A Loyal SONG, on
KING JAMES
His Royal BIRTH-Day:
To the Tune of, The Cannons Roar.
|
HArk! I hear the Trumpets sound,
|
While Loyal Subjects Souls are Crown'd,
|
With joys that ever will abound,
|
and fill their hearts with mirth too,
|
While all do for our Soveraign pray,
|
Whom Heaven commands us to obey,
|
And Solemnly observe the Day
|
of his most Royal Birth too.
|
Harmonious Musick fills mine ear,
|
And all things pleasant do appear,
|
God prosper long our Prince so dear,
|
still crys the Grave and Sober,
|
O Let it not forgotten be,
|
But keep with all Solemnity,
|
In Honour of his Majesty,
|
the Fourteenth of October.
|
Did you Behold the Serpents Flye?
|
While Bonfires Light the Gloomy Sky.
|
God Bless King James was all the cry,
|
throughout the Streets of London:
|
Now let his Enemies complain,
|
In peace and quiet he shall Reign,
|
Our Liberties for to Maintain,
|
whom Traitors would have undone.
|
Come Fill a Glass unto the Brim,
|
In Sack let all our sorrows swim
|
And drink a full Carrouse to him
|
whom Heaven hath long preserved:
|
And did their enmity oppose,
|
Who did declare themselves his Foes,
|
To dangers did themselves expose,
|
as it hath been observed.
|
Now Loyalty doth lead the Van,
|
And let them me disprove that can,
|
'Tis that alone that makes the man,
|
and so will do for ever:
|
No wavering thoughts lodge in your breast,
|
If you will be for ever blest,
|
But let Great James still live at rest,
|
for so he doth endeavour.
|
Europes Great Monarch Heavens bless,
|
And Crown thy head with happiness,
|
This freely now I do express,
|
which fills my heart with mirth too,
|
That as it is well understood,
|
Thou dost descend from Royal Blood,
|
So thou'rt not only Great but Good,
|
the glory of the Earth too.
|
The Powers of Heaven still pour down,
|
Eternal blessings on thy Crown,
|
And keep these wicked Spirits down,
|
who strive for to annoy thee:
|
'Tis our Delight both day and night,
|
To vindicate Great Jameses Right,
|
Who happy are in fates despight,
|
if we can but enjoy thee.
|
No feigned Wit can me convince,
|
England e're had a Braver Prince,
|
Whose virtue shows his innocence,
|
with Lawrel is he Crowned:
|
Let every Tongue applaud his Name,
|
And spread his worth on wings of fame,
|
While we true Subjects do proclaim,
|
Great James the most Renowned.
|
|
FINIS.
|
|
|
|