THE BELGICK BOOR.
A New SONG, to the Old Tune of
Chevy Chase.
GOd Prosper long our Noble King,
Our Hopes and Wishes all;
A fatal Landing late there did
In
Devonshire befal.
To drive our Monarch from his Throne,
Prince
Naso took his way;
The Babe may rue that's newly born,
The Landing at
Torbay.
The stubborn
Tarquin void of Grace,
A Vow to Hell does make,
To force his Father Abdicate,
And then his Crown to take.
And eke the Royal Infant-Prince
To seize or drive away;
These Tidings to our Sovereign came,
In
Whitehall where he lay.
Who unconcern'd at the Report,
At first would not believe,
That any of his Royal Race
Such Mischiefs could conceive.
Till Time which ripens all Things, did
The Villany disclose;
And of a Nephew and a Son
Forg'd out the worst of Foes.
Who by Infernal Instinct led,
A Mighty Fleet prepares,
His Father's Kingdoms to Invade,
And fill his Heart with Cares.
Our Gracious King desires to know
What his Pretensions were,
And how without his leave he durst
Presume on Landing here.
Declaring what was deem'd amiss
Should soon amended be,
And whatso'er should be desir'd,
He would thereto agree.
And for a speedy Parliament
He doth forthwith declare:
The surly Brute not minding this
Does to our Coast repair.
With several Thousand
Belgick Boors,
All chosen Rogues for spight,
Join'd with some Rebels who from hence
And Justice had ta'ne flight.
Who arm'd with Malice and with Hopes,
Soon threw themselves on Shore;
Crying our Religion and our Laws
They came for to restore.
Then Declarations flew about
As thick as any Hail,
Which (tho no
Word was e're made good)
Did mightily prevail.
We must be Papists or be Slaves
Was then the General Cry;
But we'll do any thing to save
Our Darling Liberty.
We'll all join with a Forreign Prince,
Against our Lawful King;
For he from all our fancy'd Fears
Deliverance doth bring.
And if what he declares prove true,
As who knows but it may;
Were he the Devil of a Prince
We'll rather him obey.
Then our Allegiance let's cast off,
James shall no longer guide us;
And tho the
French would bridle us,
None but the
Dutch shall ride us.
And those who will not join with us
In this Design so Brave,
Their Houses we'll pull down or burn,
And seize on what they have.
These growing Evils to prevent,
Our King his Force does bend;
But amongst those he most did trust
He scarce had left one Friend.
O how my very Heart does bleed,
To think how basely they
Who long had eaten Royal Bread,
Their Master did betray.
And those to whom he'd been most kind,
And greatest Favours shown,
Appear'd to be the very first
Who sought him to Dethrone.
O
Compton! Langston! and the rest
Who basely from him ran;
Your Names for ever be accurst
By every English man.
Proud
Tarquin he pursues his Game,
And quickly makes it plain,
He came not to redress our Wrongs,
But
England's Crown to gain.
And o're his Father's mangled Fame,
His Charriot proudly drives,
Whilst he good Man, altho in vain,
To pacify him strives.
But he Ingrateful! would not hear
His Offers tho so kind,
But caus'd the Noble Messenger
Forthwith to be confin'd.
He brings his nasty Croaking Crew
Unto his Father's Gate,
Dismist his own, makes them his Guard,
O dismal Turn of Fate!
Also at Midnight drives him thence,
O horrid Impious thing!
Were such Affronts e're offer'd to
A Father and a King.
A King so Great! so Good! so Just!
So Merciful to all!
His Vertue was his only Fault,
And that which caus'd his Fall.
Who now is forc'd his Life to save
To fly his native Land,
And leave his Scepter to be grasp'd
By an ungracious Hand.
Hells Journey-men are streight conven'd,
Who rob God of his Power,
Set up themselves a Stork-like King,
The Subjects to devour.
And to secure his Lawless Throne,
Now give him all we have,
And make each Free-born
English Heart
Become a
Belgick Slave.
The Bar, the Pulpit, and the Press
Infatuously combine,
To cry up a Usurped Power,
And stamp it Right Divine.
Our Loyalty we must melt down
And have it coin'd anew,
For what was current heretofore,
Will now no longer do.
Our Fetters we our Selves put on,
Our Selves, our Selves do bubble;
Our Conscience a meer Pack-horse make,
Which now must carry double.
O
England! when to future Times
Thy Story shall be known,
How will they blush to think what Crimes
Their Ancestors have done.
But after all, what have we got
By this our dear-bought King?
Why! that our Scandal and Reproach
Throughout the World does ring.
That our Religion, Liberties,
And Laws we held so dear,
Are more Invaded since this Change
Than ever yet they were.
Our Coffers drain'd, our Coin impair'd,
That little that remains;
Our
Persons seiz'd, nay
Thoughts arraign'd,
Our Freedom now is Chains.
Our Traffick ruin'd, Shipping lost,
Our Traders most undone;
Our bravest Hero's sacrific'd,
Our ancient Glory gone.
A Fatal Costly War entail'd,
On this unhappy Isle;
Unless above what we deserve,
Kind Heaven at last does smile.
And bring our Injur'd Monarch Home,
And Place Him on his Throne;
And to Confusion bring his Foes
Which
God grant may be soon.
LONDON, Printed in the Year MDCXC