A New BALLAD,
Of Londons Loyalty.
To a Pleasant New Tune, Call'd BURTON-HALL.
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ROwze up Great Monarch of this potent Land,
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Least Traytors once more get the upper hand;
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The Reble Rout their former Tenents own,
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And Treason, worse then Plagues Infects the Town:
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The sneaking Mayor, and his two pyning Shrives;
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Who for their honesty no better are then Thives,
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Fall from their Soveraigns side, to court the Mobile,
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Oh! London, London, where's thy Loyalty?
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First, Yorkshire Patience twirles his Copper Chain,
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And hopes to see a Common-wealth again,
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The sneaking Fool, of breaking is afraid,
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Dares not change sides, for fear he loose his Trade;
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Then Loyal Slingsby, does their Fate Devine,
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He that Abjur'd the King, and all his Sacred Line,
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And is suppos'd his Fathers, Murderer to be,
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Oh! Bethel, Bethel, where's thy Loyalty?
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A most notorious Villain late was caught,
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And after to the Barr of Justice brought;
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But Slingsby packt, a Jury of his own,
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Of worser Rogues than e're made Gallows groan,
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Then Dugdales Evidence was soon decry'd,
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That was so just and honest, when Old Stafford dy'd:
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A Witness good, he is not now believ'd to be,
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Oh! Justice, Justice, where's thy equity?
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Now Clayton, murmurs Treason; unprovoak't
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He sup't the King, and after wish't him choak't.
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He longs for Danby's Lofty place of State,
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And Rebble turns because he can't be Great;
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His sawcy Pride aspires to High Renown,
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Leather Breeches are forgot, in which he trudg'd to Town
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Nought but the Treasury, can please the scribling Clown.
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Oh! Robin, Robin, where's thy modesty?
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Player, now grows dull for want of Common-whore,
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Poor Creswell, she can take his word no more,
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Three Hundred pounds, is such a heavy yoak,
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Which not being pay'd the worn out Bawd is broak;
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These are the Instruments by Heaven sent,
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These are the Saints, Petition for a Parliament:
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Though the King's Displeas'd, they'l still Petitioners be,
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Oh! London, London, where's thy Loyalty?
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Heaven Bless Fair England, and it's Monarch here,
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In Scotland, Bless your High Commissioner;
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Let Perken, his ungracious error see,
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And Tony, scape no more the Triple Tree:
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Then Peace and plenty, shall our joyes restore,
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Villany and Faction, shall oppress the Town no more:
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But every Loyal Subject, then shall happy be,
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Nor need we care, for Londons Loyalty.
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