Classic Poem

Or Titus's Exaltation to the Pillory
Upon his Conviction of Perjury

A Ballad, to the Tune of " Packington's Pound "

1.

Come listen, ye Whigs, to my pitiful moan,
All you that have ears when the Doctor has none.
In sackcloth and ashes let's sadly be jogging
To behold our dear savior o'th'nation a-flogging.
The Tories to spite us,
As a goblin to fright us,
With a damned wooden ruff will bedeck our friend Titus.
Then mourn all to see ungrateful behavior
From these lewd popish Tories to the dear nation-savior.

2.

From three prostrate kingdoms at once to adore me
And no less than three parliaments kneeling before me,
From hanging of lords with a word and a frown,
And no more than an oath to the shaking a crown;
For all these brave pranks
Now to have no more thanks
Than to look through a hole through two damned wooden planks:
Oh, mourn ye poor Whigs, with sad lamentation
To see the hard fate of the savior o'th'nation.

3.

Forever farewell, the true, Protestant, famous,
Old days of th'illustrious, great Ignoramus!
Had the great headsman Bethel, that honest Ketch royal,
But sat at the helm still the rogues I'd defy all.
The kind Tekelite crew,
To the Alcoran true,
Spite of law, oaths, or gospel would save poor True Blue.
But the Tories are up and no quarter nor favor
To trusty old Titus, the great nation-savior.

4.

There once was a time, boys, when to the world's wonder
I could kill with a breath more than Jove with his thunder,
But, oh, my great Narrative's made but a fable,
My pilgrims and armies confounded like Babel.
Oh, they've struck me quite dumb
And to tickle my bum
Have my oracles turned all to a tale of Tom Thumb.
Oh, weep all to see this ungrateful behavior
In thus ridiculing the great nation-savior.

5.

From honor and favor and joys my full swing,
From twelve pound a week and the world in a string,
Ah, poor falling Titus, 'tis a cursed debasement
To be pelted with eggs through a lewd wooden casement.
And oh, muckle Tony,
To see thy old crony
With a face all benointed with wild locust honey,
'Twould make thy old tap weep with sad lamentation
For trusty old Titus, thy savior o'th'nation.

6.

See the rabble all round me in battle array,
Against my wood castle their batteries play;
With turnip-grenadoes the storm is begun,
All weapons more mortal than Pick'ring's screwed gun.
Oh, my torture begins
To punish my sins,
For peeping through key-holes to spy dukes and queens,
Which makes me to roar out with sad lamentation
For this tragical blow to the savior o'th'nation.

7.

A curse on the day, when the Papists to run down,
I felt buggering at Omers to swear plots at London.
And oh, my dear friends, 'tis a damnable hard case
To think how they'll pepper my sanctified carcass.
Were my skin but as tough
As my conscience of buff,
Let 'em pelt their hearts-blood I'd hold out well enough.
But oh, these sad buffets of mortification,
To maul the poor hide of the savior o'th'nation.

8.

Had the Parliament sat till they'd once more but put
Three kingdoms into the Geneva old cut,
With what homage and duty to Titus in glory
Had the worshipping saints turned their bums up before me:
But oh, the poor stallion,
A la mode d' Italian .
To be futtered at last like an English rapscallion.
Oh mourn, all ye brethren of th'Association,
To see this sad fate to the savior o'th'nation.

9.

Could I once but get loose from these troublesome tackles,
A pocky stone doublet and plaguy steel shackles,
I'd leave the damned Tories and to do myself justice
I'd e'en go a mumping with my honest friend Eustace.
Little Comins and Oates
In two pilgrim coats,
We'd truss our black bills up and all our old plots;
We'd leave the base world all for their damned rude behaviors
To two such heroic true Protestant saviors.

10.

But alack-and-a-day, the worst is behind still,
Which makes me fetch groans that would e'en turn a windmill:
Were the pillory all I should never be vexed,
But oh, to my sorrow, the gallows comes next;
To my doleful, sad fate
I find though too late
To this collar of wood comes a hempen cravat;
Which makes me thus roar out with sad lamentation
To think how they'll truss up the savior o'th'nation.