Classic Poem

Unhappy I, to live to see this day,
On which my Royal Lord is gone away;
Heav'n bless his flight, and make him soon return,
I'm sure his absence I shall ever mourn;
And wish all cursses Hell cou'd e'er invent,
May light on those, who caus'd his banishment.
Shou'd they not have, worse than Iscariot's fate,
I shou'd think Heav'n unjust, as them ingrate.
Forgive me God, if here I go too far,
To think our Traitors, worse than Judas are.
For he had for his treason, this pretence,
He gain'd thereby, but these are at expence
They buy it at the price of all that's good,
Their Honor, profit, and perhaps their blood.
For no usurper ever yet was known,
To leave those steps, by which he mounts the Throne
Hark-hark
What's this my frighted ears surprise,
The people sure are singing Litanys,
The Rabble comes by in a mock procession carrying before them a cat crucified, and singing.
Valliant Lord Cornbury, — — Huzza pro nobis.
Noble Lord Churchhill, — — Huzza pro nobis.
Ye seven Holy Bishops, — — Huzzate pro nobis.
No doubt their ancient saints have all been nam'd,
But they invoke these modern ones e'er damnd
Great is the folly of a headless crew,
Who still o'er-shoot themselves in all they do.
Their Church so neerly is to ours aly'd,
By the first Sacrament so closly tyd,
They can't mock us, but must themselves deride
Just so the shrew, mistakes in the disgrace,
In calling cuckold to her husband's face.
Well did the King to get himself away
The stoutest Lyon flys the Asse's bray.