TONY's Lamentation:
OR,
POTAPSKIs City-Case.
BEING
His Last Farewel to the Consecrated WHIGS.
|
The Tune is, Let Oliver now be forgotten.
|
ALas! poor Unfortunate TONY,
|
where now must thou hide thy old head?
|
That has not so much as one Crony
|
dares own the great things thou hast said:
|
Is this the thanks of the Nation,
|
For thy Association,
|
And Liberty,
|
That Reformation,
|
--------- which I prescrib'd to set you all free.
|
Ungrateful unsensible Cullies,
|
to leave your Decriped Patroon,
|
Toth' merciless rage of the Bullies,
|
and Tories in every Lampoon:
|
Is then your City protection,
|
And all the vow'd Affection,
|
For your New Church,
|
In such Destraction,
|
That you will leave your Peer in the Lurch.
|
How oft have I treated the Rabble,
|
and made the poor Doctor to Peach?
|
Confusion to all which were able,
|
and did not assist in the Breach:
|
Are all your Butchers and Weavers,
|
And Mobbily Believers,
|
But whilst I treat
|
Damn'd deceivers,
|
What Fool by you can hope to be great?
|
How much did you praise and adore me,
|
for Voting No York, No Lawn Sleeves?
|
And now to please those which abhor me,
|
have set up two Protestant Shrieffs:
|
If Oats should peach, I'le assure ye,
|
You'l hardly find such a Jury,
|
As I have done,
|
Think of the Fury,
|
He once dicharg'd in Pickerings Gun.
|
Remember the Key-hole, and Lin'd too,
|
through which your Divine bravely swore,
|
And think of the thing was design'd too,
|
then tell me whose Vizage it wore:
|
Were these such petty Inventions,
|
And what the Authors did since,
|
To be forgot,
|
Where's your Conscience?
|
If this can be, sure Natures a Scot.
|
Then farewel thou Treacherous City,
|
forever I'le bid thee adieu,
|
Thou never wer't Honest and Witty,
|
nor never to any side true:
|
I see the end that you drive at,
|
Which lest your hopes arrive at,
|
I have slunk away,
|
To Hang in private,
|
And rob the World of a Holliday.
|
|
London, Printed for VV. Griggs, in the Year, 1682.
|
|
|
|