THE
GREAT BASTAD,
PROTECTOR of
LITTLE ONE.
Or, the Sighs of the French King under the Power of the German
Empire; Giving an Account of his Creuelty against the Prince of
Condy, and the French Protestants; His Leage with Mahomet
the Great Turk; Of his breaking the League with Germany; of
his Design with the Supposed Prince of Wales, and of his being
Pox'd with several Whores.
To the Tune of, the Italian Dutchess.
|
I Am a Bastard, by my Birth,
|
Of Popish Generation:
|
My wicked Deeds do set me forth,
|
To every Tongue and Nation.
|
My Name is Lewis, King of France;
|
My Subjects I keep under:
|
In Blood I make all Europe quake,
|
To be the whole World's Wonder.
|
The Prince of Condy, I ran down,
|
His Friends I put in Prison:
|
Tho' he was true Heir to the Crown,
|
He was accus'd of Treason.
|
And when I was set in the Throne,
|
I Villianies contrived,
|
To do Mischief, without Relief,
|
Old Quarrels I revived.
|
The Protestants of France did bring
|
Me to my Coronation.
|
For I had no right to be King,
|
By every Man's Relation.
|
But I have them requited well,
|
By killing and by burning,
|
Their Children I have forc'd to die,
|
Both Hungar-starv'd and Mourning.
|
With Mahomet, I am Brother sworn,
|
'Gainst Christendom and Popery:
|
A Tyrant great, as e'r was born,
|
Religion I thought Foppery.
|
They call me now, Most Christian Turk,
|
Tho' Turks they do abhor me:
|
I am the Hate of Church and State;
|
None such was e'r before me.
|
With Germany I broke the League,
|
A Rascal was to Poland:
|
My Subjects I did force to beg.
|
And broke my Word to Holland.
|
Great Britain's King I did pull down,
|
For I did still perswade him,
|
To play the Fool, like Boys at School,
|
He still bid as I bade him.
|
The Royal Heir of England's Crown,
|
A King made of a Cushion,
|
Was hatch'd by Peter's of Renown,
|
That musty old Capushion.
|
But I design'd the Prince of Wales
|
To be my Royal Brother;
|
That we might be, in Pedegree,
|
Just like to one another.
|
I have been Ten times basely Pox'd.
|
And Ten times have been cured;
|
And Twenty times I have been Flux'd:
|
What Pains have I endur'd!
|
Yet now I'am more perplex'd in mind,
|
Still thinking of the Danger,
|
Of loseing France, by meer Mischance,
|
And trusting to a Stranger.
|
For Bloody War, and Widow's Cries,
|
I make sad Lamentation:
|
For wicked Deeds and Perjuries,
|
I'm like to lose my Nation.
|
Let every King be Wise by me,
|
And rather live contented,
|
Than hazar'd all, and catch a fall,
|
Which cannot be prevented.
|
|
|
|
|
|