A NEW SONG of the Misfortunes of an Old Whore and her Brats.
[1]
'THÔ the Old Hag of
Rome
Has Bewitch'd us all Dumb,
She can Tongue-tye our Muses no longer;
We now spue out her Charms,
And sing the brave Arms
Of great
Orange and
Schomberg, ding-dong Sir.
[2]
If we open'd our Lips,
Wooden Peep-holes and Whips
Was of late the mild Pennance enjoyn'd us;
Now Truth's no more Treason,
We esteem it a season
To be merry, and so you shall find us.
[3]
Life-and-Fortune Addresses
Shall not wear out our Presses,
To flatter and sooth a
Just Nero:
But loud Declarations,
To secure the three Nations
From the
French and from
Lilli-burlero.
[4]
See how each Popish Gull
D
[...]es look silly and dull
O hone! O hone!
all are Lamenting;
They've no Catholique Banter,
No wise
Hind and
Panther,
Nor any thing else worth the Printing.
[5]
While we Hereticks do write,
Ay and Print too in spite
Of the Devil, to revenge our late wrongs Sir;
And the Hawkers hoarse Lungs
With our Lampoons and Songs
Make the Streets eccho all the day long Sir.
[6]
Now brave
Orange advances,
What the fam'd League with
France is,
We shall know to poor Catholiques sorrow:
Stricken with Pannick Fears,
How the VVhelps hang their Ears,
Pack up Reliques and bid us good Morrow!
[7]
Father
Petre, and others
Of his Politique Brothers,
(Who one would think should have disdain'd it)
Are on fire to be gone,
Thô they might every one,
If they'd stay here a little, be Sainted.
[8]
Just like old Rars and Mice,
These bold Vermine are wise,
When they find a house ready to tumble,
Away strait they advance,
Bound for
Flanders or
France,
Adieu, Votre Serviteur humble.
[9]
But pray what shall become
O'th' young Kitlings of
Rome,
I mean those the Old Whore has Converted;
VVhen they're grip'd by the Claws
Of reviv'd Penal Laws,
And by all Ghostly Fathers deserted.
[10]
'Tis hard to leave the poor Elves
Thus to shift for themselves,
[...]or unless you'd confirm'd the Babes better-a
With your Cowardise tainted,
They'l e'ne grudge to be Sainted
[...]ith St.
Coleman, St.
Whitebread, &c.
[11]
So when Witches are taken
For enchanting Folks Bacon,
[...]ows, Horses, or any such thing Sir;
And the Hang-man once takes 'em,
Their Imps all forsake 'em,
[...]d bequeath 'em to a tight Hempen-string Sir.
[12]
Our great States-men and Judges,
The Jesuites true Drudges
[...] advance the Plots of Holy Church Sir,
Do make wretched Grimaces,
Losing Pensions and Places,
To a Parliament left in the lurch Sir.
[13]
And the young Welch-man's Sire,
Stuck like
Dun in the Mire,
With revengeful Despair looks around him,
And then Curses the Crowd,
That with Suffrages loud
Shouted
(Vive le Roy) when they Crown'd him.
[14]
He thinks 'tis an hard Fate
Now to Capitulate,
And revoke his Indulg'd Dispensations;
To his Sons Terms to buckle,
To a Parliament truckle,
And Eat up his kind Declarations.
[15]
'Tis hard that dull Hereticks
Still suspicious of Tricks,
Can't believe the young Bantling's his Son Sir;
As if Priests cou'd n't Create,
At least Transubstantiate
Him a Boy for an Heir to his Crown Sir.
[16]
Nay renown'd Lords and Ladies
A long Bead-row have made us,
With the Midwife and Learned Physicians;
Cannot all this convince
That it is a
Welch Prince,
Though we publish the plain Depositions?
[17]
Well it seems (to be short)
There's no Remedy for't,
Both his Gods and his Friends are retiring;
And his Army falls off,
While his Enemies scoff
To see the Prince curb his aspiring.
[18]
Have we not a wise King
To resolve he would bring
All to
Rome's Lure, or else Sacrifice Sir,
Three Kingdoms to his spleen,
And to th' Will of his Queen?
Did the World ever hear of a wiser?
[19]
Without one sturdy fight
He's oblig'd to alight
From the Throne which he envy'd his Brother,
And may like a poor Biggot
Go embarque in a Friggot,
To see if he can find such another.
[20]
Since these
Switzers and
Dutch-men
Come to stand by our Church-men,
With hard grim Fellows from
Fin-land,
The old Politique VVhore
Now must never hope more
To sit brooding o're Plots against
England.
[21]
Is't not Reason and Sense,
If a King will Dispense
With our Statutes and with his own VVord Sir,
To Decide the Just Cause
Of Religion and Laws
VVith a swinging great
Protestant-sword Sir?
[22]
The
French Tyrant dissembles,
And huffs, though he trembles,
We shall Visit that Son of a VVhore Sir;
If the VVeather hold fair,
VVe'd fain take a
Tour there,
As our Fathers did in Days of Yore Sir.
[23]
VVhile the
Germans before
Pay him off his old score
For the Mischief they've felt and do fear Sir;
With Pike, Sword and Pistol,
We shall Probe his old Fistule,
And Charge the Dog home in the rear Sir.
FINIS.