A NEW SONG
Made in the Praise of the
West of England.
To the Tune of, The Protestant Prince; or, Up the green Forrest.
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UNto West-Country men,
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These few lines I do pen;
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[In] whose praise we will merrily sing,
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For your late Battel fought
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Hath you great honour brought,
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[A]nd made your name famously ring.
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Then ye Monmouth brave boys,
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who was rob'd of your joys,
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[A]nd as Rebels and Traytors since stood,
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Who in young Jemmys cause,
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And the rights of good laws,
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[V]entur'd fortunes with great loss of blood.
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Altho' Monmouth was gone,
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And had left you alone,
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Now an Orange did bravely advance,
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Who will stick close to you
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To confound the old Crew,
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And learn them a new Jigg to dance.
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For your old plague and grudge,
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Who once was your Judge,
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Is close pri[s]oner now in the Tower;
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And when Parliament sit,
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He shall have a permit,
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Under Tyburn to swing a long hour,
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FIrst let Titus Oates,
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By all wishes and Votes,
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[B]e on Horseback with whip most compleat
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For to shew him a dance
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That shall make him to prance
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long Leadenhall-street to Newgate.
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And this being done,
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The next day let him run
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For inventing his new-fashion'd Rear,
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From Newgate all along
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In the midst of the throng,
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Till he comes to the three-legged Mare.
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For 'tis pitty, say I,
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By the Ax he should die,
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But his Lordship I hope you will torture,
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Cause to brave London still
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He hath shewn his good will,
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In his taking away their old Charter.
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Then rejoice you brave West,
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From North unto East,
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From whose Country he hath wrought such a change;
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Now your Honour doth sound,
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And your fame doth abound
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with your prayers for the Prince of Orange.
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Whose Delivery great,
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Both in Church and in State
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From blind Popery hath set us all free;
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For it was Gods own will
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Little blood for to spill,
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Let his Name for ever sanctified be.
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Now let all men adore
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This brave Prince that came o'er
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To preserve Penal Laws and the Test,
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With brave silver and gold
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As ever was told,
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To make good our old breach in the West.
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For our great God above,
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Out of mercy and love,
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Hath wrought us this Miracle strange[,]
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Who in due time hath sent
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By his own instrument
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His great Highness the Prince of Orange[.]
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Now with one accord
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Return thanks to the Lord,
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Be stedfast in mind, never change,
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For peter's Renown
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Is quite tumbled down,
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By his Highness the Prince of Orange.
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As our trade does abound,
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So our fame shall be crown'd,
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like brave Stuckly that Clothworkers son
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For had we not stood to't
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With our brave Horse and Foot,
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Three Kingdoms had quite been undone.
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So to end this my Song,
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I do no body wrong,
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Then let West-country Protestants all,
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Drink round a sound touch
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To this brave Prince & Dutch,
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Who redeem'd us from slavery and thrall[.]
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Then fill up the Cup,
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And let's drink it all up,
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And the Papishes now we will swing,
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While Tyburn to their shame
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Is playing the old Game,
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God bless the King & the Prince of Orange.
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