To the Tune of, Which no body can deny.
FRom over the Seas not long since there came,
A Doctor of most Notorious Fame,
If you please, you may guess at his Ʋn-Christian name.
Which no body can deny.
This Doctor came hither to cure three Nations.
Who were so Silly as to be his Patients;
And first he Blooded 'em for the Fashions.
Which, &c.
The Med'cine he brought was called a PLOT,
Which was Compounded of th [...] Devil knows what:
When first he Arriv [...]d it was Piping-Hot.
Which, &c.
But if We may guess at the Damn'd Composition,
'Twas a mess of all sorts of English Sedition,
Made by a Presbyterian Physician.
Which, &c.
To make each Dose go down the safer,
What do▪s me still This Learned Gaffer,
But Cover it or with a Papist's Water.
Which, &c
As soon as 'twas Swallow'd, the Patient began,
To Stare and to Talk like a Lunatick Man,
Of Pistols and Daggers, to Kill and Trepan.
Which, &c.
To some 'twas Fmetick, to others Cathartick;
(I mean, to all those who of it did partake;)
In short, it made every Honest Mans heart-ake.
Which, &c.
To say truth we were all in a filthy Condition,
This voided a Libel, that Spew'd a Petition,
For which we may thank in part our Physician.
Which, &c.
At last it made our Bloud so ferment,
That a Rancorous Sore from Men's Body's was sent:
The Ʋlcer, I mean, of a strange Parliament.
Which, &c.
It's Venom upon each Member was shed;
The Body it almost had over-spread;
Nay, it had e'en like to have seiz▪d on the Head.
Which, &c.
But one wiser then all▪ did gvi't such a Thump,
That [...]t burst and went out, just next to the Rump,
Which made with Joy ev'ry Loyal Heart Jump.
Which, &c.
This Ʋlcer was full of Pistol and Sword,
With Blunderbuss and with your things made of Board;
Your Protestant Flayls to Fight for the Lord.
Which, &c.
O Doctor! I fear, you study'd Art Magick,
To Compass your Ends, which still were so Tragick:
But now it is hop'd that we may lead You-a-Jig.
Which, &c.
Or else I am sure, without being uncivil,
A Man my believe you deal with the Devil,
For no body else could have wrought us such Evil.
Which, &c.
Your Canting was Charm, Rebellion your Witch,
With these you gave the Poor Rabble the Itch,
When like Emp'rick on Stage you made 'em a Speech.
Which, &c.
Y'are Jilted you see by Faction your Whore,
Your little Tap-Pug can help you no more:
Hell ow's Both a Spite, and will pay ye the score.
Which no body can deny.

LONDON: Printed for ALLEN BANKS. 1682.

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Text Creation Partnership. Searching, reading, printing, or downloading EEBO-TCP texts is reserved for the authorized users of these project partner institutions. Permission must be granted for subsequent distribution, in print or electronically, of this EEBO-TCP Phase II text, in whole or in part.