Dr. Oats last Farewell to
ENGLAND
He went on Ship-board upon Sunday last, with fourscoure Bums to Attend his
Sir-Reverence to Stom-Bola; where he's a going to be Mufty to the Grand Turk.
A SONG To the Tune of the Loyal Conquest or Law lies a bleeding,
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FArewell to London,
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To Trenchard, and Hamdan,
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I have swore my Plotting Jump away
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Poor Lying Oats is undon.
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My Bums now do slight me,
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That used to delight me;
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For when I come full charg'd, at them,
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Like squalling Cats they fight me:
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For Peaching, and Teaching,
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For Blasphemy, and Preaching
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I like a Rogue must Run away,
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And Damn'd for over Reaching.
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Oh! how things are alter'd,
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Since Jesuits I Halter'd,
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Since Tap, and I did foil the Crown,
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How all our Plots have faulter'd;
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My Clyster-pipe is Lowering,
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And stinks for want of Scowering;
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I must for Turky steer my Course,
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And preach up, down-right Whoring:
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For Peaching, and Teaching, etc.
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Bedlow now is Rotten,
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And Dugdal is forgotten,
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My Plotting-Trade is at an end,
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All our Cabals are broken;
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Our Credit still is smaller,
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Like Brasen Prance the Bauler;
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There's near a Turk in all the Town,
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Dares cry out for a Waller:
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For Peaching, and Teaching, etc.
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Tom and Gray in Trenches
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For Treason small offences,
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I squeake about, to find 'em out,
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In holes amongst the Wenches;
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His Grace, did I but fear him,
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I'd pawn my Jump to clear him,
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He's clapt so close in Venus Arms,
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No Mortal can come near him,
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For Peaching, and Teaching, etc.
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My God Mahomet tells me,
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Their still in Town, and will be,
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Like cursed Cain I must turn out,
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If here I stay, they'l hang me;
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Was ever poor Imposter,
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Expos'd to more Disaster,
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I often think to hang myself,
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To please Old-Nick, my Master:
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For Peaching, and Teaching, etc.
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I Thousands have jayled,
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And scorn'd they should be Bayled,
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Swore men to Death, I never saw,
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That Magick now has failed.
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The Lords in the Tower,
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I had 'em once secure,
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Last Parliament loosing the heat,
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My Oath has lost its power:
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For Peaching, and Teaching, etc.
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Since first, I did discover,
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My Prayers I near said over,
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I took my leave of Jesus Christ
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E're I came from St. Omer;
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Nought but Ghosts and Quarters,
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Of mangled Priests and Martyrs,
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Appears before my eyes at nights
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And men Ty'd up in Halters,
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For Peaching, and Teaching, etc,
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Farewell to White-Hall,
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Where Guards did me Attend all,
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And when they did not please me well,
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I wisht 'em hang'd and damn'd all,
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My Ten Pounds a Week too,
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'Zsounds now tis all Due,
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Fiends and Furies help me Too't
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Or for the Plot i'll hang you:
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For Peaching, and Teaching;
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For Blasphemy and Preaching,
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I like a Rogue must Run away,
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And Damn'd for over Reaching.
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