A MAN in Favour,
OR,
The way to Preferment.
To the Tune of, Would you be a Man of Fashion.
|
I.
|
WOuld you be a Man in Favour?
|
Would you have your Fortune kind?
|
Wear the Cross and Eat the Wafer,
|
you'll have all things to your Mind:
|
If the Priests cannot Convert you,
|
Int'rest then must do the thing.
|
There are Fryers can inform you,
|
how to please a P--------- T---------
|
II.
|
Would you see a Papist Lowring,
|
lost in Hurry and a Fright;
|
With their Father Peters Scowring,
|
glad of happy time for Flight.
|
Stay but while the Dutch are Landed,
|
and the show will straight appear;
|
When th' Infernal Sp'rits disbanded,
|
few will stay for Tyburn here.
|
III.
|
If Preferment you'd be gaining,
|
Or advanc'd be nigh the Throne;
|
Bribe some pious Pimp, pertaining
|
to the Whore of Babylon.
|
Priests are now the sacred Noddyes,
|
that spur on the hateful Cause;
|
They from Tyburn save their Bodies,
|
by dispensing with our Laws.
|
IV.
|
Peters was the Popish Darling,
|
now has left us in the lurch,
|
And has quite giv'n o'er his snarling,
|
and his snapping at our Church.
|
Now the Dutch are come to right her,
|
Peters sadly fears a Cord:
|
For the Prince will bite the Biter,
|
and his Holy Cheats reward.
|
V.
|
All ye catchpole Priests be speedy,
|
for bad Times are coming on;
|
Tyburn groans and will be greedy
|
for all you that are not gone.
|
Hast and follow Father Peters,
|
Popery must now go down;
|
The King no more will trust such Creatures
|
to be plac'd too nigh his Throne.
|
VI.
|
Now the Priests are all Confounded,
|
and their vile Intriegues are crost;
|
By the Dutch they are surrounded,
|
and penn'd up within our Coast:
|
Many Aching hearts, I fancy,
|
are amongst the todpole Train,
|
If they were got safe beyond-Sea,
|
they'd ne'er trouble us again.
|
|
|
|
|
|