THE
PLOTTING LEVITE.
To the Tune of Lille Bullero, etc.
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I.
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WITH a handful of Sorrow and Grief I am drawn
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To tell you the truth of the Parsons at Land,
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And a new swearing Brood not in Buff but in Lawn,
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The humble Devotants to Lewis le Grand,
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Conscience, Conscience, nothing but Conscience,
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Nothing but Conscience made them forbear,
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Nothing but Conscience, nothing but Conscience,
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Nothing but Conscience made them forswear.
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II.
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A Council of Six, all pious and good,
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Jure Divino every one,
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For Popery, Plotting, Sedition and Blood;
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And praying devoutly, as right as a Gun;
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Conscience, Conscience, nothing but Conscience,
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Nothing but Conscience made them to plot,
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Nothing but Conscience, nothing but Conscience,
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Honour and Loyalty they had forgot.
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III.
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Like the Prophets of old, so they do annoint,
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Their sanctified Fingers are laid to the Work,
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With Jure Divino in every Joynt,
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'Tis all one to them, be he Christian or Turk;
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Reason, Reason, nothing but Reason,
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Nothing but Reason they would be at,
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Nothing but Reason, nothing but Reason,
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Non-swearing Parsons would bubble the State.
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IV.
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To bring in the French, whom now they adore,
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Most piously they combin'd in a Plot,
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To murther the King that sav'd them before,
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A Villany sure that will ne're be forgot;
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Treason, Treason, nothing but Treason,
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Nothing but Treason up to the Ears,
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Nothing but Treason, nothing but Treason,
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Passive Obedience in Colours appears.
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V.
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'Twas done by a Church that never did fail
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To persecute all that her Power could reach,
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That hath kickt up her Heels and discover'd her Tail,
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And civilly now she hath shewn you her Breech;
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Rigby, Rigby, Ashton and Rigby,
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Ashton and Rigby, there it was done,
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Ashton and Rigby, Ashton and Rigby,
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The Father deserves it as well as the Son.
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VI.
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A few years ago, it can't be forgot,
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Be certain I'll tell you no more than is true,
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'Twas a damnable Sin to be found in a Plot,
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As then was observ'd by some of their Crew;
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Ely, Ely, Reverend Ely,
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Reverend Ely left us i'th' lurch,
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Reverd Ely and his grave Elders
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Want French Dragoons to settle the Church.
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VII.
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Our Grave Elder Brother, the worst of the Four,
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Lies close in his Den, like a Boar in the Sty,
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The Blood of all Ireland lies at his Door,
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And from the Almighty for Judgment doth cry;
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Ely, Ely, William and Ely,
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William and Ely, Frank and Tom,
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William and Ely, William and Ely,
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William and Ely, Francis and John.
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VIII.
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The Cut-throat Petitioners acted their Part,
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And gravely kept time with the Plot and the Crew,
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They wanted a Mayor with a Jacobite Heart,
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To murther the King when they found it would do;
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Dodson, Dodson, Dingo and Dodson,
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Dingo and Dodson, Coward and Fool,
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Dingo and Dodson, Dingo and Dodson,
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To bring up the Rear, will serve for a Tool.
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