A
NEW SONG,
BEING THE
TORIES TRYUMPH,
OR, THE
Point well Weathered:
To a New Theatre Tune.
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I.
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SOme say, the Papists had a Plot,
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Against the Church and Crown;
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But be it so, or be it not,
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The King must please the Town.
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The Papists take Tybourn by turns,
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To please the City-Gulls;
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Its strange, that they, who all wear Horns,
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Should fear the Popish Bulls,
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II.
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The House of Commons blow the Coals,
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The Nation to dissettle;
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And, like true Tinkers, make two Holes,
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To mend one in a Kettle:
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Or else, What needs that precious Vote,
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That if the King should Fall
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By Pagan, or Phanatick Plot,
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The Pope must pay for all?
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III.
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Our Royal James of Princely Race,
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And High Illustrious Fame,
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Was not thought fit, by Commons base,
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To follow Charless Waine:
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But let that House of Office know,
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When they have Sowd their Leaven,
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He shall Succeed, though they say no,
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By all the Laws of Heaven.
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IV.
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Old Cavaliers for Loyalty
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They streight Clapt up for Treason,
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In hopes to bring in Anarchy,
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Gainst Justice, Sense, and Reason.
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Brave Hallifax and Feversham,
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Brave Worster, Just and Wise,
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They did Vote down, as dangerous Men,
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That they Themselves might Rise.
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V.
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But Oh! that Lord in Leistershire,
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Turnd Catchpole, though too Late;
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Tis better Priests in Prison were,
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Then Bums should loose their Trade:
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For Priest poor Waller never sought,
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But where was Golden Crosses;
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His Mirmidons went Snacks, tis Thought,
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In all the Owners Losses.
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VI.
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The Doctor he has bid Farewell
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To Jesus, and the Court;
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And Tonys Tap runs flat and dull,
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Makes Catch in hopes of Sport.
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Bleu Protestants can make no work,
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Unless like Hungary,
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They for Religion Joyn the Turk,
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For Christian Liberty.
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