THE Dissatisfied SUBJECT. OR, Covetousness, the Destruction of Religion, and Loyalty.
To the Tune of, Let Mary live long.
License daccording to Order.
[...]
I.
BEhold in this Age
the loose and perfidious
are seeming Religious:
They swear to engage
The Truth to defend:
while they thrive and groich,
they will go thorough-stitch,
Like right honest Men:
yet touch but their Mammon,
yet touch but their Mammon,
And where are they then?
II.
If the Army this day,
the noble Commanders,
and Hero's of
Flanders,
Wou'd fight without Pay,
And venture their Lives:
if the King cou'd do all
without Taxes at all,
'Tis like they would own,
he was the best Monarch,
he was the best Monarch,
As ever was known.
III.
The King they love well,
and likewise the Nation,
without disputation,
Our Foes they'd expell
At home and abroad;
nay the Troops they'd enlarge,
cou'd it be without Charge,
For a Cause so divine:
but tell them of Taxes,
but tell them,
&c.
And then they repine.
IV.
Nay Presbyter
Jack,
that zealous Professor,
and loyal Addressor,
He'll stand to his Tack,
As tite as a Drum:
but at length he grows cold,
when he parts with his Gold,
From him and his Heirs,
the which he admires
the which he admires
Much more than his Prayers.
V.
Religion's the Cry,
yet there are not many
that ever had any
I tell you; for why
There's little they mind,
but to rant, roar and sing,
and cry,
God save the King.
Then off with their Drink,
is this true Religion?
is this true Religion?
Sirs, What do you think?
VI.
One swears by his Soul,
that he's no Philistine,
but 'Zounds a good Christian;
Then takes off his Bowl,
And swears like a Lord,
that he loves the old way,
for to read as they pray:
'Tis ease for the Brain,
and when it is ended,
and when,
&c.
To drinking again.
VII.
Now therefore between
the huffing young Hector,
and
Jack the Projector,
In this present Scene,
Religion is tost
like a Foot-ball about,
there's not many devout,
We find to our Cost;
which makes us imagine,
which makes,
&c.
That Honesty's lost.
VIII.
Lets pray for the King,
let Blessings attend him,
and Heaven defend him,
That under his Wing
We see happy days;
when the Storm is blown o'er,
we shall flourish once more,
In spight of our Foes,
let Angels still guard him,
let Angels still guard him,
Where-ever he goes.
Printed for P. Brooksby, J. Deacon, J. Blare, J. Back.