SPORT upon SPORT; Or, The
JACOBITE toss'd in a Blanket:
TOGETHER
With his Ingenious Confession, and Publick Recantation.
To the Tune of Let Caesar live long. Licensed according to Order.
|
I Am a poor Jacobite now in distress,
|
Who wish'd for Old Lewis; but nevertheless
|
Afford me some pity, consider my cries,
|
And look on my sorrowful watery eyes:
|
In all our strange projects, alas! we are crost,
|
And I like a Dog in a Blanket am tost.
|
O let our Friend, Lucifer, now be accurst,
|
He has like a Villain been false to his trust,
|
He led us like Bears by the Nose in a string,
|
Declaring French Cut-throats should come in the Spring;
|
But he is a Lyar, that project is crost,
|
And I like a Dog in a Blanket am tost,
|
A Plot we invented, in hopes to prevail,
|
The French with their Fleet likewise hoisted up Sail,
|
Which made us all proud of the Jacobite name,
|
Concluding we had been Cock-sure of the Game:
|
But in chose Designs we were plaguely crost,
|
And I like a Dog in a Blanket am tost.
|
When ever we met with our caballing Crew,
|
For fear of the Beadles and Constables too;
|
We all flock'd together, like Owls in the dark,
|
Of e'ry Transaction to make a remark:
|
But all our [De]signs they were plaguely crost,
|
And I like a Dog in a Blanket am tost.
|
What Cups of Confusion amongst us went round,
|
Whilst some of us bent our bare Knees to the ground,
|
So Zealous we was for the Infidel Cause,
|
That we could destroy both Religion and Laws:
|
But we in those projects were plaguely crost,
|
And I like a Dog in a Blanket am tost.
|
Although I was born of a Protestant Race,
|
Believe me, as sure as I'm tost in this place,
|
The French Yoke and Fetters I'd never refuse,
|
Besides I'm in love with their dear wooden Shoes:
|
Now seeking for which, we are plaguely crost,
|
And I like a Dog in a Blanket am tost.
|
We had but three Friends to perform this great Work,
|
Which was our dear Devil, French King, and the Turk;
|
And these are all worsted both by Sea and Land,
|
I fear that their Empires does tottering stand:
|
In this great Design they are cursedly crost,
|
And I like a Dog in a Blanket am tost.
|
Almost to the Skies there they toss me amain,
|
And as I come down still they cant me again,
|
The which puts me into a sad stinking fear,
|
Have pity upon a poor Jacobite here:
|
For that little Sense which I had I have lost,
|
While I like a Dog in a Blanket am tost.
|
Good People he pleased to Pardon me now,
|
And as I'm a Man, here I solemnly vow;
|
The French I'll forsake, and the Jacobites too,
|
Likewise to King William prove Loyal and True:
|
Pray let not my Senses be utterly lost,
|
While I like a Dog in a Blanket am tost.
|
I'll do what I can my Late Friends to persuade
|
To leave off their Cabals and old Plotting Trade,
|
And turn to King William; pray pardon me then
|
Shew mercy to me as you are Gentlemen:
|
My Reason and Senses I have almost lost,
|
While I like a Dog in a Blanket am tost.
|
|
FINIS.
|
|
|
|