A NEW
SONG
ENTITULED,
The WARMING-PAN.
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WHEN Jemmy the Second, not Jemmy the First,
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With Vexation and Poxes and Impotence Cursd,
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Saw the good Cause must end, which so well he began,
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Swore the Church, since he coud not, should get him a Son
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Derry down, down, etc.
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To Work went the Church on her Majestys Womb,
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By her true Representations, Fryers from Rome;
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But they well warmd, her true Catholic Mettle,
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They never could make the Meat boil in the Kettle.
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Derry down.
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But since it was determind an Heir must be got,
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No matter from Kettle, from Pan or from Pot;
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In Mettles Fertile, the old JESUITS Clan,
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Producd a brave Boy, from a Brass-Warming Pan.
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Derry down.
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But Old England, quite harrassd with Papists before,
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The Brat being Spurious, would sure bear no more;
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But with little Wills help, kickd the Spawn of a Fryer,
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From out of the Warming-Pan, into the Fire.
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Derry down.
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Full many a Year, has the Bastard been Nursd,
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By Paris and Rome, who engenderd him first;
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And now they have sent to promote their old Plan,
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The Son of the Son, of the Brass-Warming-Pan.
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Derry down.
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Oh! B[r]itains, reflect, why you drove out the One,
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And dread the same Evils, or worse from the Son;
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Quick, to Paris, or Rome, make your Perkin retire,
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Or were out of the Warming-Pan, into the Fire.
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Derry down.
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Sure Scotland remembers, the direful Fate,
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When they succourd the Warming-Pans, Father of late;
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How many to Tower, and Newgate, were sent,
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Some Heads were cut off, and too late did Repent.
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Derry down.
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May all be servd so, that takes up the Cause,
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For Rome, or the D---l, make daily applause;
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Lets firmly unite in the Protestant Case,
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Drive Pretender to the D---l, keep King George in his place.
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Derry down.
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