A NEW SONG
OF THE
Late Lord Chancellors
Last Will and Testament.
To the Tune of, Of all Delights the Earth doth yield, etc.
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G Reat Britain is agreed, I hear;
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It puts me in a slavish Fear,
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The Senators will be sad to me,
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When for my Faults I judg'd will be.
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To make my Will, I think it's time,
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Before my Breath I do resign.
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Imprimis, To my Country dear,
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I do bequeath a Mark a Year.
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That they may mark and bear in mind,
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In every Age what I design'd,
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When I had got so near the Throne
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I thought the Day was all our own.
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Item, I bequeath my Face,
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To he that cares not for Disgrace:
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And likewise I do bequeath my Brains,
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To Plotters that doth take great pains,
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Against the Law by damn'd Sedition,
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Defrauding Rights with Politician.
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My Soul unto the Pope I give,
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To keep it chary while he lives;
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To make himself a Drinking Cup,
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And with Confusion fill it up;
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And let him drink the Devil's Health,
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'Twas Liquor that I lov'd my self.
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My Ears, I do bequeath 'em free,
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To Doctor Oates's Pillory,
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For they by right shou'd had the place,
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Whilst he, poor Man, bore the Disgrace,
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I us'd all my Skill and Art,
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To punish him with bitter Smart.
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And let some faithful Bearer carry,
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My Eyes unto our late Queen Mary,
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She had a Dimness in her Sight,
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Or else she had seen old Petre's Spight:
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He led her in a Brake of Thorn,
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And ere he left her Grace forlorn.
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The Devil take my accursed Tongue,
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Which did my Soul and Body wrong;
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'Twas hang'd with Instruments of Deceit,
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And at the end a Golden Bait.
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My silver Cord had such Delusion,
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Drawing the Nation to Confusion.
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My Heart I do bequeath, with all
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My Lights and Liver, and my Gall,
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Unto some bloody minded Butcher,
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For I delighted much in Slaughter:
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Long of my hanious Cruelness,
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There's many a Widow and Fatherless
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My Skin, I do give strict Command,
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That by some Tannar may be tann'd:
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'Twill serve to make the Devil a Sack,
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To carry Petres on his Back,
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That he may ride Hackney to Hell,
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The posture will become him well.
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Unto the Pope of Italy,
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I do bequeath my Blood to He;
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'Twill serve instead of Claret Wine,
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Then let him have his fill of mine,
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For he loves Blood with all his Heart,
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Then let him take it for his part.
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My Arms and Legs and all the rest,
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I do bequeath to savage Beasts;
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'Twill serve the Eions in the Tower,
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My loathsome Carkess to devour,
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Hoping my Soul will mount on high
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So ends my Will, now let me die
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