Englands Present State .
Poor England now is sore opprest,
The more it is the pitty,
But God preserve our Soveraign King,
And eke preserve the City .
Tune of, Old England's now grown New .
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P Oor England the world at thee doth admire,
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To see that thy enemies still do conspire,
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They still seek thy ruine by Sword and by Fire;
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Oh are not these times grown strange, grown strange
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Oh are not these times grown strange .
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Thou once wer't as happy as some of the rest,
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Thy happiness now bloody Villains infest,
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But they for their tricks can never be blest:
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Oh are not these times grown strange, etc.
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Instead of good Trading now Plots they devise,
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They are fill'd up with Shams and composed of lyes
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They do wickedness love, and all goodness despise,
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Oh are not these times grown strange , etc.
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Now where is the Gold that once plenty was here
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We instead of Estates are now filled with fear,
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Of losing our Lives and all that is dear;
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Oh are not the times grown strange, grown strange
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Oh are not these times grown strange .
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Now where's the brave fellows that frighted the French
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And made him appear like a pittiful Prince,
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Now he's a brave fellow that's best at a Wench,
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Oh are not these times grown strange, etc.
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In times that are past men that had estates
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Kept brave open houses, now Porters at gates,
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And spend all on Misses, & Whigs, for their pates,
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Oh are not these times grown strange, etc.
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Some men have complained they money did want,
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But honesty now I do find is more scant,
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He's a fool counted that can't damn him and rant,
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Oh are not the times grown strange, grown strange
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Oh are not these times grown strange.
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Now all civil dresses are quite laid aside,
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And never were men so addicted to Pride,
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Now every Jack wears a Sword by his side,
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Oh are not these times grown strange, etc,
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There's nothing gentle that now comes in fashion,
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Except it be used first in the French Nation,
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For we must be sure of Mounsieurs Approbation,
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Oh are not these times grown strange, etc.
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Now Loyalty too much is kick'd out of door,
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And none more esteem'd than proud Babylons whore
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Still hoping to bring England lower and lower,
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Oh are not these times grown strange, etc.
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And plotting of Treasons are some mens delight
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Who in deeds of darkness do take their delight,
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They'l pleasure the Devil to show their despite,
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Oh are not these times grown strange, etc.
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To charge honest men of their hatching of Treason
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I fear will a fashion be in a short season,
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Tho what is alledg'd is against sence and reason.
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Oh is not these times grown strange , etc.
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False-swearing is now too common a thing,
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Of some bloody swearers all England doth ring,
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And yet they pretend they are true to the King,
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Oh are not these times grown strange, etc,
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He that loves the King well doth his Subjects love too
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Believe what I say for I'm sure it is true,
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But beware of the blades that bid Conscience adieu,
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Oh are not these times grown strange , etc.
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The Whigs and the Tories each other asperse,
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I blush when such foolish things I do rehearse;
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The like was ne'r yet in the whole Universe,
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Oh are not these times grown strange , etc.
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And now to conclude I wish all to agree,
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If so; there would none be more happy than we,
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God himself doth delight in love and unity,
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Oh this same is true and not strange, not strange,
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Oh this same is true and not strange .
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