The LYING WHIG
Drawn in his own Colours;
The Whigs who such damnable falshoods devise,
Are true begot Sons of the Father of Lyes.
To the Tune of Packingtons Pound. this may be Printed R.LS.
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I.
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HOw wretched is England above any Nation
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E're since the rebellious Whig-reformation.
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The Gospel our Faith did formerly guide,
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But it would not with Traytors principles side:
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When other Grounds needed,
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The Whig-lyes succeeded,
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And by the Saint-party are equally heeded:
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These carry on cleverly the Good old Cause
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In spight of all Truth, Religion and Laws.
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II.
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The Heads of the Party first met in Caball
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Coyn Lyes, and then toss them about like a Ball;
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The rabble to fright, or keep them in mettle,
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For fear they should to the King's Government settle:
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As soon as come out
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They spread them about
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By Gossips and Block-heads 'mongst the rabble rout,
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which they blindly credit, and each silly Soul
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Drinks poysonous Treason by swallowing them whole.
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III.
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No more holy Bibles now Printed must be,
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Says Whig, though the contrary daily we see;
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The City must fall by Cannon or Fire
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Or Massacres none but themselves do conspire:
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Thus the rabble they ply
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With many a damn'd lye,
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That desperate grown they may rise at their cry.
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Their merciful Soveraign thus they traduce,
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And his Generosity daily abuse.
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IV.
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What Prophesies did the King's Crowning fore-run,
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Assuring us sadly't should never be done!
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The Drum in Well-bottom did sound the same tone,
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And under St. James's was heard many a groan;
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Nay Spright was seen there,
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To put folks in fear,
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Which n'er but before a Kings death did appear;
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All which blaz'd about by the busiy Whig-Elves,
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Show plain they intended to kill him themselves.
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V.
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King Charles, whose mild soul no malice could move
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These Whigs summon'd down from Heaven above;
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His errand contrived was on the best fashion,
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To usher in Perkin's foul-mouth'd Declaration:
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While he was alive
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The Villains did strive
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Of life with a Blunderbuss him to deprive:
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And now that with Happiness his Soul is blest,
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These Sorcerers will not allow his Ghost rest.
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VI.
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Brave Albemarle, as we were told without erring,
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Was certainly kill'd as dead as a Herring;
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His Corps brought near [?] Coffin bespoke
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And the Ground for [?] broke;
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[?]e:
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[?]d
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[?]
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None must trust their Eyes
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In their Mysteries,
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These infalliable Coxcombs can never tell lyes
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What e're they hold forth to the Whig-ridden
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rabble
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Is sure as their Faith and made current by babble.
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VIII.
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Argyle, that Arch-Traytor, half Scotland had won
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Crys Whig, when his party was utterly undone:
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His Armey did full forty thousand contain,
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When the run-away Rebel alone did remain;
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Though beat and forsaken
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He could not be taken,
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Nay now his Head's off they to life him awaken.
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So all the Whig says must backwards be read,
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Argyle is still living and Albermarl's dead.
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IX.
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This Bully your Id'ot, that small man of might,
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With three hundred men would kill all out-right:
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His invincible Army was fifteen mile long,
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And full fifty thousand in number was strong;
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Nay when he was beat
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They tell us that yet
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At Chester he has twenty thousand compleat:
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But sure now Jack Catch has chopt off his head,
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At length you'l believe your great Hector is dead.
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X.
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You thought your grand Worthies so valiant and brave
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They'd dye in the Field e'r their party they'd leave;
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But Gray's matchless valour, his friends all forsaken
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Was in a vile habit rediculously taken,
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And Monmoueh was such
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He did not think much
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To run from the battle, and lurk in a Ditch;
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And dye on a Scaffold in shamfulest manner,
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Rather than in the Field. the bed of Honnour.
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XI.
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You obstinate Whigs at length open your Eeys,
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See how the Worlds Soveraign Rebellion defys!
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Consider what Providences daily meet,
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Our Kings to protect, and your Plots to defeat.
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What e're you contrive
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It never can thrive,
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And all your attempts 'gainst the stream do but strive;
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Then give God the Glory, fall to your Vocation,
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That Trade may inrich, and Peace bless our Nation
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XII.
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Behold our great King like the glorious Son
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In full lustre shines while your Meteor falls down:
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Three thousand of his, to curb your vain boast,
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Has beaten your Rebels invincible host:
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He's generous and brave
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Weak Penitents to save,
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But obstinate Ring-leaders Justice must have:
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Crave mercy and leave your lyes fram'd to affright
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The Nation distracted, and do the Truth right.
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XIII.
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And all you good people, at length for mere shame
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Your thoughts so abused [?]ours reclai[?]
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Be [?] this cheat[?] still [?]
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[?]
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