The Poetical Entertainer Or, Tales, Satyrs, Dialogues, And Intrigues, &c. Serious and Comical. All digested into such Verse as most agreeable to the several Subjects. To be publish'd as often as occasion shall offer [by Edward Ward] |
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A Bitter Draught for a Whig with a foul Stomach.
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 | The Poetical Entertainer |  |
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A Bitter Draught for a Whig with a foul Stomach.
I
Let the Whigs rave like mad,And the Loyal be glad,
That our Politick Wars now are ended,
Carry'd on to pull down
Both the Church and the Crown,
That the Government might be mended.
II
But they gallup'd too fastFor their Speed long to last,
As their Fathers had oft done before 'em,
And so Jaded the Land,
When they'd got the Whip-hand,
That they run down the Nation that bore 'em.
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III
But now the whole RaceOf Pretenders to Grace,
Are from Britain's old Saddle dismounted,
And those Saints who, like Knaves,
Would have made us their Slaves,
Are but Fools for their Management counted.
IV
Therefore, since they are down,And the Day is our own,
Let's remember their way of Chastising,
And to make 'em Obey,
Shew 'em true English Play,
And still give 'em a Blow when they're rising.
V
Let them prattle like Fools,To their credulous Tools,
That we quickly shall have the Pretender,
They may e'en as well boast,
That they'll raise up the Ghost
Of Old Nol, by a New Witch of Endor.
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VI
It was always the CantOf each Politick Saint,
With some Popish Design to amuse us,
When themselves had on Foot,
Some Fanatical Plot,
With a Godly Intent to abuse us.
VII
When the Saints of the LandCry the Pope is at hand,
It is time for the Crown to be fearful,
That a Dutch Commonwealth
Will creep on us by stealth,
If the State are not wonderful careful.
VIII
Therefore let us not mindWhat they talk for a Blind,
But be arm'd against them and their Evils;
For the sanctify'd Race
Have a Snake in the Grass,
When they fright us with Popes and with Devils.
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IX
Remember Saint Oats,And their Shaftsbury Plots,
Which were charg'd upon Rome by the Pious,
When the Protestant Breed
Had with Rumbold agreed,
To Assassinate Charles at the Rye-House.
X
Then who would give Ear,When we've nothing to fear
But themselves, to the Shams they've Projected,
When their Aim is to down
With the Church and the Crown,
Whilst our Eyes the wrong way are directed.
XI
Then let's be too wiseTo be gull'd by their Lies,
Since we find 'tis the Way of the Righteous,
To possess us with fear,
That the Lyon is near,
When themselves are the Dogs that would bite us.
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