The BELGICK BOAR.
A New SONG, to the Old Tune of Chevy-Chase.
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GOD prosper long our noble King,
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Our Hopes and Wishes all;
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A fatal Landing late there did,
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In Devonshire befall.
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To drive our Monarch from his Throne,
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Prince Naso took his way:
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The Babe may rue thats newly born,
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The landing at Torbay.
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The stubborn Tarquin void of Grace,
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A Vow to Hell does make,
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To force his Father Abdicate,
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And then his Crown to take.
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And eke the Royal Infant-Prince,
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To seize or drive away;
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These Tidings to our Sovreign came,
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In Whitehall where he lay.
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Who unconcernd at the Report,
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At first would not believe,
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That any of his Royal Race
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Such Mischiefs could conceive.
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Till Time which ripens all Things, did
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The Villany disclose;
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And of a Nephew and a Son
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Forgd out the worst of Foes.
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Who by Infernal Instinct led,
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A mighty Fleet prepares,
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His Fathers Kingdom to invade,
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And fill his Heart with Cares.
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Our Gracious King desires to know,
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What his Pretensions were,
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And how without his Leave, he durst
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Presume on Landing here.
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Declaring what was deemd amiss,
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Should soon amended be,
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And whatsoere should be desird,
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He would thereto agree.
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And for a speedy Parlament,
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He doth forthwith declare;
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The Surly Brute not minding this;
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Does to our Coast repair.
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With several Thousand Belgick Boars,
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All chosen Rogues for spight,
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Joind with some Rebels who from hence
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And Justice had tane flight.
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Who armd with Malice & with Hopes,
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Soon threw themselves on Shoar;
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Crying, our Religion and our Laws
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They came for to restore.
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Then Declarations flew about
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As thick as any Hail,
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Which tho no Word was ere made good
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Did mightily prevail.
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We must be Papists or be Slaves,
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Was then the Genral Cry;
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But well do any thing to save
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our Darling Liberty.
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Well all join with a Foreign Prince,
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Against our Lawful King;
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For he from all our fancyd Fears,
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Deliverance doth bring.
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And if what he declares proves true,
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As who knows but it may;
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Were he the Devil of a Prince,
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Well rather him obey.
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Then our Allegiance lets cast off,
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James shall no longer guide us;
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And tho the French would bridle us,
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None but the Dutch shall ride us.
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And those who will not join with us,
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In this Design so brave,
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Their Houses well pull down or burn,
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And seize on what they have.
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These growing Evils to prevent,
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Our King his Force does bend;
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But amongst those he most did trust,
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He scarce had left one Friend.
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O how my very Heart does bleed,
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To think how basely they
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Who long had eaten Royal Bread
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Their Master did betray!
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And those to whom hed been most kind
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And greatest Favours shown,
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Appeard to be the very first
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Who sought him to Dethrone.
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O Compton! Langston! and the rest
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Who basely from him ran,
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Your Names for ever be accursd
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By evry English Man.
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Proud Tarquin he pursues his Game,
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And quickly makes it plain,
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He came not to redress our Wrongs,
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But Englands Crown to gain.
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And ore his Fathers mangled Fame,
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His Chariot proudly drives,
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Whilst he, Good Man, altho in vain,
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To pacifie him strives.
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But he ingrateful! woud not hear
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His Offers tho so kind,
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But causd the noble Messenger
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Forthwith to be confind.
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He brings his Nasty Croaking Crew
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Unto his Fathers Gate,
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Dismist his own, makes them his Guard,
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Oh dismal turn of Fate!
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Also at Midnight drives him thence,
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O horrid impious thing!
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Were such Affronts ere offerd to
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A Father and a King!
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A King so Great! so Good! so Just!
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So Merciful to all!
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His Vertue was his only Fault.
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And that which causd his Fall.
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Who now is forcd his Life to save
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To fly his native Land,
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And leave his Scepter to be graspd
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By an ungracious Hand.
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Hells Journey-men are streight convend
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Who rob God of his Powr,
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Set up themselves a Stork-like King,
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the Subjects to devour.
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And to secure his Lawless Throne,
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Now give him all we have,
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And make each Free-born English Heart
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Become a Belgick Slave.
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The Bar, the Pulpit, and the Press
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Nefariously combine,
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To cry up an usurped Powr,
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And stamp it right Divine.
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Our Loyalty we must melt down,
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And have it coind anew,
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For what was current hereofore,
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Will now no longer do.
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Our Fetters we our Selves put on,
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Our Selves, our Selves do bubble;
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Our Conscience a meer Pack-horse make
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Which now must carry double.
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O England! when to future Times
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Thy Story shall be known
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How will they blush to think what Crimes
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Their Ancestors have done.
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But after all, what have we got
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By this our dear-bought King?
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Why that our Scandal and Reproach
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Throughout the World does ring.
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That our Religion, Liberties,
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And Laws we held so dear,
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Are more invaded since this Change
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Than ever yet they were.
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Our Coffers draind, our Coin impaird,
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That little that remains;
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Our Persons seizd, nay Thoughts arraignd,
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Our Freedom now is Chains.
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Our Traffick ruind, Shipping lost,
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Our Traders most undone;
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Our bravest Heroes sacrificd,
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Our ancient Glory gone.
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A Fatal Costly War entaild,
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On this unhappy Isle;
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Unless above what we deserve,
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Kind Heaven at last does smile.
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And bring our injurd Monarch Home,
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And place Him on his Throne;
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And to Confusion bring his Foes
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Which God grant may be soon.
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