A New SONG.
[In Rome there is a most fearful Rout]
[_]
To the Tune of, Lulla by Baby.
In
Rome there is a most fearful Rout,
And what do you think it is about,
Because the Birth of the Babe's come out:
Sing lulla by Babee, by, by, by.
The jesuits swear the Midwife told tales,
And ruin'd His Highness the Prince of Wales;
She's a jade for her pains, Cutsplutter-anails:
Sing lulla, &c.
The Popish Crew did all protest,
That twenty great men would swear at least,
They see his Welsh Highness creep out of his Nest;
Sing lulla, &c.
The Goggle-ey'd Monster in the Tower,
He peep'd at his Birth for above an hour,
And 'twas a true Prince of Wales he swore:
Sing lulla, &c.
Another great Lord, both Grave and VVise,
Stood peeping between Her Majesties Thighs;
He look'd through a Glass for to save his Eyes:
Sing lulla, &c.
Both were so well satisfy'd,
They knew the sweet Babe from a thousand they cry'd;
'Twas Born with the Print of a Tile on his Side:
Sing lulla, &c.
Some say 'tis a Prince of Wales by Right,
And those that deny it tis out of Spight;
But God send the Mother came honestly by't:
Sing lulla, &c.
Some Priest, they say, crept nigh her Honour,
And spinkled some good Holy VVater upon her:
VVhich made her conceive of what has undone her.
Sing lulla, &c.
The Papists thought themselves greatly blest,
Before the young Babe was brought to the Test;
But now they call Peters a Fool of a Priest:
Sing lulla, &c.
The Priests in order to fly to the Pope,
Are got on Board on the Foreign Hope,
For all that stay here will be sure of a Rope:
Sing lulla by Babee, by, by, by.
