THE LOYAL HEALTH.
A Court Song, to a Delicate new Tune, called,
At the Foot of a Willow, close under the Shade.
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[1.]
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SInce Plottings a Trade,
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Like the rest of the Nation:
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Let em Lie, and Swear on,
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To keep up the Vocation;
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Let Tinkers, and Weavers,
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And Joyners agree,
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To find work for the Cooper,
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Theyl have none of me;
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Let Politick Shams,
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In the States-man abound,
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While we quaff our Bumpers,
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And set the Glass round:
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The jolly true Topers
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The best Subject still,
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Who drinks off his Liquor,
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And thinks no more ill.
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[2.]
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Then let us stand tot,
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And like honest Men fall,
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Who love King and Country,
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Duke, Dutchess and all;
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Not such as woud blow up
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The Nation by stealth,
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And out of the flame
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Raise a new Common-wealth:
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Nor such, who against Church
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And Bishops do rage,
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To advance old Jack Presbyter,
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On the new Stage.
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But to all honest Tories,
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Whol fight for their King,
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And to Crown the brave Work,
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With the Court weel begin.
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[3.]
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Heres a Health to the King,
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And his Lawful Successors,
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To honest Tantivies,
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And Loyal Addressors;
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But a pox take all those,
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That promoted Petitions
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To Poyson the Nation,
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And stir up Seditions;
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Heres a Health to the Queen,
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And her Ladies of Honour,
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And a pox take all those,
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That put Sham-Plots upon her.
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Heres a Health to the Duke,
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And the Senate of Scotland,
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To all honest Men,
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That from Bishops nere got-Land.
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[4.]
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Heres a Health to Lestrange,
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And the boon Heraclitus:
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With true Tory Thompson
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Who never did slight us;
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But confounding Broom, Paulin,
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And Alderman Wrightus,
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With Tony and Bethel,
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Ignoramus, and Titus:
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Heres a Health to the Church,
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And all those that are for it,
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Gonfusion to Zealots,
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And Whigs that abhor it;
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May it ever be safe,
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From the new mode Refiners
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And Justice be done
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Upon Coopers and Joyners.
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[5.]
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Heres a Health to old Hall------,
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Who our joys did restore;
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And pox take each Popular
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Son of a Whore;
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To the Spaniard and Dane,
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The brave Russian and Moor,
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Who come from far Nations,
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Our King to adore;
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To all that do Worship,
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The God of the Vine,
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And to old Jolly Bowman
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Who draws us good Wine;
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And as for all Traytors,
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Whether Baptist or Whig,
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May they all trot to Tyburn,
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To dance the old Jig.
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[6.]
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Heres a Health to all those,
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Love the King and his Laws,
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And may th[e]y near Pledge it
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That Broach the Old Cause.
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Heres a Health to the State,
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And a Plague on the Pack
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Of Common-wealth Canters
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And Presbyter Jack;
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To the uppermost pendent
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That ever did play
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On the highest Top-gallant
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Oth Soveraign oth Sea;
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And he that denies,
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To the Standard to lore,
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May he sink in the Ocean,
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And never Drink more.
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