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england_n king_n lord_n parliament_n 19,882 5 6.8393 4 true
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ID Title Author Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) STC Words Pages
A42617 The Geneva ballad to the tune of 48. 1674 (1674) Wing G516; ESTC R40475 1,272 1

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The GENEVA BALLAD To the Tune of 48. OF all the Factions in the Town Mov'd by French Springs or Flemish Wheels None treads Religion upside down Or tears Pretences out at heels Like Splay-mouth with his brace of Caps Whose Conscience might be scan'd perhaps By the Dimensions of his Chaps He whom the Sisters so adore Counting his Actions all Divine Who when the Spirit hints can roar And if occasion serves can whine Nay he can bellow bray or bark Was ever sike a Beuk-larn'd Clerk That speaks all Lingua's of the Ark. To draw in Proselytes like Bees With pleasing Twang he tones his Prose He gives his Hand-kerchief a squeez And draws John Calvin through his Nose Motive on Motive he obtrudes With Slip-stocking Similitudes Eight Uses more and so concludes When Monarchy began to bleed And Treason had a fine new name When Thames was balderdash'd with Tweed And Pulpits did like Beacons flame When Jeroboam's Calves were rear'd And Laud was neither lov'd nor fear'd This Gospel-Comet first appear'd Soon his unhallowed Fingers strip'd His Sov'reign Liege of Power and Land And having smote his Master slip'd His Sword into his Fellows hand But he that wears his Eyes may note Oftimes the Butcher binds a Goat And leaves his Boy to cut her Throat Poor England felt his Fury then Out-weigh'd Queen Mary's many grains His very Preaching slew more men Than Bonner's Faggots Stakes and Chains With Dog-star Zeal and Lungs like Boreas He fought and taught and what 's notorious Destroy'd his Lord to make him Glorious Yet drew for King and Parlement As if the Wind could stand North-South Broke Moses's Law with blest intent Murther'd and then he wip'd his mouth Oblivion alters not his case Nor Clemency nor Acts of Grace Can blanch an Aethiopian's Face Ripe for Rebellion he begins To rally up the Saints in swarms He bauls aloud Sirs leave your Sins But whispers Boys stand to your Arms Thus he 's grown insolently rude Thinking his Gods can't be subdu'd Money I mean and Multitude Magistrates he regards no more Than St. George or the Kings of Colen Vowing he 'l not conform before The Old-wives wind their Dead in Woollen He calls the Bishop Grey-beard Goff And makes his Power as mere a Scoff As Dagon when his Hands were off Hark! how he opens with full Cry Halloo my Hearts beware of ROME Cowards that are afraid to die Thus make domestick Broils at home How quietly Great CHARLES might reign Would all these Hot-spurs cross the Main And preach down Popery in Spain The starry Rule of Heaven is fixt There 's no Dissension in the Sky And can there be a Mean betwixt Confusion and Conformity A Place divided never thrives 'T is bad where Hornets dwell in Hives But worse where Children play with Knives I would as soon turn back to Mass Or change my Phrase to Thee and Thou Let the Pope ride me like an Ass And his Priests milk me like a Cow As buckle to Smectymnuan Laws The bad effects o' th' Good Old Cause That have Dove's Plumes but Vultur's Claws For 't was the Haly Kirk that nurs'd The Brownists and the Ranters Crew Foul Errors motly Vesture first Was Oaded in a Northern Blue And what 's th' Enthusiastick breed Or men of Knipperdoling's Creed But Cov'nanters run up to seed Yet they all cry they love the King And make boast of their Innocence There cannot be so vile a thing But may be colour'd with Pretence Yet when all 's said one thing I 'll swear No Subject like th' old Cavalier No Traitor like Jack LONDON Printed for R. Cutler in Little Britain 1674.