The Whiggs Defeat:
OR, The Mystery of Iniquity laid open.
Being a pleasant New Song by way of Dialogue,
between WHIGG and TORY.
The Tune is, A Fig for France.
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Tory.
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NOw now you sneaking Whigs tis plain,
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your wickedness is brought to light,
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And all your Projects are in vain,
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Een maugre all your Factious spight:
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Although that you hate Loyalty,
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we still to serve our King are bent,
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And with one mind we all will strive,
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your Whiggish mischief to prevent.
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Whigg.
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Nay Tory, not so rash I pray,
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against the Brethren, for you know,
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There was a time you durst not say,
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what in our teeth your pleasd to throw
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When all the Game went on our side,
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when we were stild the only Men,
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And twas but getting up and Ride,
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alas! where were you Tories then?
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Tory.
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You did Rebell against a Prince,
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more Great & Just the world ner knew
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To Murther and Rob Innocence,
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and all in Blood three Nations brew:
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This was the Cursed Good Old Cause,
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to pull down Monarchy and Laws;
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And now you squint upon the Fate,
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and would be acting Forty-Eight.
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Whigg.
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Twas Popery we did detest,
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to root that out was all our aim,
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Though some Men farther went at last,
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for which we did them greatly blame:
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A Reformation twas we sought,
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but prethee tell me once agen,
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When we on Cock-a-Hoop had got,
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where were you Blustering Tories then?
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Tory.
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We held out Loyal to the last,
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nor did we flinch for any fear;
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Our Lives and Fortunes we did waste,
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under the Name of Cavaleer:
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Until by your curst Villany,
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the best of Kings to slaughter went,
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And now we with one voice do cry,
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such Whiggsh mischief to prevent.
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Whigg.
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But Tory that is now forgot,
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we since have provd us honest men,
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Which may wipe off that fatal Blot,
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which so the Good Old Cause did stain:
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You know we Loyalty express,
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resist the Whore of Babylon,
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But O could we our wish possess,
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alack for you poor Tories then.
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Tory.
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That Crimes forgot, and are you grown
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so Loyal Whigg, as now you say?
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Has not your Loyalty been shown
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of late, The clean Contrary way?
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In your Cabals dont you inveigh,
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against the best of Government,
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Make sower faces, and oft pray,
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for Forty-Ones Rump-Parliament?
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That you might Plunder honest Men,
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Ravish and Murther without Lett,
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That Coblers might be Lords again,
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and Brittains Glory once more set:
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To crush the neck of Loyalty;
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but Heaven does frustrate their intent,
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Long live the King is all our cry,
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no Forty-One Rump-Parliament.
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Whigg.
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Well, now I see tis plain that you,
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do to the Scarlet Beast belong,
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And seek the Godly to undo,
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by numbering up your former wrong:
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Woes we, poor Whiggs, I see it plain,
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we strive but now against the Stream,
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But if we ere get up again,
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woe to each Blustering Tory then.
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Tory.
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Whigg, England is at last grown wise,
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your Villanies are open laid,
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And all your vile Hypocrisies,
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in their own Colors are displayd,
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No Cheat for Publique-Faith Money,
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can you impose, coud you invent:
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God bless the King is all our cry,
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and hang up Whiggish Government.
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