An Humble ADDRESS TO THE Most ILLUSTRIOUS and High Born Iames Francis Edward, Present Prince of WALES.

THou greatest Prince in the whole Christian World
If from ABOVE thy Soul was hither hurl'd,
In Sacred Wedlock, plain to our Lords appear
In spight of Fate thou still art Legal Heir:
If from Below thy Noble Soul did come,
Thou art Prae-curser to the Pope of Rome,
His certain Down fall, therefore we declare
An open War against the Roman Chair.
Peace pretty Prince, Peace Petty Prince, thy Fate
God only knows, neither the Church nor State;
Thy Birth, some say, is of the deepest Dye;
Thou Guiltless art, though some for thee may Lie,
Us to Enslave to Roman Tyranny.
What an Imposter set up in the Throne?
Like to that vertuous Pope the Lady Joan.
Sure this Exploit will ope the Romans Eyes
That their grand Popes are Devils in Disguise.
In setting of thee up, they spoil'd their Plot,
And now their Names will ever Die and Rot:
And if thou Liv'st but ten Years more to come,
Thou may'st then hear there was a Pope of Rome,
And hundreds more, who Piss'd all in one Quill,
No Laws could bind them, only their own Will.
By such great Shams, we now may plainly see
Not Rome nor English Church should make us Free,
Save this high ARBOR, God's Great Orange-Tree.

Soli Deo Gloria.

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