Good News in Bad Times; OR, Absaloms Return to David's Bosome. To the Tune of, Adieu to the Pleasures and Follies of Love.
|
ADieu to the hopes of the Whigs of the State,
|
The long-wish'd-for News is arrived, tho' late;
|
Reflections of Conscience did Monmouth convince,
|
How much he had wrong'd his dear Father, and Prince;
|
So hanious a Crime there's none durst befriend,
|
But only the Monarch which he did offend;
|
Great YORK interceeds for him,
|
And Nature Pleads for him,
|
to Kiss the Hand of his Monarch again.
|
II.
|
So humble a Submission, so pensive a Face,
|
So glorious an Advocate needs must find grace;
|
The God-like great Brothers did Monmouth restore,
|
The height of whose Crime shew'd their mercy the more:
|
As before in the Court all together they shin'd,
|
In the Presence again they will strike envy blind;
|
For York has retrieved him,
|
The King received him,
|
Monarchs have mercy, and Nature is kind.
|
III.
|
The Peace you have made so successful will prove,
|
No Seperatist dares to add Gall to your Dove;
|
Be deaf to those Crocodiles if they do Whine,
|
They love not your Father, nor none of his Line:
|
A Presbyter-Priest when his Zeal does provoke,
|
Is a heap of Combustables in a long Cloak:
|
Who e're Burn'd the City down,
|
Now 'tis a pritty Town, Now 'tis
|
But they once made the three Nations to Smoak.
|
IV.
|
Away to the Court and Survey e'ry Room,
|
Your presence will bring there a richer Perfume:
|
Each Picture will bow there, and smile in your face,
|
And those that detracted will pray for your Grace;
|
Then keep in the Court, and your favour renew
|
With Caesar, and those that have lov'd you so true:
|
And let the Rabble know,
|
You'l have no more to do
|
With such a Factious Illitterate Crew.
|
V.
|
The Faction who carrys Religion in's face,
|
Will make no more Treats, nor drink healths to your Grace;
|
For since you'r returned to Great Caesars Breast,
|
They swear you'r a Papist as well as the rest;
|
And now they remember their Machine of State
|
Was afraid that your Father and you were too great:
|
And nothing troubles them,
|
But that you Bubbled them,
|
Of all their hopes, and of many a Treat.
|
VI.
|
Keep close to your Gracious forgiving Great King,
|
And everyday some new Offering bring;
|
Discover Great-Brittains Intestine Foes,
|
And those that the Church and her Interest oppose;
|
By this you'l deserve the great favour obtain'd,
|
And wipe off that Blemish with which you were stain'd
|
And like a Glorious Star,
|
Of our bright Hemisphere,
|
One of her Patrons forever proclaim'd.
|
VII.
|
Then bless the good Duke, and your Father renown,
|
But hate those that put you in thoughts of a Crown;
|
Live under its beams, for the shelter is good,
|
But think not to injure the old Royal Blood:
|
Who Heaven has adopted for a Crowned Head,
|
Must wait for the hour of the Field or the Bed;
|
And there in Honours fight,
|
Take naught but what is right,
|
Wronging Succession is wronging the dead.
|
|
|
|
|
|