A NEW SONG.
To the Tune of, The Prince of Orange's Delight.
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I.
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COme London Boys all, and listen to me,
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And the Papists now we will Convince,
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Then let the Bells Ring, while we merrily Sing,
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For to welcome the Protestant Prince.
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II.
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Let the Bonefires Burn, the Papists all turn,
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And their Wooden Gods all be pull'd down,
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Let the Churches all flourish, the Gospel to nourish,
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With great Joy to the Princes Renown.
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III.
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Then you Irishmen all, in Country and Town,
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Repent for the time that is past,
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For Tryconnel is taken, and his Laws are farsaken,
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And your Roguery is found out now at last.
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IV.
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But let me advise you the best way I can,
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As I stand near Related to you;
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Your old Coats for to turn, & your Altars to burn,
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And to hang up your Jesuit Crew.
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V.
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For your downfall is come, and you shall receive Doom
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For we Protestants now do advance;
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And our brave Prince and we, will unite & agree
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For to drive Lewis King, out of France.
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VI.
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Let Shoomakers all pack up Knives and heel-Awl,
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For to joyn to an Universe Sum;
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Let's charge and let's prime, for we hope in Gods time
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For to give the Deaths Wound unto Rome.
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VII.
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But first let the Glory and Praise be to God,
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Who hath wrought such a Miracle great;
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Their Delusions to spoil, and their Plots all beguile,
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Then rejoyce both in Church and in State.
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VIII.
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And now to the Instrument of this great work,
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Which the like was ne're before, nor since;
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Let's drink his Health round, with our knees to the ground
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For to wellcome this Protestant Prince.
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IX.
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And now to Conclude this my Protestant Song,
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Pray remember these Verses of mine;
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For Popery is pull'd down, both in Country and Town,
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And the Gospel in Splendour shall shine.
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X.
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With Peace, Mirth, and Plenty our Land will aboud
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And the Papists they all must go hence;
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For search the World round, there will scarcely be found
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Such another brave Protestant Prince.
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XI.
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If any one questions who made these few Lines?
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'Tis my self, if I may you convince;
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Then let's merry be, and Il'e drink unto thee,
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A good Health to this Protestant Prince.
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XII.
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Then fill up the Glass, about let it pass,
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All our sorrows in Wine we will drown;
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Here is a good Health to that Commonwealth
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Whose Prince is come lately to Town.
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