A New BALLAD,
To the Tune of, I'll tell thee, Dick, etc.
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CHil tell thee, Tom, the strangest story,
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Because thou art an honest Tory;
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News beyond expressions:
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Zich zights are nowhere to be zeen
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In any Lond, (God zave the Queen)
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But at our Quarter-Zessions.
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Vor Rogues I zaw in zich a place,
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As wou'd the Gibbet quite disgrace,
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pity it shou'd want 'em:
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But how the Devil they came there,
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List, Tom, and chil in brief declare,
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And how they did recant 'em.
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When I was late at London-Town,
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To zee zome zights e'r I went down,
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To White-hall I did venture;
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And having on my best Array,
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As vine as on a Holy-day,
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Zoors I made bold to enter.
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Upstairs I went, which were as brooad,
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And Dirty too as any Rooad,
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Or as the streets o'th' Zity.
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Hadst thou been there, thou wouldst have zaid
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There had been no Servant Maid,
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Gods zooks, and that's a pity.
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When I was up, I did discern
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A Chamber bigger than a Barn,
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Where I did zee Voke stand,
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That I was well near vrighted quite,
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It was so strange and grim a zight,
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With long things in their hand.
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Their Cloathing cannot well be told,
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On which were things of beaten Gold
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Upon their Back and Breast;
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I doft my Hat when I came in,
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Quoth I, Pray which of you's the King?
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Which made a woundy Jest.
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At last came by a Gentlemon,
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Who made me zoon to understand
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I need not be avear'd;
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Quoth he, Come on, and vollow me,
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Chil shew thee strait His Majesty,
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Vor theas are but his Guard.
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But, Tom, not any Wake or Vair
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Can shew zich numbers as are there,
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Still cringeing low, and bowing,
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That I may zwear, and tell no lie,
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They wearier are, than Thou or I
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With Thrashing or with Plowing.
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No Ants do vaster lead or drive,
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Or Bees buz to or fro' the Hive,
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I marl they were not dizzy;
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And zure the Nations great Avairs
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Lay heavily upon their Cares,
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They look'd zo wise and busie.
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At last came in His Majesty,
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No taller tho' than Thou or I;
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Yet, whatzoe'r I ail'd,
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With only gazing on His Vace,
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I trembl'd like a Love-zick-Lass
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Just on the point to yield.
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He look'd, methought, above the rest,
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Tho' not by half zo vinely drest,
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Which made me vall azwearing,
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A Pox upon the Parliament,
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That will not let us pay him Rent,
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Gold's only for his wearing.
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A Ribbon vine came cross avore,
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Zich as our Landlords Bridemen wore,
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At end of which was hung
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A curious thing, that shone as bright
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As Maudlins eyes, or morning light,
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When guilded by the Zun,
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But now the News, chil tell thee Truth,
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Hard by his zide there stood a Youth,
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That look'd as trim and gay,
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As if he had not guilty bin
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Of wishing e'r to be a King,
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Unless a King of May.
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It was the zame our Vicar zed
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Vor Treason shou'd have lost his Head,
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Vor which vive hundred Pound
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By Proclamation offer'd was
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To any that should take his Grace
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In any Kerson ground.
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Won Zunday morn, thou maist remember,
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I think the twontieth of Zeptember,
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Our Parson read a thing,
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How this zame Spark, (a vengeance on him!)
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With vorty moor, did take upon him
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To kill our Gracious King.
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But scant the vrighted harmless Zwain,
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That meets a Wolf upon the Plain,
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Was zo agast with vear:
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Wounds! if His Majesty (quoth I)
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Does keep no better Company;
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Chil stay no longer here.
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With that, the Mon that brought me in
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By th' Jacket pull'd me back again;
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Quoth he, Pray hear ye reason;
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He was a What-d'ye-calt, 'tis true,
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But's Pardon makes him vree as you
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Vrom Knavery or Treason.
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Whaw whaw! quoth I, a pretty Nick,
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To make Rogues honest by a trick
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Zo often try'd in vain;
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As if my Bull shou'd gore me once,
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I'd trust the zenseless Beast with Horns
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To gore me o'r agen.
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Chil e'en to Devonshire agen,
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Where honest men are honest men,
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And Rogues are hang'd vor Rogues.
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Ods wounds! were I His Majesty,
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E'r zich a Zon shou'd count'nanc'd be,
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Chi'd prize him as my Dogs.
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