A Ballad upon the Popish Plot
Written by a Lady of Quality.
Whether you will like my Song, or like it not,
It is the down-fall of the Popish Plot:
With Characters of Plotters here I sing,
Who would destroy our good and gracious King:
Whom God preserve, and give us cause to hope
His Foes will be rewarded with a Rope.
To the Tune of Packington's Pound.
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1.
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SInce Counterfeit Plots has affected this Age,
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Being acted by Fools, and contriv'd by the Sage:
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In City, nor Suburbs, no man can be found,
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But frighted with Fire-balls, their heads turned round.
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From Pulpit to Pot
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They talk'd of a Plot,
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Till their Brains were inslav'd, and each man turn'd Sot:
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But let us to Reason and Justice repair,
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And this Popish Bugbear will fly into Air.
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2.
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A Politick States-man, of Body unsound,
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Who once in a Tree with the Rabble set round,
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Run Monarchy down with Fanatick Rage,
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And preach'd up Rebellion i' that credulous Age;
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He now is at work,
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With the Devil and Turk,
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Pretending a Plot, under which he doth Lurk,
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To humble the Mitre, while he squints at the Crown;
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Till fairly and squarely he pulls them both down.
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3.
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He had found out an Instrument fit for the Devil,
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Whose mind had been train'd up to all that was Evil:
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His Fortune sunk low, and detested by many;
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Kick't out at St. Omers, not pitty'd by any.
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Some Whisperers fix'd him
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Upon this design;
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And with promis'd Reward did him countermine:
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Though his Tale was ill told, it serv'd to give fire;
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Despis'd by the Wise, whilst fools did admire.
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4.
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The next that appear'd, was a Fool-hardy Knave,
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Who had ply'd the High-ways, and to Vice was a Slave;
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Being fed out of Basket in Prison forlorn,
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No wonder that Money should make him forsworn.
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He boldly dares swear,
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What men tremble to hear;
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And learns a false Lesson without any fear:
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For when he is out, there's one that's in's place,
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Relieves his Invention, and quickens his Pace.
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5.
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In a Country Prison another was found,
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Who had cheated his Lord of One Thousand Pound;
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He was freed from's Fetters, to swear and inform,
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Which very couragiously he did perform.
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To avoid future Strife,
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He takes away Life,
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To save poor Protestants from Popish Knife;
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Which only has Edge to cut a Rogues Ears,
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For abusing the People with needless fears.
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6.
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Another starts up and tells a false Tale,
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Which straight he revoked, his Courage being frail:
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But to fortifie one that needeth his Aid,
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Being tempted with Money, which much doth perswade;
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He swore he knew all
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That contrived the fall,
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Of one, who that day was seen near to Whitehall:
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Where he by the Treasurer's powerful Breath,
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More likely by far received his Death.
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7.
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A Gown-man most grave with Fanatical form,
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With his scribbling wit doth blow up this storm;
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For Moth-eaten Records he worships the Devil,
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Being now lodg'd at Court he must become civil.
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He hunts all about.
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And makes a great Rout,
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To find some Old Prophecy to help him out:
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But his Friend that was hous'd with him at Fox-hall,
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Being joyn'd with his Master, still strengthens 'em all.
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8.
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Then comes a crack'd Merchant with his shallow Brain,
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Who first did lead up this stigmatiz'd Train:
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He since is grown useless, his Skill being small,
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Yet at a dead lift, he's still at their call.
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He has pester'd the Press,
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In ridiculous dress,
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In this scribbling Age he could not do less:
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But to so little purpose as plainly appears,
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With Pen he had as good sate picking his Ears.
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9.
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To end with a Prayer, as now 'tis my Lot,
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Confounded be Plotters, with their Popish Plot:
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God bless and preserve our Gracious good King,
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That he may ne'er feel the PRESBYTERS sting:
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As they brought his Father
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With rage to the Block,
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So would they extirpate all the whole Stock:
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But with their false Plots I hope they will end
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At Tyburn, where th' Rabble will surely attend.
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