%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> THE / Salamanca Doctor's Farewel / OR, / TITUS'S / Exaltation to the Pillory, upon his Conviction of PERJURY. / A BALLAD. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1685-1685 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 04/30/2012 32155

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

R33712 COme listen, ye Whigs, to my pitiful Moan, / All you that have Ears, when the Doctor has none; Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 134933 THE / Salamanca Doctor's Farewel / OR, / TITUS'S / Exaltation to the Pillory, upon his Conviction of PERJURY. / A BALLAD. THE Salamanca Doctor's Farewel OR, TITUS'S Exaltation to the Pillory, upon his Conviction of PERJURY. A BALLAD. THE Salamanca Doctor's Farewell OR, TITUS'S Exaltation to the Pillory, upon his Conviction of PERJURY. A BALLAD. 1685-1685 G.C.

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 4/30/2012 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America law politics/ government punishment religious groups Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 4/30/2012 12:35:36 PM XBallad Tokatyan, Anita Created XML Version of Ballad 4/30/2012 12:35:36 PM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/30/2012 12:35:36 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/30/2012 12:35:36 PM Transcriptionist Two McCants, Kristy Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/30/2012 12:35:36 PM Transcriptionist One Becker, Charlotte Transcription of ballad manuscript 8/18/2011 Checker Jonathan Forbes Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 4/30/2011 Bibliographer Shannon Meyer Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">THE</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Salamanca Doctors Farewel.</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">OR,</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">TITUSS</hi></seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Exaltation to the</hi> Pillory, <hi rend="italic">upon his Conviction of PERJURY.</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="6" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">A <hi rend="bold">BALLAD.</hi></hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="7" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To the Tune of, <hi rend="bold">Packingtons Pound.</hi></hi></seg>
I. COme listen, ye Whigs, to my pitiful Moan, All you that have Ears, when the Doctor has none; In Sackcloth and Ashes lets sadly be jogging, To behold our dear Saviour oth Nation a flogging. The Tories to spight us, As a Goblin to fright us, With a damnd wooden Ruff will bedeck our Friend Titus: Then mourn all to see this ungrateful Behaviour, From these lewd Popish Tories to the dear Nation-Saviour. II. From three prostrate Kingdoms at once to adore me, And no less than three Parliaments kneeling before me; From hanging of Lords with a Word and a Frown, And no more than an Oath to the shaking a Crown: For all these brave Pranks, Now to have no more thanks, Than to look thro a Hole, thro two damnd oaken Planks. Oh! mourn ye poor Whigs with sad Lamentation, To see the hard Fate of the Saviour oth Nation. III. For ever farewel the true Protestant Famous Old days of th Illustrious great Ignoramus; Had the great Heads-man Bethel, that honest Ketch Royal, But sate at the Helm still, the Rogues Ide defy all; The kind Teckelite Crew, To the Alcoran true, Spight of Law, Oaths or Gospel, would save poor true Blue: But the Tories are up, and no Quarter nor Favour, To trusty old Titus, the great Nation-Saviour. IV. There once was a Time, Boys, when to the Worlds wonder, I could kill with a Breath more than Jove with his Thunder; But, oh! my great Narratives made but a Fable, My Pilgrims and Armies confounded like Babel: Oh theyve struck me quite dumb, And to tickle my Bum, Have my Oracles turnd all to a Tale of Tom Thumb. Oh! weep all to see this ungrateful Behaviour, In thus ridiculing the great Nation-Saviour. V. From Honour and Favour, and Joys, my full swing; From 12 pound a week, and the World in a string; Ah poor falling Titus! tis a cursed Debasement, To be pelted with Eggs thro a lewd wooden Casement! And oh muckle Tony, To see thy old Crony, With a Face all benointed with wild Locust Honey: Twould make thy old TAPP weep with sad Lamentation, For trusty old Titus, thy Saviour oth Nation.
VI. See the Rabble all round me in Battel array, Against my wood Castle their Batteries play; With Turnep-Granadoes the Storm is begun, All weapons more mortal than Pickerings screwd Gun: Oh! my Torture begins To punish my Sins, For peeping thro Key-holes, to spy Dukes and Queens! Which makes me to roar out with sad Lamentation, For this tragical Blow to the Saviour oth Nation. VII. A curse on the day, when the Papists to run down, I left buggering at Omers, to swear Plots at London; And oh my dear Friends! tis a damnable hard case, To think how theyll pepper my sanctifyd Carcass; Were my Skin but as tough, As my Conscience of Buff, Let em pelt their Heart-bloods, Id hold out well enough[;] But oh these sad Buffets of Mortification, To maul the poor Hide of the Saviour oth Nation. VIII. Had the Parliament sate till theyd once more but put Three Kingdoms into the Geneva old Cut, With what Homage and Duty to Titus in Glory, Had the worshipping Saints turnd their Bums up before me: But oh the poor Stallion, Alamode de Italian, To be futred at last like an English Rascallion. Oh mourn all ye Brethren of th Association, To see this sad Fate of the Saviour oth Nation. IX. Coud I once but get loose from these troublesom Tackles, A pocky stone Doublet, and plaguy steel Shackles, Id leave the damnd Tories, and to do myself justice, Id en go a mumping with my honest Friend Eustace. Little Commyns and Oats, In two Pilgrim Coats, Wed truss our black Bills up, and all our old Plots; Wed leave the base World all for their damnd rude Behavi-ours To two such heroick true Protestant Saviours. X. But alack and a day! the worst is behind still, Which makes me fetch Groans that woud en turn a Wind-mill Were the Pillory all, I should never be vext, But oh to my sorrow the Gallows comes next; To my doleful sad Fate, I find tho too late, To this Collar of Wood comes a hempen Crevat; Which makes me thus roar out with sad Lamentation, To think how theyll truss up the Saviour oth Nation.
Printed for G.C. and sold by Randal Taylor near Stationers-Hall, 1685.