A NEW SONG.
Or, Englands Outcry against the late
Lord Chancellour Jefferies.
To a pleasant new Tune.
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YOu Protestants all draw near to this place,
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And some of the Roguries I will rehearse
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Of Jeffery George who was once the Recorder
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Has put the whole Nation into a disorder;
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For which Villains part,
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I think in my heart,
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He ought to be tide to the tale of a Cart,
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And for to be Whipt without any delay,
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From New-Gate to Tyburn, along the High-way.
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Since Whipping's made Law by the Baron of Wem,
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The Bread that he broke shou'd be broken agen,
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For Johnson and Oats, he whipp'd without cause;
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He ought to be punnish'd for breaking our Laws,
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And advancing the Pope,
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For which I do hope
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His Honor at Tyburn will peep through a Rope,
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Which is his desert and th' Effects of his Dream,
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For driving like Jehu along with the Stream.
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Remember the Bishops, your Pride and Ambition,
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How you from the Crown obtain'd a Commission
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To Try all the Clergy that preacht against Rome;
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'Twas the Pride of your Heart that made you presume
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To be such a thing
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Cajoal'd by the King,
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You've made the whole Land of your Roguries ring,
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You seized our Charters and struck at the Test,
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Remember you hang'd up the Men in the West.
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But now you'r in Limbo with your Goggle Eyes,
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For giving false Judgment and telling of Lyes.
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In the Equitty-Court you will no more Bawl,
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Now all your Upholders are gone from Whitehall,
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And left you behind,
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Which is very unkind;
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But Oh by me Shoul 'tis a Protestant Wind
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That brought the Prince in, and blow'd Popery out,
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And you'll be advanc'd at Tyburn no doubt.
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