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EBBA 20889

Magdalene College - Pepys
Ballad XSLT Template
The Protestant Court of England:
OR, THE
Joyful Coronation of K. William III. and Q. Mary II.
Setting Forth
The English, Welsh, Scots, and Dutch-Man's Defiance of the Common Enemy, and
Disturber of this Protestant Kingdom, the JESUITE; with the Irish-Man's and Monsieur's
[Ro]mish Vindication of Him. The Tune of, The Pudding.

English-man.
COme Gallants, let's tender
Those Hearts we surrender
At the blest Coronation of our Faiths great Defender,
Now Glory shall Rule:
No more Popish Edge-tool;
Thank Heav'n, of a knave we've at last made a Fool,
of a Jesuit.

Who but they and their Crew
Poor James could undo,
And lose him his Honour and Diadem too;
By Petres false measure,
Th' unfortunate Caesar,
Turn'd (alas) out a grazing, like Nebuchadnezzar,
by the Jesuit.

With you Chancellor false Steward,
Romes Scholar so toward,
Your Castlemain Nuncio & your Cardinal Howard,
You have out-done the shot
Of your Gunpowder Plot,
And blown up the credulous James; have ye not?
ye false Jesuit.

Our Freedoms and Charters
Were the first of your Martyrs,
For Rome had begun to take up her head Quarters
Her Vengeance to wreak,
All Faith we must break,
For Law, Oaths, & Gospel are all Bonds too weak
for a Jesuit.

Taffy.
A Shesuit, that Sheater,
Rogue, Villain, and Traytor:
By the flesh of her pones, her Welsh plood rises at her;
Very fine, Shemle folks,
A Welsh Heir, with a pox,
Was her get a Prince in a Shugglers Box?
Cunning Shesuit.

Has her forehead no blush on
Such Prosbects to push on,
As was raise her Welsh Heir to Three Crowns from a Cushion
To who, splutternalls,
Does her tell her sham Tales?
Has her none to put trick on but her Nation of Wales,
Roguy Shesuit?

Oh! to pay her old score,
Had her Son of a Whore
On a Ladder as high her ow[n] Penmenmour
Was her once but [tr]uss'd up,
Till Her cut the Rope,
Her might hang there till doomsday, her self & her Pope
for a Shesuit.

Sawny.
THe Pope that saw Turk,
So [sleely] at [wo]rk,
With aw his faw [i]mps to pull down the [K]irk,
Now the Mange, our Scotch plague,
On that Scarlet Whore-Hag,
And Deel split the wem, the luggs, and the crag
of the Jesuit.

For awd Jemmy's sad folly,
With J[u]ggy and Dolly
He dance a Scotch Jig for bonny WILLY and MOLLY;
With Jockey and Sawny,
Aw lads teugh and brawny,
Weese drub the faw face, aw black, blew, & tawny,
of the Jesuit.

Monsieur.
O De Rogue English trick!
Dat de poor Catolick
Shou'd be kick, knock, & tump, and run down to Old Nick.
But Begar, de Vengeance
Of my Ma'ter of France
Sall lead English Heretick dog a French Dance,
for de Jesuit.

Sall Lewis sit still?
Vat fool, tink he will,
When old Jame and he so long piss in a Quill?
No, Bourgre Garsoon,
With Monsieur Dagroon,
Begar we come o're, and fight blood and woon
for de Jesuit.

Dough Jemmy Monsier,
(Pox taka Myn-heer)
Has losta de Crewn of de damn Angletere;
In Eerland, brave boy,
With Vive le Roy
We crewn him agin a new Monarch dear-joy,
for de Jesuit.

Teague.
Bub a boo! Bub! oh hone!
The Broder of the son,
And de Shild of mee Moder de poor Teague undone!
Pull down Mass-house and Altar,
And burn Virgin Psalter,
And make hang upon Priest, and no friend cut de Halter
of poor Jesuit.

When Teague first came o're
To de Engeland shore,
Wid 6, 7, 8 Tousand Irish Lads, all and more:
Teague was promist good Fashion,
Great Estate in de Nation,
Wid all London in his pocket, upon mee shaul washion
by de Jesuit.

But when de Bore Dutch,
Get Teague in his clutch,
Stead of make great estate, & Chrees knows what much
Damn'd Heretick Dogue
Made Teague a poor Rogue,
Turn'd him home to make starve widout shoe or broge;
for de Jesuit.

But I'le beg Captains Plaash
Of de sweet Eyes and Faash
Of mee De r-joy Tyrconnel his Majesties Graash;
And fight like a Hero,
By mee shoul a Mack-Nero,
Cut Troat for Shaint Patrick, and sing Lilli burlero
for de Jesuit.

Hym-heer.
HOld cut-weason Skellom,
And let Myn-heer tell om,
For Englond's great Hogan & Megan Lord Willom
And the dear English-mons,
Their Church, Laws, and Londs,
Van Dutch-londers fight with all hoarts & honds,
'gainst the Jesuit,

English-man.
Say'st thou so, Friend Myn-heer?
Then adieu to all fear,
France, Ireland, Pope, Devil, come all if you dare,
Come Lads, let's be jogging,
The French Ears want lugging,
And Teague, and Tyrconnel's false Hide must have floggin[g]
Farewel Jesute



Licensed and Entred According to Order.
Printed for A. Milbourn in Green-Arbour-Court in the Little-Old-Baily.

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