The Whiggs Lamentation,
For the Tap of Sedition.
The Tap 'tis stolen, the Liquor fled
Be joyful then the Devil's dead.
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LAment you Whiggs, you Presbyter Priggs,
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Your Godfather Tony is dead:
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Let Titus now, for Holland go,
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'tis time that he was fled.
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Let Waller, Prance, and Pilkinton dance
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With all the Shreeval Knot,
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For the Devil hath stollen the Tapp away
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And the Cask it is quite run out.
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Let Quaking Jack, make up his pack
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And to Pensilvania hye,
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And the Sisterhood, with all the brood
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Who Rail 'gainst Monarchy:
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For the Politick pate, once Member of state
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Is vanquished without doubt,
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Old Nick he hath stolen the Tap away
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And the Cask it is quite run out.
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Association once in fashion
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May be again preferred
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No Ignoramus, more shall sham us
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Tony is now interred:
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His rotten Cask is laid in clay
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Sedition under ground
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For the Devil hath hid the Tap away
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Where 'twill no more be found.
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Sallamank Doctor, hast to the Proctor
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Thou art left his Heir
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Search thou his Will, find some new Bill
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That you afresh may swear,
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Find some new trick, to save thy neck
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For all your Plots are found
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The Devil hath stollen the Tap away
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And buried the Cask in the ground.
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Think of your Lies, false Perjuries,
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Swore 'gainst Prince and Peers,
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Your damn'd deceipts, and Wapping cheats
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Set the Nation by the Ears
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Oh now prepare, avoid a snare
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Least thou art ketcht in the Pound
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For the Devil hath stollen the Tap away
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And layd the Cask underground.
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Repent Whigs all, you down must fall
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And Loyal boyes must rise,
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May all that plots, be hang'd in knots
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Who do their King despise
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A health to the King, brave Albony
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And his Consort in the bed
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Then let us rejoyce and merrily sing
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Hey boyes the Devil's dead.
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