THE PLOTTING LEVITE
To the Tune of Lille Bullero, &c.
I.
WITH a handful of Sorrow and Grief I am drawn
To tell you the truth of the Parsons at Land,
And a new swearing Brood not in Buff but in Lawn,
The humble Devotants to Lewis le Grand,
Conscience, Conscience, nothing but Conscience,
Nothing but Conscience made them forbear,
Nothing but Conscience, nothing but Conscience,
Nothing but Conscience made them forswear.
II.
A Council of Six, all pions and good,
Jure Divino every one,
For Popery, Plotting, Sedition and Blood;
And praying devoutly, as right as a Gun;
Conscience, Conscience, nothing but Conscience,
Nothing but Conscience made them to plot,
Nothing but Conscience, nothing but Conscience,
Honour and Loyalty they had forgot.
III.
Like the Prophets of old, so they do annoint,
Their sanctified Fingers are laid to the Work,
With Jure Divino in every Joynt,
'Tis all one to them, be he Christian or Turk;
Reason, Reason, nothing but Reason,
Nothing but Reason they would be at,
Nothing but Reason, nothing but Reason,
Non-swearing Parsons would bubble the State.
IV.
To bring in the French, whom now they adore,
Most piously they combin'd in a Plot,
To murther the King that sav'd them before,
A Villany sure that will ne're be forgot;
Treason, Treason, nothing but Treason,
Nothing but Treason up to the Ears,
Nothing but Treason, nothing but Treason,
Passive Obedience in Colours appears.
V.
'Twas done by a Church that never did fail
To persecute all that her Power could reach,
That hath kickt up her Heels and discover'd her Tail,
And civilly now she hath shewn you her Breech;
Rigby, Rigby, Ashton and Rigby,
Ashton and Rigby, there it was done,
Ashton and Rigby, Ashton and Rigby,
The Father deserves it as well as the Son.
VI.
A few years ago, it can't be forgot,
Be certain I'll tell you no more than is true,
'Twas a damnable Sin to be found in a Plot,
As then was observ'd by some of their Crew;
Ely, Ely, Reverend Ely,
Reverend Ely left us i'th' lurch,
Reverd Ely and his grave Elders
Want French Dragoons to settle the Church.
VII.
Our Grave Elder Brother, the worst of the Four,
Lies close in his Den, like a Boar in the Sty,
The Blood of all Ireland lies at his Door,
And from the Almighty for Judgment doth cry;
Ely, Ely, William and Ely,
William and Ely, Frank and Tom,
William and Ely, William and Ely,
William and Ely, Francis and John.
VIII.
The Cut-throat Petitioners acted their Part,
And gravely kept time with the Plot and the Crew,
They wanted a Mayor with a Jacobite Heart,
To murther the King when they found it would do;
Dodson, Dodson, Dingo and Dodson,
Dingo and Dodson, Coward and Fool,
Dingo and Dodson, Dingo and Dodson,
To bring up the Rear, will serve for a Tool.
FINIS