The Hunting of the Fox. A NEW SONG.

To the Tune of, Now the Tories that Glories, &c.
I.
HEy Jouler, Ringwood, and Towzer,
Ho Smoaker, Drunkard, and Fly;
Sweet-lips, Light-foot, and Bowzer;
Brave Bowman, Lofty, and Cry;
And Four and Twenty brave Couple,
To make a Pack for the Downs,
Sure footed, and your Limbs supple;
The Scent's hot yet on the Grounds.
The Old White Fox is got loose again;
We think he's gone to ketch Goose again:
His Cubs they sculk and desert amain.
Come let's beleaguer their Holes:
For they're past Evil; to th' Devil
We'll send 'em with thread bare Souls.
II.
They have left the City, 'tis pity,
And their damn'd Party i'th' Lurch:
If to be Hang'd, 'twould be pretty,
For Treason 'gainst King and Church.
For Sink-ports, Venus and Juno;
For Champian, Thunder and Spark;
Let Swift beat for Caralino,
And Noser wind 'em i'th' Dark.
Like Wasps and Flies, they would bite us;
As Wolves do Sheep, they would treat us;
Like Crockadiles, they would eat us;
They thirst for Innocent Blood:
Then never scruple, but graple
For King and Country's Good.
III.
Round the Demantion o'th' Nation,
Beat all the Banks on the Shore;
And some leap o're the main Ocean,
If they are gone before.
O surround 'em, confound 'em,
From Sea-Port to City-Walls;
If there they venter to shelter,
Zounds, tear 'em out of their Holes:
For making Church into Stables,
And vaumping Kings up of Baubles,
And forging Plots out of Fables,
And seizing Kings in a trice;
That the crooked Piper, might vapour
Like Rat amongst Fifteen Mice.
IV.
Scoure the Globe to the Axels,
From Pole to Pole then retire,
And center at Mother Creswels;
The Fox us'd to Harbour there:
There, there both Wives, Whores & Virgins,
He had them all at his Call,
T'oblige his Captains and Surgions,
'Till better Occasions fall.
At Oxford late all his Cubs and He,
To the Exclusion did all agree;
Could not budge further, till sign'd & free.
Yet Rowley rouzed the Rump,
And sent 'em all to Pegg Trantams;
And Tapsky's worn to the Stump.
V.
Oh, Swift's returned, and Noser,
Their Hoofs are batter'd with Greet:
The Game shews by the Opposer,
He's lodged in Aldersgate-Street.
Come ring a Peal with a Courage,
The Grains o'th' Tap makes a Train;
He lurks in the Hole to make Forrage
Of all that uses his Name.
We'll fetch him out with Mandamus,
And hang him with Ignoramus;
There's none but Rebels can blame us:
More Pardons let him not hope;
For all his Squinting and Blinking,
He must to th'Hatchet or Rope.

LONDON, Printed for J. D. in the Year, 1682.

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