%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> A SATYR upon the French King, / Written by a Non-Swearing Parson, and drop'd out of / his Pocket at Samm's Coffee-House. / Facit indignatio Versum. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer ?-? Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 06/24/2014 32727

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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

R40635 AND hast thou left Old JEMMY in the Lurch? / A plague confound the Doctors of thy Church. Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 75 A SATYR upon the French King, / Written by a Non-Swearing Parson, and drop'd out of / his Pocket at Samm's Coffee-House. / Facit indignatio Versum. A SATYR upon the French King, Written by a Non-Swearing Parson, and drop'd out of his Pocket at Samm's Coffee-House. Facit indignatio Versum. A SATYR upon the French King, Written by a Non-Swearing Parson, and dropped out of his Pocket at Sam's Coffee House. Facit indignatio Versum. ?-?

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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 Featured 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 6/24/2014 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America affliction/ health country/ nation religious figures Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 6/24/2014 12:24:02 PM XBallad Chow, Jeremy Created XML Version of Ballad 6/24/2014 12:24:02 PM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/24/2014 12:24:02 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/24/2014 12:24:02 PM Transcriptionist Two Oberlander, Lindsay Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/24/2014 12:24:02 PM Transcriptionist One Rendt, Ariel Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/21/2013 Checker William Hildalgo Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 4/1/2013 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 12/8/2012 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 12/17/2012 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/24/2012 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/5/2012 Bibliographer Shannon Meyer Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="bold"><hi rend="italic">A</hi></hi> <hi rend="italic">SATYR <hi rend="bold">upon the</hi> French <hi rend="bold">King,</hi></hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Written by a Non-Swearing Parson, and drop'd out of</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">his Pocket at <hi rend="bold">Samm's</hi> Coffee-House.</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">Facit indignatio Versum.</hi></hi></seg>
AND hast thou left Old JEMMY in the Lurch? A plague confound the Doctors of thy Church. Then to abandon poor Italian Molly, That I' had' the firking of thy Bumm with Holly! Next to discard the Virtuous Prince of Wales, How suits this with the Honour of Versailes? Fourthly, and Lastly, to renounce the Turks, Why, this is the Devil, the Devil, and all his Works. Were I thy Confessor, who am thy Martyr, Dost think that I'de allow thee any Quarter, No------ thou shoudst find what 'tis to be a Starter. Lord! with what monstrous Lies, and senseless Shamms, Have we been cullied all a-long at Samms. Who cou'd have e're believ'd, unless in Spite, Lewis le Grand wou'd turn rank Williamite? Thou, that hast Look'd so fierce, and Talk'd so bigg, In thy Old Age to dwindle to a Whigg, By Heaven, I see thou'rt in thy heart a Prigg. I'de not be for a Million in thy Jerkin, 'Fore George thy Soul's no bigger than a Gerkin. Hast thou for this spent so much Ready Rhino? Now, what the Plague will become of Jure Divino? A Change so monstrous I cou'd ne're have thought, Though Partridge all his Stars to vouch it, brought, S'life, I'le not take thy Honour for a Groat. Ev'n Oaths, with thee, are only things of Course, Thou 'Zoons, thou art a Monarch for a Horse. Of Kings distress'd thou [a]rt a fine Securer, Thou make'st me Swear, that am a known Non-Juror. But tho' I swear thus, as I said before, Know, King, I'le place it all upon thy Score. Were Job alive, and banter'd by such Shufflers, He'd out-rail Oats, and Curse both thee and Boufflers. For thee I've lost, if I can rightly scann 'em, Two Livings worth full Eightscore Pounds per Annum, Bonae, & legalis Angliae Monetae, But now I'm clearly routed by the Treaty. Then Geese and Pigs my Table ne're did fail, And Tyth-Eggs merrily flew in like hail, My Barns with Corn, my Cellars cramm'd with Alo. The Dice are chang'd, for now, as I'm a sinner, The Devil, for me, knows where to buy a Dinner. I might as soon, tho' I were ne're so willing, Raise a whole Troop of Horse, as one poor Shilling. My Spouse, Alass; must flaunt in Silks no more, Pray Heaven, for Sustenance, she turn not Whore; And Daughter Peggy too, in time, I fear, Will learn to take a Stone up in her Ear. My Friends have basely left me with my place, What's worse, my very Pimples bilk my face. And frankly my Condition to disclose, I most resent th' ungratitude of my Nose, On which tho' I have spent of Wine such store, It now looks paler than my Tavern score.
My double Chin's dismantled, and my Coat is Past its best days, in Verbo Sacerdotis. My Breeches too this morning, to my wonder, I found grown Schismatics, and fallen assunder. When first I came to Town with Houshold-Clogg, Rings, Watch, and so forth, fairly went for Progg. The Ancient Fathers next, in whom I boasted, Were soon exchang'd for primitive Boil'd and Roasted. Since 'tis no Sin of Books to be a Glutton, I truck'd St. Austin for a Leg of Mutton. Old Jeroms Volumes next I made a Rape on, And melted down that Father for a Capon. When these were gone, my Bowels not to balk, I trespass'd most enormously in Chalk. But long I had not Quarter'd upon Tick, E're Christian Faith, I found, grew monstrous sick: And now, Alass! when my starv'd Entrails croke, At Partner How's I Dine and Sup on Smoke. In fine, the Government may do its Will, But I'm afraid my Guts will Grumble still. Dennis, of Sicily, as Books relate, Sir, When he was tumbled from the Regal State, Sir, (Which, by the by, I hope will be your Fate, Sir,) And his good Subjects left him in the lurch, Turn'd Pedagogue, and Tyranniz'd in Birch: Tho' thus the Spark was taken a pegg lower, Some feeble signs of his old State he bore, And Reign'd o're Boys, that Govern'd Men before. For thee I wish some Punishment that worse is, Since then thou 'hast spoil'd my Prayers, now hear my Curses. May thy Affairs (for so I wish by Heavens) All the World o're at Sixes ly and Sevens. May Conti be imposs'd on by the Primate, And forc'd, in hast, to leave the Northern Climate: May he rely upon their Faith, and try it, And have his Bellyfull of the Polish Dyet. May Maintenon, tho' thou so long hast kept her, With Brand-Venereal singe thy Royal Scepter. May all the Poets, that thy Fame have scatter'd, Un-god thee now, and Damn what once they flatter'd. The Pope, and Thou, be never Cater Cosins, And Fistula's thy Arse-hole seize by Dozens. Thus far in Jest; but now, to pin the basket, Mayst thou to England come, of Jove I ask it, Thy wretched Fortune, Lewis, there to prop, I hope thou'lt in the Fryars take a shop. Turn Puny-Barber there, bleed lousy Carmen, Cut Corns for Chimney-Sweepers, and such Vermin, Be forc'd to Trimm (for such I'me sure thy Fate is,) Thy own Hugonots, and Us Non-Jurors, gratis. May Savoy likewise with thee hither pack, And carry a Raree-Show upon his back. May all this happen, as I've put my Pen to't, And may all Christian People say Amen to't.
London, Printed for Will. Jac-about, in the Year of Peace.