The Whigs in Mourning For the Loss of Their CHARCTER.
To the Tune of, Let the Whigs repine, and all combine, &c.
[...]
I.
LEt the snarling Whig
Ne'r look so big,
Nor once pretend to mutter;
Now their Charter's gone,
They sigh and moan,
And keep a woundy clutter:
Hanging down their pensive ears,
They mourn the sad disaster
That fill'd their heads with causless fears
Of Royal CHARLES their Master.
II.
Let their cursed PLOT
Be quite forgot
And their damn'd ASSOCIATION;
Let their minds be bent
To circumvent
The Toneys of the Nation:
To Juistice bring all canting Rogues,
Who teach the Rabble Notions,
And at Tyburn let the Dogs
Pay all their last Devotions.
III.
Let's all rejoyce,
That Whig D—is
And P—ion are detected,
That their Whiggish May'r,
Who'd usurp the Chair,
Was shamefully rejected:
Patience teach you to beware
Of Perjury and Treason;
Hang up Baldwin, Curtis, Care,
Since 'tis but Law and Reason.
IV.
Let Robin swear,
And Tommy stare
Like men berest of sense
Let Hu—nd strut,
And Je—ll fret,
For their loss, and vast expences:
Let damn'd Titus bounce and crack,
And swagger like a Carter,
Throw the Knaves upon their backs
That took away the CHARTER.
V.
Let the Whiggish Fops
Shut up their Shops,
And then commit a Ryot;
But I'd advise
The Cits be wise.
And study to be quiet.
Curses ever more attend
Their arbitrary actions,
Hemp and Faggot put an end
To all their Feuds and Factions.
VI.
But alas! the Saints
With sorrow faint,
To see this fatal minute,
And curse too late
That Imp of State
That brought the CITY in it.
Settle left 'em in the nick
Of all their tears and sorrpw,
And when he saw the Cause lie sick,
He bid the Whigs good morrow.
VII.
When the Trimmer meets,
A Whig, he greets
Him with this dreadful story;
Quoth he, Not far
From Temple-bar
I heard a wicked TORY
Drinking our new CHARTERS, health,
('Tis true, as God shall sa' me,)
Wishing those no Joy nor Wealth,
That love not CHARLES and JEMMY.
FINIS.
LONDON: Printed for Patrick True, 1683.