[MON]MOUTH and BUCLEUGHs
WELCOM
FROM THE
NORTH:
OR THE
Loyal Protestants Joy
FOR HIS
HAPPY RETURN.
To the Tune of York and Albanys Welcome to England.
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1. WHen stout young Jemmy went abroad
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To see the Northen Races,
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He met ten Thousands in the Road,
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That swore they were his Graces,
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They flock about him day and night,
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And made the Skyes to ring
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And every one seem to delight
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In Monmouth and the King.
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2. They tost their Hats up to the Sky,
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The Bells did sweetly found,
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God bless young James was all the cry,
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No other voice was found,
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By Bonefires they exprest their joy
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In every Town and City.
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We scarce could see one Tory-boy,
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Oh! was not that a pitty.
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3. Both Gray and Green, both old and young,
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The Rich as well as Poor,
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Had nought but Monmouth on their Tongue,
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In every Loyal Door,
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His Presence made them all rejoyce,
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A Happy man was he,
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That could prevail with his loud voice,
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This Noble Duke to see.
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4. A sullen look we could not find,
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Whereever Monmouth went
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The Nobles were exceeding kind,
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He gave them great content,
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His very Presence like the Sun,
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Did drive the Cloudsaway,
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Their Glory they did think begun,
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And blest that Happy-day.
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5. And then began the Royal-Cup
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To pass from hand to hand,
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And all with joy did Drink it up
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And wisht us Peace i'th Land,
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The Musick playd, and some did Sing,
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The worst is past we hope,
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Long live Great Charles our Sacred King,
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The Devil confound the Pope.
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6. But on a suddain there was seen
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A Popish Imp draw near,
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We partly guess where he had been,
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So soon as he came here,
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He cast a Cloud upon the Sun,
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And would not let it Shine,
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The Thread that thou for him hast Spun,
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About thy Neck may twine.
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7. But now our Sun with much more Glory,
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Shoots forth his Golden Rays,
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And now in spight of every Tory,
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He has his former Praise,
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He shews much brighter than before
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Your envy makes him Shine,
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Bucleugh and Monmouth we adore,
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And scorn the Popish Line.
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8. In King and Monmouth we delight,
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And for their lives we pray,
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It's they must do the Free-Born right,
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It's they and only they:
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If they be for us, where's the evil
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That we can undergo,
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We fear no Duke, no Pope, nor Divel,
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Nor any other Foe.
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9. Long may the King and his best Son,
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Be blest with Joy and Peace,
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And may their Threads of life be Spun
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Till all our sorrows cease;
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Nay may they live and never dye,
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In everlasting Bliss,
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And may their Foes take Wings and fly
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To th' Arms of Plutos Miss.
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10. May their old Love new bud again,
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May Charles his Son imbrace,
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Then we'l scorn Rome, and France, and Spain,
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Our strength is in his Grace,
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If Father and the Son agree,
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Then Heaven is on our side,
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And then Old Pope, a fig for thee,
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That makes our Breach so wide.
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