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A NEW BALLAD UPON The Present Conspiracy OF THE PAPISTS: Sung by BELZEBVB, at a Merry-meeting of the Devils.
I.
COme Brother Devils, with full Bowls
Let us refresh our thirsty souls.
If there be joy in Heaven when men re∣pent;
Why should not we
As merry be,
When thousands to our Regions are sent.
II.
And first let's give unto Christs Vicar
The supremacy o'th' Liquor.
Wee'l drink his health, and may his kingdoms grow;
The farther he
Extends his See,
The larger our dominions are below.
III.
Of Heaven and Hell Popes have the Keys,
And damn or save whom e're they please:
'Tis sign they are our friends, if this be true;
They send toth' Skies
Their enemies,
And let in here only their Popish crue.
IV.
Next to our friends the Priests of Mass.
A Bumper round about shall pass.
As many proselytes to Hell they win,
As we trepan
In tempting man,
By helping to Indulgencies for sin.
V.
Before the day of doom, 'tis said,
We Devils must be bound and layd:
But if the Popish-Priests on earth may dwell,
From tempting we
May well be free;
They'l do more harm than all the arts of Hell.
VI.
Yet after death these Saints are made,
And Divine honour to them's paid:
To them for help the common people cry,
Oramus vos,
Servate nos,
Whilst in these flames they here tormented lye.
VII.
But since the name of Saints they gain,
Who for their Church have felt the pain
Of transitory earthly fires; then sure
Much more that name
The Priests may claim,
Who for their Church eternal flames endure.
VIII.
Oft have I try'd the British-Land
To re-inslave to Romes command.
If in that lesser World I had my hopes,
I'd sing Old Rose,
And fuddle my Nose;
The Universe should quickly be the Popes.
IX.
Early and late what pains I take
For th'Catholick Religion's sake,
Did they but know, me too they'd Canonize:
My Cloven-foot
And Horns they'd put
Among those Reliques that they highest prize.
X.
First to conspire, Guy Faux I mov'd,
Though fatal to himself it prov'd.
After that upwards to the firmament
It could not rent
The Parliament,
Him downwards to this place the Powder sent.
XI.
And at this time to kill the King,
And Popery again to bring,
Many I've tempted; if i'th' first they fail,
A Counterplot
Still they have got,
I hope their next attempt may yet prevail.
XII.
The French are ready to send o're
Their Armies to the British-shore.
To set fresh forces on the English ground
I have again
Perswaded Spain,
Although in eighty-eight their strength it found.
XIII.
The English Papists too I'le Arm,
And they shall rise at the Allarm:
One blow these forces shall together joyn,
If Charles they kill,
I have my will,
Against the Protestants they shall combine.
XIV.
How do I long to see that day,
When Bibles shall be took away,
And Popish Legends in their places laid;
When the Beeds motion
Shall be devotion,
And in an unknown tongue Prayers shall be said.
XV.
With joy I think upon the time,
When Whoring shall be thought no crime;
When Monks and Fryers ev'ry place shall store,
When Marriage all
A sin shall call,
And Images for God they shall adore.
XVI.
But by their own Accomplices
I hear that all detected is.
Th'impeached Traitors into Goal are thrown,
Their Arms are found
Hid underground,
And all their Letters to the King are known.
XVII.
Th'unwelcom news by Staley came,
Who hansel'd Tiburn for the same.
With his own hand, had he been longer lived,
In open day
The King to slay,
Raviliac-like, he says he had contrived.
XVIII.
O that these puny Rogues I'd got.
That did relent, and spoil the Plot:
If it were possible, morecruelty
I would invent
Them to torment,
Than e're was exercis'd on Godfery.
XIX.
But since we can't come at these men,
Let's swinge the rest for trusting them.
Each of you take his tort'ring instrument;
With Hangmans Noose
When life they lose,
On the Conspirators our spleen wee'l vent.
XX.
In the mean while 'tis best, I think,
To make an end of all our drink:
That when they're come, and in the height of pain
Their Teeth they gnash,
And Throats would wash,
Nothing to cool their Tongues may here remain.
FINIS.