An Excellent New
BALLAD
Of the PLOTTING HEAD.
To the Tune of, How Unhappy is Phillis in Love. Or, Let Oliver now be forgot, etc.
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YOu Presbyters now Relent,
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For your Plotting is all in vain,
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Since College does now Repent,
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And hourly does complain;
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That all your contrivance is nothing,
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And M--- yet proves a Slow thing:
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Ah little Pate!
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Politick Pate!
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Thy Policy now is grown quite out of Date.
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Now all the Caball Men of Fortune,
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With Toney, the Head of the Crew
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Who the People did often Importune,
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To Swear things that never were true:
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Oh! this is the Fox of the Nation,
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Who made your Sedition a Fashion,
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Ah little Pate!
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Ill was thy Fate!
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For to bring thyself to this wretched Estate.
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And now where's thy Policy Toney,
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The Nation so much did Admire,
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Ha'st lost both thy Wit, and thy Money
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Since Friends with thy Fortune Expire;
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Had not Harris spoke truth at's last Hour,
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Thou ne're hadst been sent to the Tower,
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Ah little Pate!
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What is thy Fate!
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Wilt thou have thy Head fixed fast on a Gate.
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Poor Stafford indeed you out-witted,
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And thought to have done all the rest,
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But now your Quaint Policy's fitted
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And you left to make up the jeast;
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Except you Invoke your Friend Tory,
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To turn, and to Swear a New Story:
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Ah little Pate!
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What is thy Fate!
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Alas must thy Head now be fix't on a Gate?
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The Zealots that live in the City,
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Are griev'd, for to see your strang Fate;
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Though yet they your Fortune may pitty,
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They'l finde out your Treasons too late:
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For the Devil you faithfully served,
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Has left you, to what you deserved
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Ah little Pate!
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Damn'd little Pate!
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To cause this destraction and Curse in the St[ate.]
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Like Lucifer swel'd with Ambition,
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And tost from a Heavenly Seat;
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So you from a wretched Condition,
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Was by your King's Favour, made Great
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But like the worst of all Creatures,
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Whose Treacherie's seen in his Features;
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For you little Pate,
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To bring in a State,
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Would venture your Head being fix't on a G[ate.]
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You thought that when Hide was Transplan[ted]
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That you should have grown in his place,
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But his Off-spring, who never were Daunted
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Your Actions did hourly Trace;
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For you (Janus like) have two Faces,
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And fit your self for all Places;
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Ah little Pate!
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Politick Pate!
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Which for Treason at last, will be fix't on a G[ate.]
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Confess all thy Traterous Actions,
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Consider the Blood hath been Shed;
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Lay open thy yet hidden Factions,
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Of which thou art surely the Head;
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Pull out thy Tap of Sedition,
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Gain Mercy by true Contrition.
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Ah little Pate!
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Politick Pate!
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Or else may thy Head be fast fix't on a Gate.
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