TONY's Lamentation:
OR,
POTAPSKIs City-Case.
BEING
His Last Farewel to the Consecrated WHIGS:
The Tune is, Let Oliver now be forgotten.
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ALas! poor Unfortunate TONY,
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where now must thou hide thy old head?
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That has not so much as one Crony
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dares own the great things thou hast said:
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Is this the thanks of the Nation,
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For thy Association,
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And Liberty,
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That Reformation,
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which I prescrib'd to set you all free.
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Ungrateful unsensible Cullies,
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to leave your Decriped Patroon,
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Toth' merciless rage of the Bullies,
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and Tories in every Lampoon:
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Is then your City protection,
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And all the vow'd Affection,
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For your New Church,
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In such Destraction,
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That you will leave your Peer in the Lurch.
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How oft have I treated the Rabble,
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and made the poor Doctor to Peach?
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Confusion to all which were able,
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and did not assist in the Breach:
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Are all your Butchers and Weavers,
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And Mobbily Believers,
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But whilst I treat
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Damn'd deceivers,
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What Fool by you can hope to be great?
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How much did you praise and adore me,
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for Voting No York, No Lawn Sleeves?
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And now to please those which abhor me,
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have set up two Protestant Shrieffs:
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If Oats should peach, I'le assure ye,
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You'l hardly find such a Jury,
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As I have done,
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Think of the Fury,
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He once dicharg'd in Pickerings Gun.
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Remember the Key-hole, and Lin'd too,
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through which your Divine bravely swore,
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And think of the thing was design'd too,
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then tell me whose Vizage it wore:
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Were these such petty Inventions,
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And what the Authors did since,
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To be forgot,
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Where's your Conscience?
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If this can be, sure Natures a Scot.
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Then farewel thou Treacherous City,
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forever I'le bid thee adieu,
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Thou never wer't Honest and Witty,
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nor never to any side true:
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I see the end that you drive at,
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Which left your hopes arrive at,
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I have slunk away,
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To Hang in private,
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And rob the World of a Holliday.
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