A New collections of songs and poems by Thomas D'Urfey ...
D'Urfey, Thomas, 1653-1723.
Tony: A Ballad made occasionally by reading a late Speech made by a Noble PEER.
LET Oliver now be forgotten, his Policy's quite of doors,
Let Bradshaw and Hewson lye rotting like Sons of Phanatical Whores:
For Tony's grown a Patrician,
By Voting damn'd Sedition,
For many years fam'd Polititian;
The mouth of all Presbyter Peers.
Tony a Turncoat at Worcester,
Yet swore hee'd maintain the Kings right,
But Tony did swagger and bluster,
And never drew Sword on his side:
For Tony like an Old Stallian,
Had still the Pox of Rebellion,
And never was sound
Like a Camelion,
Still changing both his shape and his ground.
Old Rowley return'd (heaven bless him)
From exile and danger set free,
Sly Tony made hast to address him,
And swore none so Loyal as he:
The King that knew him a Traytor,
And saw him squint like a Satyr,
Yet through his Grace
Pardon'd the matter,
And gave him since the Purse and the Mace.
And now little Chancellor Tony,
With honour has feather'd his Wing,
And careful scrap't up the Money,
But never a Groat for the King:
But Tony's luck was confounded,
The Duke soon smoakt him a Round-head,
From head to heel
Tony was sounded;
And Y—k soon put a spoke in his Wheel.
But Tony that frets in his Passion,
Like Boy that has netled his breech,
Did late in the house take occasion
To make a most delicate speech:
He told the King like a Croney,
If e're he hope't to have Money
He must be Rul'd, Oh fine Tony!
Was ever Potent Monarch so school'd?
The King Issues forth Proclamation,
By Learned and Loyal Advice,
But Tony declares to the Nation,
The Council will never be wise:
For Tony Rayles at the Papist,
Yet is himself an Atheist,
Though so precize
Sneaking and Apish:
Like holy Quack or Priest in disguise.
But destiny shortly will cross it,
For Tony grows Gowty and Sick,
In spite of his Spiggot and Fawset,
The Statesman must go to Old Nick:
Yet Tony's madder and madder,
And M—blows like a Bladder,
And others too,
Who grow gladder,
That they Great Y—k are like to undo.
But now let this Rump of the Law see
A Maxime, and so we will part,
Who e're with his Prince is so sawcy,
'Tis fear'd is a Traytor in's heart:
Then Tony cease to be Witty,
By buzzing Treason i'th City,
And love the King,
So ends my ditty:
Or else may'st thou swing like a dog in a string.