%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> The LYING WHIG / Drawn in his own Colours; / The Whigs who such damnable falshoods devise, / Are true begot Sons of the Father of Lyes. 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 02/29/2016 34839

The University of California makes a claim of copyright only to original contributions made by Early Modern Center participants and other members of the university community. The University of California makes no claim of copyright to the original text. Permission is granted to download, transmit or otherwise reproduce, distribute or display the contributions to this work claimed by The University of California for non-profit educational purposes, provided that this header is included in its entirety. For inquiries about commercial uses, please contact:

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

R39693 1 Packingtons Pound Packington's Pound Packingtons Pound HOw wretched is England above any Nation / E're since the rebellious Whig-reformation! Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 1 The LYING WHIG / Drawn in his own Colours; / The Whigs who such damnable falshoods devise, / Are true begot Sons of the Father of Lyes. The LYING WHIG Drawn in his own Colours; The Whigs who such damnable falshoods devise, Are true begot Sons of the Father of Lyes. The LYING WHIG Drawn in his own Colors; The Whigs who such damnable falsehoods devise, Are true begot Sons of the Father of Lies. ?-?

This document follows the guidelines specified for TEI.

XML Generated Automatically at 2/29/2016 9:11:51 PM Using EMC

XBallad Parsing Engine developed by Carl G Stahmer.

TEI Template developed by Gerald Egan and Modified by Carl Stahmer

All apostrophes are encoded as '.

Any dashs occurring in line breaks have been removed;

All dashs are encoded as ‐ and all em dashes as —.

 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 2/29/2016 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America country/ nation military/ war politics/ government royalty Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 2/29/2016 9:11:51 PM XBallad King, Joyce Created XML Version of Ballad 2/29/2016 9:11:51 PM Transcription Supervisor Palmer, Megan Transcription of ballad manuscript 2/29/2016 9:11:51 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Bell, Erik Transcription of ballad manuscript 2/29/2016 9:11:51 PM Transcriptionist Two Adkison, Katie Transcription of ballad manuscript 2/29/2016 9:11:51 PM Transcriptionist One Rice, Sarah Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/4/2015 Checker Rachel LevinsonEmley Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 2/10/2016 Checker Katie Adkison Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 12/3/2014 Bibliographer Kristen McCants Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 11/5/2015 Checker Erik Bell Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The LYING WHIG</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Drawn in his own Colours;</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">The Whigs who such damnable falshoods devise,</hi></hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="bold"><hi rend="italic">Are true begot Sons of the</hi> Father of Lyes.</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">To the Tune of</hi> Packingtons Pound. this may be Printed <hi rend="bold">R.LS.</hi></hi></seg>
I. HOw wretched is England above any Nation E're since the rebellious Whig-reformation. The Gospel our Faith did formerly guide, But it would not with Traytors principles side: When other Grounds needed, The Whig-lyes succeeded, And by the Saint-party are equally heeded: These carry on cleverly the Good old Cause In spight of all Truth, Religion and Laws. II. The Heads of the Party first met in Caball Coyn Lyes, and then toss them about like a Ball; The rabble to fright, or keep them in mettle, For fear they should to the King's Government settle: As soon as come out They spread them about By Gossips and Block-heads 'mongst the rabble rout, which they blindly credit, and each silly Soul Drinks poysonous Treason by swallowing them whole. III. No more holy Bibles now Printed must be, Says Whig, though the contrary daily we see; The City must fall by Cannon or Fire Or Massacres none but themselves do conspire: Thus the rabble they ply With many a damn'd lye, That desperate grown they may rise at their cry. Their merciful Soveraign thus they traduce, And his Generosity daily abuse. IV. What Prophesies did the King's Crowning fore-run, Assuring us sadly't should never be done! The Drum in Well-bottom did sound the same tone, And under St. James's was heard many a groan; Nay Spright was seen there, To put folks in fear, Which n'er but before a Kings death did appear; All which blaz'd about by the busiy Whig-Elves, Show plain they intended to kill him themselves. V. King Charles, whose mild soul no malice could move These Whigs summon'd down from Heaven above; His errand contrived was on the best fashion, To usher in Perkin's foul-mouth'd Declaration: While he was alive The Villains did strive Of life with a Blunderbuss him to deprive: And now that with Happiness his Soul is blest, These Sorcerers will not allow his Ghost rest. VI. Brave Albemarle, as we were told without erring, Was certainly kill'd as dead as a Herring; His Corps brought near [?] Coffin bespoke And the Ground for [?] broke; [?]e: [?]d [?]
None must trust their Eyes In their Mysteries, These infalliable Coxcombs can never tell lyes What e're they hold forth to the Whig-ridden rabble Is sure as their Faith and made current by babble. VIII. Argyle, that Arch-Traytor, half Scotland had won Crys Whig, when his party was utterly undone: His Armey did full forty thousand contain, When the run-away Rebel alone did remain; Though beat and forsaken He could not be taken, Nay now his Head's off they to life him awaken. So all the Whig says must backwards be read, Argyle is still living and Albermarl's dead. IX. This Bully your Id'ot, that small man of might, With three hundred men would kill all out-right: His invincible Army was fifteen mile long, And full fifty thousand in number was strong; Nay when he was beat They tell us that yet At Chester he has twenty thousand compleat: But sure now Jack Catch has chopt off his head, At length you'l believe your great Hector is dead. X. You thought your grand Worthies so valiant and brave They'd dye in the Field e'r their party they'd leave; But Gray's matchless valour, his friends all forsaken Was in a vile habit rediculously taken, And Monmoueh was such He did not think much To run from the battle, and lurk in a Ditch; And dye on a Scaffold in shamfulest manner, Rather than in the Field. the bed of Honnour. XI. You obstinate Whigs at length open your Eeys, See how the Worlds Soveraign Rebellion defys! Consider what Providences daily meet, Our Kings to protect, and your Plots to defeat. What e're you contrive It never can thrive, And all your attempts 'gainst the stream do but strive; Then give God the Glory, fall to your Vocation, That Trade may inrich, and Peace bless our Nation XII. Behold our great King like the glorious Son In full lustre shines while your Meteor falls down: Three thousand of his, to curb your vain boast, Has beaten your Rebels invincible host: He's generous and brave Weak Penitents to save, But obstinate Ring-leaders Justice must have: Crave mercy and leave your lyes fram'd to affright The Nation distracted, and do the Truth right. XIII. And all you good people, at length for mere shame Your thoughts so abused [?]ours reclai[?] Be [?] this cheat[?] still [?] [?]