The Kings-Bench Cabal,
A
SONG.
To the Tune, hark, hark, I hear the Cannons rore
|
I.
|
ETernal Whigs that still depends
|
On Old Sham-Plots & perjured ends,
|
To th' Kings-Bench amongst your friends
|
Repair to make new Orders:
|
Make haste, contrive some better way,
|
Or by the Gods you'll loose the day,
|
Great York is now above half way,
|
To Revenge all Rape and Murthers.
|
II.
|
We're the best House of Commons now,
|
That once have made three Kingdoms bow
|
Put in, spew out, as you know how,
|
(fear Popery the old Notion:
|
Let's purge the House of all that's good,
|
That have our Cause so long withstood,
|
And dares not thirst for guiltless blood,
|
E'r York's upon the Ocean.
|
III.
|
Great Hamden, Rouse, thy wonted strain,
|
Bring Trenchard into play again;
|
Vote down the guards and ev'ry swain,
|
That dares oppose our pleasure:
|
For to submit they would be loath,
|
Thy Father and thy Grand-Sire both,
|
To have ones hands ty'd up by Oath,
|
That may be loose at leisure.
|
IV.
|
Let's Vote the Duke out of the Town,
|
The King out of both Life and Crown,
|
Vote Death to all that keeps us down,
|
To leave the Cause a bleeding,
|
Shall we lie here ty'd up like Dogs,
|
Only Croaking our minds like Frogs,
|
While here the Doctor swears and flogs,
|
And leaves off all proceeding.
|
V.
|
Come Speak and Bradon, Arnold too,
|
Colt, and Caldron what shall's do,
|
Shall's lie like Oysters here in stew?
|
And ne'r look out for help for't;
|
Let's send for Oxford Parliament,
|
With all their Guards for murther bent,
|
Come let's attempt e'r Coin be spont,
|
Tho' each one Damn himself for't.
|
VI.
|
Shall we who were so great before,
|
Have neither power to plot nor whore,
|
Come let's resolve, break down the dore,
|
And joyn the Kent-street Rable.
|
Then Wapping and the Rump will rise,
|
The Tower and Westminster surprise,
|
While Charles and York at Windsor lies,
|
We'll make this Town like Babel.
|
|
|
|
|
|