That leave the King and Duke, to drink  
the Health of Shaftsbury.   

( 3)  
Now some may think I damn too much,  
but can't assign the why so;  
For this I say, to answer such,  
I damn but with Proviso;  
So may the Vintner too be damned,  
if he han't drawn the best;  
Then here's the loyal parties Health,  
a Pox of all the rest.   

( 4)  
But here I had almost forgot  
another changing Glass;  
The best in Christendom, the Health,  
let no Man hang an Arse:  
For he that doth not love the Duke,  
he hardly loves his King;  
But he that loves his King and Duke,  
can't love no better thing.   

( 5)  
Then round about come let it go,  
and joyfully we'l sing;  
Not fearing any Whiggish force;  
we'l cry God save the King:  
Rebellion shall no more enslave,  
we will defy the Rout;  
And drink confusion to the Knave  
that lies upon the Scout.   

( 6)  
Fanaticks all we will defy,  
Whig-Parliaments we hate;  
We nought can breath but loyalty  
both unto Church and State.  
Long live our Gracious King and Queen,  
and Royal Albany;  
Our joy shall more and more be seen,  
whilst we abound in joy.   

( 7)  
Then round about let each his Glass  
unto the brim now fill;  
To every Loyalist come pass,  
and we'l be jovial still:  
Great Albany of high renown,  
a Prince is eke of famed;  
Whom laurels still and virtues crown,  
and do his worth proclaim.   

( 8)  
Come round about your Claret fill,  
to Bacchus we will quaff;  
Though factious Whigs they repined still,  
we'l drink our Wine and laugh,  
And cry long live the King and Duke,  
in spite of all their foes;  
And Heaven the Factious Rout rebuk,  
that would procure their woes.    

Printed for I. jordan, at the Angel in Guiltspur-street.