THE
FAMOUS ORANGE:
Or, an Excellent Antidote against Romish Poison.
Tune of the Pudding. Licensed and Entred according to Order.
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THere's none can express,
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Your great Happiness,
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The like was ne're seen since the Days of Queen Bess
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A Nation enslav'd,
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And Justice outbrav'd,
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To be thus redeemed, and gallantly sav'd,
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By an Orange.
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O who can declare,
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A thing that's so rare,
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To be thus delivered from Lion and Bear:
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Was the like ever seen,
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That both King and Queen.
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And the counterfeit Prince too, should thus lose
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[t]heir Skreen, By an Orange.
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The Guns in the Tower
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Have desperate power,
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To fright all the City in less than an Hour;
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But tho Powder and Shot
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Be cursedly hot,
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[I]t may yet be cool'd, pray why may it not,
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With an Orange.
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The King was so bold
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To march through the Could,
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Tho he was so weak, so crazy and old;
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To carry his Train,
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To Salisbury Plain,
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But soon was he frighted to turn back again,
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By an Orange.
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Our terrible Guns,
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And Catholick Sons,
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Did march with their Bullets, in Barrels and Tuns;
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But as People say,
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They kept Holi-day,
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Till most of their Keepers were frighted away,
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By an Orange.
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Our Queen in a Fit
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Did storm up her Wit,
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To fight with as many, as she did think fit;
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But G------ and his N---,
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With many a brave Man,
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To cure her Madness will do what they can,
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With an Orange.
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What brave gallant Tales
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Of our Prince of Wales
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Might easily be told, if it were not for Jails;
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But time may evince
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This wonderful Prince
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May prove but a Peasant, if once he but mince
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Of an Orange.
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All which to prevent,
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Our Queen was content,
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That he into France, should straightway be sent;
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His birth to conceal,
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And Grandeur to steal,
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Till he is sufficiently able to deal,
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With an Orange
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Our Cathloicks rare
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Do bid very fair,
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To stand by the Dad, & his new fashion'd Heir;
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Some say they do well,
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But yet who can tell?
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They all may sing backwards, because they do
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smell, Of an Orange.
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Our Friers and Devils
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And such kind of Evils,
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That pester'd our Nation, has now got the Snivils;
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Yet still they can croak,
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And keep on their Cloak,
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But thinking to swallow, they meet with a
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Choak, From an Orange.
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Our Irish Dear-Joys,
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And such Tory-Boys,
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That lately disturb'd all our Nation with Noise;
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and gave out their votes,
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For cutting of Throats;
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There's nothing against them, can make Anti-
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dotes, Like an Orange.
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Alas what cursed Fate,
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Brought Teague and his Mate,
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To be thus exposed to Fury and Hate;
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When they come to fight,
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For young Tyle'rs Right
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They should be thus shamefully put to the Flight,
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By an Orange?
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Alloo, Allagone,
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Faith had we but known,
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The Tricks the damn'd English to us here have shown;
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We'd taken up our Dwell,
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In St. Patricks Well,
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So had we escaped this damnable Smell.
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Of an Orange.
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What scampering play
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Do we see e'ry day?
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What Monshish Devices, to run clear away?
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Our Jesuits now
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Do both swear and vow,
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They'd run far enough, if they did but know
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how, From an Orange.
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O the Buck and the Doe,
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With many knows who:
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The King, and the Queen, and the Counterfeit too,
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Do strangely incroach
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By Boat and by Coach,
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As not being able to abide the Approach,
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Of an Orange.
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Now ye Protestants all,
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That so your selves Call,
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Where ever you dwell, tho it be at White-Hall:
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It doth you behove
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Your time to improve,
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And whilst 'tis in Season learn quickly to love
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A Dutch Orange.
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For it you delay
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And trifle away
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Your time (that is given to work in) at play;
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You'l surely be crost,
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And dreadfully tost,
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And sadly repent, you so foolishly lost,
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A Brave Orange.
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If you Love your lives,
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Religion and Wives,
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The turn out these Hornets, that lurk in your Hives:
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Don't let Dirt and Mud
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Run thorow your Blood;
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For Protestant Stomach there's nothing so good
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As an Orange.
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This bold Roman Witch
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Has been digging a Ditch,
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And long time advancing with Spur and with Switch:
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Till your Fetters were fast,
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And your hopes were ev'n past;
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But Providence sent you a Med'cine at last,
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In an Orange
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When you have got Power,
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O do not devour,
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Your Brethren (as formerly) every Hour:
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But let's all agree,
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to give Liberty,
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And bless God Almighty, for setting us free,
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By an Orange
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