THE
WHIG CABALL.
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THe sullen night worn thredbare, when I lay,
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Expecting the approach of early day:
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Such Loyal thoughts did in my bosom rage,
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As drew my curses on this factious Age:
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With tears I mournd our sinking Countreys fate,
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And shadowd glory of the royal State.
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Till slumbring at the last, a glimring light,
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Methought was shown to my mysterious sight.
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When I descryd a Treasnous damnd Cabal,
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Hells mounting Engins that would sink us all,
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And rise upon our Kings and Countreys fall:
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Dark were their looks, and knowingly I saw,
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Villains they were, and such as fled the Law;
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Printers, and those who had abusd the times,
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Religion was their Cloak to hide their Crimes.
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Envious as Fiends, like Hells Divan they sate;
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What would Hell more? to ruin Church and State:
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So vile as these, it never could appear,
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Had the great Whig-land Lucifer been there.
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When in an abrupt voice I heard one cry,
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Romes Idol-York shant gorge our Liberty.
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Rowze up my Friends, our Ruins more than feard,
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Their Bulls do roar so loud we cant be heard.
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With that he pausd----then said with much distress
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What shall we do? The Tyde of our Success,
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Now seems to Ebb, nor can we hope for less:
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For even those, will now believe no more
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Our Shams, who judgd them Miracles before.
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Interests our Hook, and Freedom is the Bait,
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Bondage but namd, youl see Rebellion strait.
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Each weak Pretence deceives the easie crowd;
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With them tis Law, what is by us allowd.
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But shallow are our Plots to searching eyes,
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They see what mischief at the bottom lies:
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Our Shrieffs and Jurys for their Ends-applause,
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With Ignoramus, Riots, prop our Cause;
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They doubt of Peace from those that break the Laws;
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There our designs are desprate, and so crost,
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Bold the attempt must be to gain whats lost:
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Zealous Rebellion must secure us all;
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We cannot fail while we pretend a Call,
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With that like Fiends they Vanishd and I woke,
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Whilst all amazd and troubled, thus I spoke:
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O Wretched Land! how provd thy curing Vain?
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Sine thy old Wound is breaking out again,
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The wholes endangerd by th infected part,
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But Heaven instruct our great Physicians art.
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Theres one way left to heal this desprate wound;
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Cut off the rotten for to save the sound.
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Were there no cause for this now needful blow,
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Religious Peace then through the Land would flow,
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So Jehu Sion purgd, and Faith did grow.
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But lets Unite with pious joy to sing,
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Health to the Best-----to Englands gracious King.
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Blest may he be, his Queen and Royal Bed;
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And blest great James, whilst all their Foes lye dead,
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So we at last shall bruise the Serpents head.
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