A NEW SONG
[...]
[...]
THanks to our good K—
William,
Who looks so kindly to Us,
He sends our Money all abroad
For fear it should undoe us.
Oh, Twenty Millions good,
And Ten more must be paid;
Abroad we lose our English
Bloud,
And their Leaders were affraid.
I mean not good Count
Solmes,
Nassau, nor
Scravenmore;
For if there e'er were such Poltrones
My Mother is a Whore:
Nor the two new made Lords,
Benting, nor Squab
Athlone;
Nor yet our Cosin
Zuylestein,
For such were never known.
Oh Twenty Millions good, &c.
At
Steinkirk they did sacrifice
The bravest of our Men,
And here he leaves his nasty
Dutch
To get us Heirs agen.
Oh, Twenty Millions good, &c.
You swearing Clergy all,
Who grumbling pay your Mulct;
But if the Devil comes a shoar,
You'll sing
Quicunque vult.
Oh, Twenty Millions good, &c.
The Members sell their Votes,
And give away our Riches;
But when King
James does come again
They'll all besh—t their Breeches.
Oh, Twenty Millions good, &c.
Four years you have been sitting,
And all to mend our Laws;
But if you ha'nt your Pensions paid,
You'll turn your
Yeas to
Noes.
Oh, Twenty Millions good, &c.
God bless our King and Queen,
And send them long to reign;
For if they e'er do
Abdicate,
We shall ne'er have the like again.
Oh, Twenty Millions good,
And Ten more must be paid;
Abroad we lose our English
Blood,
And their Leaders were affraid.
LONDON, Printed in the Year MDCXCIII.