 | Half-a-dozen no-popery ballads |  |
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5
TO PIO NONO.
A BALLAD FOR THE TIMES.
And did you suppose, Old Pope,
To make yourself here at home?
In Protestant England demurely to hope
To do as you do at Rome?
With tinsel and tallow no dolls we adore,
We kneel to no wafer,—that made us;
We bank not with Saints for their canonized store
Of merits, as cash, to be paid us!
To make yourself here at home?
In Protestant England demurely to hope
To do as you do at Rome?
With tinsel and tallow no dolls we adore,
We kneel to no wafer,—that made us;
We bank not with Saints for their canonized store
Of merits, as cash, to be paid us!
6
You've made a mistake, Old Pope,—
No devil's own malice,—or men's,
Shall teach our daughters (to speak in a trope,)
The beauties of Doctor Dens:
We keep our consciences pretty well clean,
While Providence happily frees us
From pestilent Priests, to whisper between
Our Souls and blessed Jesus!
No devil's own malice,—or men's,
Shall teach our daughters (to speak in a trope,)
The beauties of Doctor Dens:
We keep our consciences pretty well clean,
While Providence happily frees us
From pestilent Priests, to whisper between
Our Souls and blessed Jesus!
It will never do, Old Pope!
An Englishman feeds on truth;
It isn't within possibility's scope
To sew up his mind, forsooth!
With no pocket altars, and no Latin pray'rs,
No relic or blasphemous libel,
In hearty religion an Englishman cares
Alone for his God and his Bible!
An Englishman feeds on truth;
It isn't within possibility's scope
To sew up his mind, forsooth!
With no pocket altars, and no Latin pray'rs,
No relic or blasphemous libel,
In hearty religion an Englishman cares
Alone for his God and his Bible!
You come it too strong, Old Pope,—
We're none of us yet your tool;
We suffer no traitorous Archbishop's cope
On Wiseman—or on fool;
Away with this Cardinal-sinner, away!
Saint Impudence helps him at present,
But quickly revoke your infallible say,
Or, something may happen unpleasant.
We're none of us yet your tool;
We suffer no traitorous Archbishop's cope
On Wiseman—or on fool;
Away with this Cardinal-sinner, away!
Saint Impudence helps him at present,
But quickly revoke your infallible say,
Or, something may happen unpleasant.
Your bull is a bull, Old Pope,
From Ireland come, without doubt;
Don't wait till we tug at its tail as a rope,
And give it a touch of the knout!
Some half-dozen draymen are equal to that,
And there'd be an end of the matter;
Your bull you shall eat,—and your cardinal's hat
Go back to the Vatican hatter!
From Ireland come, without doubt;
Don't wait till we tug at its tail as a rope,
And give it a touch of the knout!
Some half-dozen draymen are equal to that,
And there'd be an end of the matter;
Your bull you shall eat,—and your cardinal's hat
Go back to the Vatican hatter!
Yet thank you for this, Old Pope,
You've done us a world of good;
Tractarians lathered us so with soft soap,
We could'nt see where we stood;
But now as in scorn of such Puseyite pranks,
And spite of our dull toleration,
You've managed to make us—all sects and all ranks,
One Brotherly Protestant Nation!
You've done us a world of good;
Tractarians lathered us so with soft soap,
We could'nt see where we stood;
7
And spite of our dull toleration,
You've managed to make us—all sects and all ranks,
One Brotherly Protestant Nation!
POPERY AND PUSEYISM.
A RHYME FOR THE TIMES.
Don't you wish you never tried,
Pio Nono, poor old Nono,
Johnny Bull to ride astride
Rash old Nono, wretched Nono?
Bull will toss you to the very moon,
False Italian, feeble Nono,
If you don't jump off, and very soon,—
While you can,—but can you, No no?
Pio Nono, poor old Nono,
Johnny Bull to ride astride
Rash old Nono, wretched Nono?
9
False Italian, feeble Nono,
If you don't jump off, and very soon,—
While you can,—but can you, No no?
Don't you think you must have dreamt
Doctor W*****n, silly W*****n,
Bull to treat with such contempt,
Dull bombastic empty W*****n?
Bull's sharp horns are pretty apt to poke,
—So take care, vain-glorious W*****n,—
At old women in a scarlet cloke
And at scarlet stockings, W*****n!
Doctor W*****n, silly W*****n,
Bull to treat with such contempt,
Dull bombastic empty W*****n?
Bull's sharp horns are pretty apt to poke,
—So take care, vain-glorious W*****n,—
At old women in a scarlet cloke
And at scarlet stockings, W*****n!
Don't you find we've found you out,
Father N****n, Jesuit N****n,
As the root of all this rout,
Hard and cold nonnatural N****n?
You've seen rare developements of late,
More than you expected, N****n,—
Proofs most strong how Protestant the State
And the Church are, baffled N****n!
Father N****n, Jesuit N****n,
As the root of all this rout,
Hard and cold nonnatural N****n?
You've seen rare developements of late,
More than you expected, N****n,—
Proofs most strong how Protestant the State
And the Church are, baffled N****n!
Don't you feel you've made a fool
Of yourself, unlucky B*****t,
Just the Jesuit's broken tool,
Not a martyr yet, poor B*****t!
Though both Paul and Barnabas deplored
Your mock-popish nonsense, B*****t,
No one cared to throw you overboard
Till you leapt there, foolish B*****t!
Of yourself, unlucky B*****t,
Just the Jesuit's broken tool,
Not a martyr yet, poor B*****t!
Though both Paul and Barnabas deplored
Your mock-popish nonsense, B*****t,
No one cared to throw you overboard
Till you leapt there, foolish B*****t!
Don't you see you'd best hark back,
Pallid P***y, trembling P***y?
Rome and ruin on its track
Warn you well, Professor P***y:
You're a fair good fellow after all,
Better than your fame, poor P***y,
So, hark back, before you get a fall,
For you shame the name of P***y.
Pallid P***y, trembling P***y?
Rome and ruin on its track
Warn you well, Professor P***y:
You're a fair good fellow after all,
Better than your fame, poor P***y,
So, hark back, before you get a fall,
For you shame the name of P***y.
10
Don't you seem most rightly served
For your priestcraft, sundry parsons?
From the good old ways you swerved,
And your laymen left you, parsons;
But by all means cut away from Rome,
With no Tract-reserve, good parsons,
And we'll quickly make it up at home,
And shake hands with all our parsons.
For your priestcraft, sundry parsons?
From the good old ways you swerved,
And your laymen left you, parsons;
But by all means cut away from Rome,
With no Tract-reserve, good parsons,
And we'll quickly make it up at home,
And shake hands with all our parsons.
Don't you now agree with me
Freeborn Britons, brother Britons,
Freemen evermore to be
As you ever have been, Britons!
Then give Wiseman and his pope a groan,—
That's enough, no more, my Britons;
Now we'll cheer for mother-church and throne,
Three times three, and one more, Britons!
Freeborn Britons, brother Britons,
Freemen evermore to be
As you ever have been, Britons!
Then give Wiseman and his pope a groan,—
That's enough, no more, my Britons;
Now we'll cheer for mother-church and throne,
Three times three, and one more, Britons!
TOLERATION;
A NEW BALLAD FOR THE TIMES.
Yes; we will tolerate, tolerate, tolerate
All that we ought, and all that we can,—
But to be cozen'd and fool'd at this hollow rate,
It is too much for the patience of man!
What? have we given them all that they sought of us,
Freely and heartily, generous fools,
Only to find how meanly they thought of us,
Heretics, heathens! their butts and their tools!
All that we ought, and all that we can,—
But to be cozen'd and fool'd at this hollow rate,
It is too much for the patience of man!
What? have we given them all that they sought of us,
Freely and heartily, generous fools,
Only to find how meanly they thought of us,
Heretics, heathens! their butts and their tools!
Nobody keeps them away from confessionals,
Nobody hinders their priests, if they please,
Teaching the women all sorts of transgressionals,
Till the poor sinners feel quite at their ease;
Popish cathedrals may swarm with idolatry,—
Nobody troubles them, nobody harms;
Masses and penances and Mariolatry
All may be done without let or alarms:
Nobody hinders their priests, if they please,
Teaching the women all sorts of transgressionals,
Till the poor sinners feel quite at their ease;
Popish cathedrals may swarm with idolatry,—
Nobody troubles them, nobody harms;
Masses and penances and Mariolatry
All may be done without let or alarms:
11
Merits of saints, or pains purgatorial,
Monks and their mummery, white, grey, or black,
Nay, if the whim suits, Inquisitorial
Terrors and torments, the screw and the rack,—
All they are welcome to: more; we have dealt to them
Power and privilege all that is meet,
While Liberality truckled and knelt to them,
And Toleration kissed meanly their feet!
Monks and their mummery, white, grey, or black,
Nay, if the whim suits, Inquisitorial
Terrors and torments, the screw and the rack,—
All they are welcome to: more; we have dealt to them
Power and privilege all that is meet,
While Liberality truckled and knelt to them,
And Toleration kissed meanly their feet!
But we won't tolerate, No! we won't tolerate
Any Supremacy here but the Queen's!
Popish presumption has made us all cholerate,
And the whole nation speaks out what it means;
British-born Romanists! it was but rational
Freely to leave your religion alone,—
But if you touch us in things that are National
Woe to the traitors who trouble the Throne!
Any Supremacy here but the Queen's!
Popish presumption has made us all cholerate,
And the whole nation speaks out what it means;
British-born Romanists! it was but rational
Freely to leave your religion alone,—
But if you touch us in things that are National
Woe to the traitors who trouble the Throne!
| Half-a-dozen no-popery ballads | |