The Hunting of the Fox.
A NEW SONG.
To the Tune of, Now the Tories that Glories, etc.
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I.
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HEy Jouler, Ringwood, and Towzer,
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Ho Smoaker, Drunkard, and Fly;
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Sweet-lips, Light-foot, and Bowzer;
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Brave Bowman, Lofty, and Cry;
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And Four and Twenty brave Couple,
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To make a Pack for the Downs,
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Sure footed, and your Limbs supple;
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The Scent's hot yet on the Grounds.
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The Old White Fox is got loose again;
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We think he's gone to ketch Goose again:
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His Cubs they sculk and desert amain.
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Come let's beleaguer their Holes:
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For they're past Evil; to th' Devil
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We'll send 'em with threadbare Souls.
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II.
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They have left the City, 'tis pity,
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And their damn'd Party i'th' Lurch:
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If to be Hang'd, 'twould be pretty,
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For Treason 'gainst King and Church.
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For Sink-ports, Venus and Juno;
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For Champian, Thunder and Spark;
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Let Swift beat for Caralino,
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And Noser wind 'em i'th' Dark.
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Like Wasps and Flies, they would bite us;
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As Wolves do Sheep, they would treat us;
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Like Crockadiles, they would eat us;
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They thirst for Innocent Blood:
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Then never scruple, but graple
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For King and Countrys Good.
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III.
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Round the Demantion o'th' Nation,
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Beat all the Banks on the Shore;
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And some leap o're the main Ocean,
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If they are gone before.
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O surround 'em, confound 'em,
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From Sea-Port to City-Walls;
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If there they venter to shelter,
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Zounds, tear 'em out of their Holes:
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For making Church into Stables,
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And vaumping Kings up of Baubles,
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And forging Plots out of Fables,
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And seizing Kings in a trice;
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That the crooked Piper, might vapour
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Like Rat amongst Fifteen Mice.
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IV.
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Scoure the Globe to the Axels,
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From Pole to Pole then retire,
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And center at Mother Creswels;
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The Fox us'd to Harbour there:
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There, there both Wives, Whores & Virgins,
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He had them all at his Call,
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T' oblige his Captains and Surgions,
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better Occasions fall.
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At Oxford late all his Cubs and He,
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To the Exclusion did all agree;
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Could not budge further, till sign'd & free.
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Yet Rowley rouzed the Rump,
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And sent 'em all to Pegg Trantams;
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And Tapskys worn to the Stump.
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V.
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Oh, Swifts returned, and Noser,
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Their Hoofs are batter'd with Greet:
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The Game shews by the Opposer,
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He's lodged in Aldersgate-Street.
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Come ring a Peal with a Courage,
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The Grains o'th' Tap makes a Train;
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He lurks in the Hole to make Forrage
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Of all that uses his Name.
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We'll fetch him out with Mandamus,
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And hang him with Ignoramus;
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There's none but Rebels can blame us:
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More Pardons let him not hope;
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For all his Squinting and Blinking,
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He must to th' Hatchet or Rope.
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