The Bloody PLOT:
OR,
A horrid Conspiracy against the Life of His Sacred Majesty, hap-
pily discover'd, and many of the Conspiraters taken, in order to be brought
to Justice.
To the Tune of, Russel's Farewel, etc.
|
YOu bloudy minded Sons of Rome,
|
when will you leave this trade
|
Of Plotting? see your dismal doom,
|
you that would fain have laid
|
Your cruel hands upon the King,
|
William the Great by Name;
|
This will yourselves to ruine bring,
|
oh! Traytors, blush for shame.
|
A more victorious King than he,
|
could never grace the Throne,
|
Both far and near by Land and Sea,
|
his Conduct is well known,
|
Who ventures for the Nation's good,
|
his Life in warlike fame;
|
How could you think to shed his Bloud?
|
oh! Traytors, blush for shame.
|
How often has he pardon'd those,
|
who were his Enemies?
|
His Mercy like a Fountain flows,
|
which Villains seldom prize;
|
But rather grow more insolent,
|
and won't their Lives reclaim,
|
For which too late they may repent,
|
now, Traytors, blush for shame.
|
You dig a Pit for other Men,
|
and fall yourselves therein,
|
For there's a God who sees you when,
|
such Treasons you begin,
|
And makes a clear discovery
|
of what I weep to name,
|
For your intended Villany,
|
bold Traytors, blush for shame.
|
The Duke of Barwick, we are told,
|
was active in this Land,
|
With other Traytors manyfold,
|
who took this Plot in hand;
|
They reckon'd to have kill'd the King,
|
of royal Birth and Fame,
|
And all the Realm to ruine bring,
|
oh! Traytors, blush for shame.
|
They thought, when he a hunting rid,
|
for to have struck the blow,
|
But God he did that Crime forbid,
|
and let our Monarch know,
|
Their horrid bloudy base design,
|
for which some hither came;
|
He's blest by Providence divine,
|
then, Traytors, blush for shame.
|
And likewise as his Majesty,
|
went to the House of Prayer,
|
It feems, this bloudy Tragedy,
|
was to be acted there;
|
But blessed be the Lord on high,
|
his Mercy let's proclaim,
|
Who guards our King continually,
|
oh! Traytors, blush for shame.
|
The Lord's Anointed who shall touch,
|
by either Word or Deed,
|
His Wrath shall surely punish such,
|
that Villains like proceed
|
Against our royal crowned Head,
|
of Dignity and Fame;
|
His royal Bloud you thought to shed,
|
oh! Traytors, blush for shame.
|
Our Enemies they fret and shafe,
|
because they han't their Will;
|
But thanks to God, the King is safe
|
from all their Malice still,
|
He keeps him safe both night and day,
|
oh, blessed be his Name,
|
While bloudy-minded Traytors they
|
have cause to blush for shame.
|
If God he had not stood our Friend,
|
they had our Ruine wrought;
|
Therefore let those who did offend,
|
be now to Justice brought,
|
Who thought to dispossess the Throne,
|
by a rebellious Flame,
|
A deeper Plot scarce e're was known,
|
oh! Traytors, blush for shame.
|
Since God was pleas'd to manifest
|
his Favours to this Land;
|
Oh! let his Mercies be exprest,
|
all round on e're hand:
|
To him alone all Praise is due,
|
then let's adore his Name,
|
Who sav'd the King and Nation too,
|
and cloaths our Foes with shame.
|
|
|
|
|
|