THE
Dissatisfied SUBJECT.
OR,
Covetousness, the Destruction of Religion, and Loyalty.
To the Tune of, Let Mary live long. Licensed according to Order.
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I.
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BEhold in this Age
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the loose and perfidious
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are seeming Religious:
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They swear to engage
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The Truth to defend:
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while they thrive and groich,
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they will go thorough-stitch,
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Like right honest Men:
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yet touch but their Mammon,
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yet touch but their Mammon,
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And where are they then?
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II.
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If the Army this day,
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the noble Commanders,
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and Hero's of Flanders,
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Wou'd fight without Pay,
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And venture their Lives:
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if the King cou'd do all
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without Taxes at all,
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'Tis like they would own,
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he was the best Monarch,
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he was the best Monarch,
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As ever was known.
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III.
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The King they love well,
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and likewise the Nation,
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without disputation,
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Our Foes they'd expell
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At home and abroad;
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nay the Troops they'd enlarge,
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cou'd it be without Charge,
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For a Cause so divine:
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but tell them of Taxes,
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but tell them, etc.
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And then they repine.
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IV.
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Nay Presbyter Jack,
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that zealous Professor,
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and loyal Addressor,
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He'll stand to his Tack,
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As tite as a Drum:
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but at length he grows cold,
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when he parts with his Gold,
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From him and his Heirs,
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the which he admires
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the which he admires
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Much more than his Prayers.
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V.
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Religion's the Cry,
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yet there are not many
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that ever had any
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I tell you; for why
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There's little they mind,
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but to rant, roar and sing,
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and cry, God save the King.
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Then off with their Drink,
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is this true Religion?
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is this true Religion?
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Sirs, What do you think?
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VI.
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One swears by his Soul,
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that he's no Philistine,
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but 'Zounds a good Christian;
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Then takes off his Bowl,
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And swears like a Lord,
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that he loves the old way,
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for to read as they pray:
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'Tis ease for the Brain,
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and when it is ended,
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and when, etc.
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To drinking again.
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VII.
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Now therefore between
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the huffing young Hector,
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and Jack the Projector,
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In this present Scene,
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Religion is tost
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like a Foot-ball about,
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there's not many devout,
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We find to our Cost;
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which makes us imagine,
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which makes, etc.
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That Honesty's lost.
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VIII.
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Lets pray for the King,
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let Blessings attend him,
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and Heaven defend him,
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That under his Wing
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We see happy days;
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when the Storm is blown o'er,
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we shall flourish once more,
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In spight of our Foes,
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let Angels still guard him,
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let Angels still guard him,
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Where-ever he goes.
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