Good Subjects Delight:
Or, True Love in its proper Colours;
A most pleasant and delectable new Play-Song, greatly in request,
both in Court and City:
Good Subjects are the Jewels of the Crown,
Procure their Soverai[g]ns Glory and Renown,
But bad are those who seek to pull him down;
Union an Ornament that Kingdom Graces,
Who seeks Devision, all that's good defaces,
And for his pains may he ware Hempen Tresses.
To a pleasant New Play-Tune, of, At last let the Murmurs, etc. Or, Ah Cloris awake!
Entred according to Order.
|
AT last let the Murmurs
|
and Tumults all cease,
|
And let us lye down,
|
in the Shades of sweet peace,
|
Let Envy, strife, Hurry,
|
and all that attend u'm,
|
Be banished to those
|
that amongst us did send u'm.
|
Let our cares and our fears,
|
and all jealousie perish,
|
Let no idle fancies
|
and false rumours Cherish:
|
For in vain they disturb us,
|
in vain to torment us,
|
And banish those joys
|
that were is us'd to frequent us.
|
Let State Polititians
|
aspire to renown,
|
By contriving the welfare,
|
and peace of the Crown:
|
Let Caesar be happy,
|
let him long live and Reign,
|
To him let our Loyalty,
|
ever remain.
|
Let him live, let him live,
|
in all pleasure and peace,
|
Let his Laurels still flourish,
|
and his Triumphs ne'r cease;
|
Whilst a health it goes round,
|
and may none be blest;
|
That thoughts of disloyalty,
|
shrowds in his Breast.
|
Let England rejoyce,
|
let the Nations be glad,
|
Let Divisions all vanish,
|
that makes us so sad?
|
Whilst a Health it goes round
|
and we love one another,
|
All heats and all passions
|
From henceforth lets smother
|
Lets rejoyce and be glad,
|
let England now flourish
|
And those that divide us wou'd
|
let them all perish:
|
In peace and in unity
|
blessings await us,
|
And those that love others
|
conclude that they hate us.
|
And let them be branded,
|
as the Nations chief foes,
|
Whilst each good Subject,
|
his loyalty shows:
|
This King and his Country,
|
he ever is true,
|
Who thoughts of disloyalty,
|
never yet knew.
|
Here's a Health to all such then
|
come lets see't go round,
|
Whilst the drum it beats dub a dub
|
and Trumpets sound:
|
Whilst our joys and our wishes,
|
like our Glasses are full,
|
And hang up all those,
|
that morrosly are dull.
|
'Tis mine boy, 'tis thine boy.
|
come about let it go,
|
A Health to true loyalties
|
where e're they grow:
|
A fig for all others,
|
they are not for us boys.
|
Let, let them be banish'd
|
in that there is no loss Boys.
|
But the Nation will quiet be,
|
better without um,
|
Then heres a good Health boy,
|
to those that do rout um:
|
And to all good Subjects
|
that pray for their King,
|
For from him boys, from him
|
our welfare doth spring.
|
|
FINIS.
|
|
|
|