HOllow Boys, Hollow, Hollow once again!
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Tother half Crown shall then reward your pain.
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Alas, Poor Whigg, where wilt thou sneaking go,
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Thy Wine is split, thy Pyes, and Cakes are Dough?
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Down go the Coppers, Tables, Shelves and all,
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And so Farewel to Haberdashers Hall!
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Damnd Protestants! that when the Court abhort,
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Dare eat, and drink without a Patent fort.
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And what true Catholicks, no doubt, will say
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Was ten times worse, upon a Fasting day!
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No Northern Healths would with Huzzas be crownd,
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No Loyal Dammees there would rend the Ground.
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These hungry Covenanting Currs, contrive
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To gobble up the Kings Prerogative.
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In Pasties, Plots, in Custard, Treason, lies,
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And hot Rebellion lurks in Pudding-Pies.
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Fear always through Perspective looks, and thus
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A Sausage must be dubbd a Blunderbuss.
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Poor Wood-cocks, Loyal Subjects counted be;
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Condemnd by sly Phanaticks Treachery.
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Spitts Rapiers are to stab obedient Geese,
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A Stately Pasty is a Mortar-piece.
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Glasses are Hand-Granadoes, which may fall
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At Charing-Cross, or Fire the Milky Hall.
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Cooks Shops hatch close Designs upon the State
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Gainst Calves, and Capons to ASSOCIATE;
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Which if the Trairors freely wont confess,
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Our Jurys them shall all-to-be-Address.
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Those that were never marked by the Beast,
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Shall neither Buy, nor Sell, nor Fast, nor Feast.
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Whilst this Indulgence we to Friends afford,
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Change rusty Cassocks for a glittering Sword.
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But if they have nor Coat nor Gown to sell,
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Godfreys Cravat will do the Job as well.
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