A Third Touch of the Times,
To the Tune of, Charon make haste, etc.
|
BRave English Boys now rejoyce and be merry,
|
which Loves your Country, Religion, and Laws,
|
Let not your blood-sucking Enemies fear ye,
|
since that brave Orange defends your Cause;
|
He is come over and will protect us,
|
tho' he be Curst by Devil and Pope;
|
Then you damn'd Papists forbear to vex us,
|
if that you do, you shall dye in a Rope.
|
For now you Villains you're even Confounded,
|
tho' you design'd for to cut our Throats,
|
Now by the Seas you are quite surrounded,
|
whilst the stout Hollanders stops your Boats:
|
O you will sadly now be hanged,
|
for the base mischiefs done by you,
|
And at the last you shall all be hanged,
|
so we'll be rid of a Cursed Crew.
|
When you were well you could not be contented,
|
but you must down with our Antient Laws;
|
Yet I belive you will shortly repent it,
|
that you did ever engage in that Cause:
|
Jefferys and Peters, Walker and Chester,
|
Pulton, and other Rascals too;
|
Also the base Temporizing Addressor,
|
Penal Laws will now meet with you.
|
Nothing wou'd serve you but Protestants ruin,
|
Rackings, and Gallows, and Knives, and Fire,
|
You had provided, but 'twas your undoing,
|
now you shall have them your selves for hire:
|
Yea, so unbridled was your Power,
|
(tho' they no evil had deserv'd)
|
You must go send the Bishops to Tower,
|
but now your Rogueships shall worse be serv'd.
|
Closely we'll hunt you throughout all the Nations,
|
into the den, and the Caves of the Earth;
|
Nor will we matter thr Popes Execrations,
|
but we will put a full stop to your Mirth:
|
For the brave Orange, to your Confusion,
|
will our just Laws restore again:
|
Which we will soon put in Execution,
|
paying the Papists in their own Coyn.
|
Orange's Stomach you see will not bear it,
|
that our Rights and his shall be lost;
|
But like a generous Noble Spirit,
|
comes to defend us, tho' much to his Cost:
|
Then let good Protestants all endeavour,
|
for to assist his Highness still,
|
Praying that Heaven would him deliver,
|
from all the Rascals that wish him ill.
|
Come drink a Health then to bonny Will. Harry,
|
Englands Defender at time of need;
|
And to his Excellent Princess Mary,
|
with all the rest of the Protestant breed:
|
Long may they Live, by Heaven befriended;
|
but whosoever is their Foe:
|
May at the Gallows his Life be ended,
|
and ev'ry other that would not so.
|
|
|
|
|
|