A Sale of Old State Houshold-Stuff.
[_]
To the Tune of, Old Simon the King.
I
The Government being resolv'd
To new furnish the House of State,
Hath thought fitting to put off the old,
That was rusty and worn out of date.
Then come all you State-Brokers away,
And take off our old fashion'd trinkoms,
You for a small matter may buy
What cost the price of three Kingdoms.
Quoth J--- the Bigotted K---
Quoth J--- the Politick thing,
With a thred-bare Oath,
And a Catholick Troth,
That never was worth a farthing.
II
Here's (what was to cleanse Church and State)
The Beesom of Reformation,
Brought in by Henry the Eighth,
And Besses grave Convocation.
Here are diverse Conformity Acts,
The Penal Laws and all,
With a parcel of over-rul'd Statutes,
Kick'd out of Westminster-Hall.
Quoth J---, &c.
III
Come buy the old Tapistry Hangings,
Which hung in the House of Lords,
That kept the Spanish Invasion,
And Powder-plot, on Record.
A musty old Magna Charta,
That wants new scowring and cleansing,
Writ so long since, and so dark too,
That 'tis hard to pick out the meaning.
Quoth J---, &c.
IV
Here's a Pack of nasty Court Cards,
Much foul'd with over playing,
Condemn'd to the Fields of Tom T---d,
For they never were worth the buying.
A pitiful tatter'd Scotch League,
Swallow'd meerly to trepan men,
Took by the late King in Intrigue,
And aftewards burnt by the Hangman.
Quoth J---, &c.
V
Three Protestant Vizors much worn,
And in use since the days of Queen Bess,
Which now we have laid by with scorn,
Being resolv'd to appear with bare face.
Come buy a thing brought from Breda,
Call'd a Royal Declaration,
Which of late we have copied at large,
Having promis'd to keep up the fashion
Of old Simon the King,
Quoth J---, &c.
VI
A parcel of Conge d' esliers,
By Heretick Bishops own'd,
The reward of the old Cavaliers,
For their Loyalty to the Crown.
Here's your Corporation Charters,
And University Regulations,
For all which as cheap you may barter,
As Cucumbers in the Vacation.
Quoth J---, &c.
VII
Here's a Crew of Exclusion Abhorrers,
And a litter of Loyal Addressors,
Who'd have run to the Devil for us,
When they Bully'd for Popish Successors.
But now they are down in the mouth,
Their Damning and Healthing forsakes 'em,
If you think them not a penny-worth
For fetching, the Devil may take them.
Quoth J---, &c.
VIII
Here's a Tribe of mad Pulpiteers,
That still for Right Line were trimming,
We'll exchange them for Bandileers,
And leave them to Urim and Thummim.
Here's a Cart Load of Observators,
That were writ in Defence of the Church,
By Hodge that Eternal Prater,
Whose Quill is now left in the lurch.
Quoth J---, &c.
IX
Will you buy any Protestant Places,
In Army, or where you think best Sir?
Those that think to keep them are Asses,
VVhen once we are rid of the Test Sir.
And thus I will end my Sale,
With a Bar to either House,
If we get but over it well,
For the rest I care not a Lowse.
Quoth J---, &c.
