TOM and WILL:
OR,
News from the Country.
Being a further NARRATIVE of the late POPISH PLOT.
TOM and WILL, (Two Country-Fellows)
Meeting by Chance one Day at Ale-House;
They sit them down, and o're a Pot,
They Learnedly discourse the PLOT.
Each vents his Thoughts, and tells his Story;
Little to POPE, or PAPISTS Glory.
And though they now and then Dis-joint
A Word or two, What's that to th'Point?
No Man, I guess, will at it grutch,
Since Doctors Grave have done as much.
But why should I fore-stall the Market?
Read it but or'e, and do but mark it:
The Truth of All, you'll plainly see.
The Tune is ---------
Whoop Sir Domine.
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Tom.
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HEark thee Will, I'le tell thee some News;
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it is so Good, I cannot chuse:
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Do'st thou not hear the work on foot,
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with long-look'd for, it is come to't?
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Papists, they are all in a Net,
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thanks to the Man that made the set:
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We need not fear to cut their Throats;
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the PLOTs made out by Dr. Oates.
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For he doth swear this very thing,
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that they design'd to Kill the KING,
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And to Convert the Government:
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a heinous, base, and vile Intent.
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And Bedlow, Praunce, and Dugdale bould,
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the same by Oaths do plain unfould;
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That is to say, the dismal Thing
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Oates swore before, to Slay the KING.
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And sundry Insults Jezazets had,
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to find out Men good KING to Stab:
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Then Ruffians Four, of Irish Breed,
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to Windsor went, to make KING Bleed.
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And Pickering was to lye aloof,
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with a gay Gun of Mettle-proof;
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To shoot KING through, as he past by,
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in any Part, to make KING Dye.
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Then George Sir Wakeman Hired was,
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to Poyson dead our Leige-Lords Grace;
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And for his Pains (they said) he should
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have Fifteen Thousand Pounds in Gold.
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KING being Kill'd, What next I trow?
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it is but meet, that thou should'st know:
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Although the Matter be so Derne,
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It makes my very Bowels yerne.
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Hundreds, Thousands Men were to come,
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at Sound of Trump, and Beat of Drum,
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Out of Utope, to cut and slice
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Protestant Guggles all in a Trice.
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And after that all Us were slain,
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Pope was to come a twhart the Main:
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And here to hold up his Left Hand,
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and solve the Cut-Throats of this Land.
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Then in order to his expence,
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before the Gray Beard went from hence;
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They all should swear for Recompence,
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yearly to pay him Peter-pence.
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Thus much and more, the Learned say,
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they practized Us to Destroy;
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From which foul Deed, Great Jove fore-fend;
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better the World were at an End.
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The Second Part, To the same Tune.
Will.
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VErily Tom, you well do show,
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what I long time before did know;
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Yet what I learn't from Maister's mind,
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the work's undone, that was design'd.
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For when at first, Grave Oates did swear,
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how Protestants were like to fare;
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We should have rose up ev'rywhere,
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and cut Papists Throats, in ev'ry Sheir.
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How pure a Charr had it been there,
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they not one, to Ten times Ten;
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Scarce half a Meal to Feed the Jawes
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of such as are for the Good Old Cause.
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That done the work had been dispatch'd,
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and all made good, which R------ had hatch'd;
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But, hanging now so long i'th wind,
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go, I fear, against our mind.
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For though Coleman be put to Death,
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and Ireland hath lost his Breath;
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And many more for Treason grand,
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at Tybourn, lately have been Hang'd.
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Yet all do swear, vow, and protest,
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as they expect Eternal rest;
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They know no Plot, but Guiltless are
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of all that Oates, and Bedlow swear.
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And dying Men's words, Wise folk say,
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ought to bear a far greater sway:
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Then those are thought, who swear for gain,
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and were before of no good Fame.
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If Papists Arms had but been found
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in House, in Barn, or under Ground:
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Then we had had a fair pretence,
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to spoil their plea of Innocence.
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But no such matter yet appears,
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and now they ding it in our Ears:
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How we promote more Rebel Jiggs,
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than Forty one, from Scottish whiggs.
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Besides, the Knight hath broke a Mash;
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who lay long time under the Lash:
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And now away from Us is got;
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whom all Men thought would go to pot.
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And three or four, then under pole,
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did flirt away through Doctor's hole,
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And all the rest, I am in doubt,
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now Net is burst, will soon get out.
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Again, that Berry, Hill, and Green;
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as in some Writing may be seen,
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Concerning Godfrey's base Trapan,
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were not the Men that spoil'd that Man.
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Therefore Tom, what to say or do,
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I do not know, I tell thee true;
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Swearing, and Lying, I espy,
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will not confound old Popery.
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