Loyal poems and satyrs upon the times since the beginning of the Salamanca plot written by several hands ; collected by M.T.

On the Loyal Apprentices FEAST.

THe buisy Town grew still, and Trait'rous Whigs Had lately chang'd their Looks & Periwigs, Lest Envy's Face behind, and Sniv'ling Cant, And Hectors turn'd, with Loyalists to Rant. I know not which it was, whether They thought Some Conventicling Whores might there be brought

By strict Devotion to meet a BROTHER; Or whether 'twas they Scented out some other Warm Zealous Game, as Pasty, Pudding-Pie, Not Superstitious now, if WHIG be by. But somthing 'twas made Godly'st Men o'th'Nation Back-slide a little now for Recreation; And here's a Penitential Psalm of One That tells his BRETHREN what Himself has done At LOTAL-FEAST in MERCHNT-TAYLORS-HALL 'Mongst Coxcomb-Lords, and Worshippers of BAAL; Whither Foolish KING, and PRINCES too had sent Fat BƲCKS, in Sacrifice to IDOLS meant. Yet 'mongst such Fools a WHIG can Eat and Drink, Whilst H'one thing Speaks, and doth another Think. He in Deceit can mannage cunning slight; Not so the Tories, they must be downright, And naturally are so to all Mens sight. But Whigs with Reservation Speak and Write, And far out-do the greatest Jesuite. Well; Fools we must be then, the Whigs will have For their dear selves the other Sir-name, Knave. Then let them hav't, well give the Devil's due, Whig earns it better than Papist, Turk, or Jew: 'Tis but re-counting in PHANATICK strain The foulest Crimes, and then they're SAINT again. A FALLEN STAR to day, perhaps to morrow May shine like LƲCIFER, and from him borrow A brand or two of his Infernal LIGHT, T'intoxicate poor people in the Night.

New Lights, and new Discoveries they bring, Dark-Lanthorn-Counsels how to 'buse the King; Make every thing Ridiculous appear, That pleases HIM, or any LOYAL PEER. The ROYAL FAM'LY's but a Popish Crew, And Doctor Crape-Gowns are all Papists too; A puny Pray'rs the best thing they can tell ye, Whilest their Devotion's fix'd upon their Belly: Loyal ADDRESSES, and ABHORRENCES, (Quoth Turn-Coat Whig) are sottish Flatteries; The KING delights in Parasites, we see, And none but Fools can in His Favour be; Dissolving Parliaments deserves Damnation, For keeping Publick Justice from the Nation; And th' Godly Persecuted. 'Lass! 'tis worse Than Tyranny, or Arbitrary Force. Popery is come already! Where be we? Brethren, stand fast in Christian Liberty. See how the Loval Beagles of the Town Flock from their Shops, t'adore the Idol CROWN. Those filly Curs, that sometimes us'd to help's, And foll'w our keen Rebellious Bloud-hound Whelps, They're now declaring for the ROYAL CAUSE, Think KINGLY BLOUD too Sacred for our Jaws. Help now or never, Baxter, Curtis, Care, And all True Patriots of our Holy War; The KING and COVRT can't be more odious made, Strike now; strike home, or all our PLOT's betraid. Thus far the Whigs; For here the True Sence lies Of all their Libels, Rhithmes, and Forgeries;

And yet they're LOYAL still; But ye must know 'Tis with a Mental Reservation though, As Brother Poet has at last confest; Who, if he'd hid This Truth, had spoil'd his Jest. Ay, we've experienc'd well what LOYALTY Since Forty One, his Brethren brood and he Are like to shew; which makes us think, and say, Old Nick's as True, and Loyal too, as They. But YOU, Brave Loyal YOƲTHS (that Fools & Fops Are nick-nam'd by the Rebel-Rout) Your shops Shall be Protected, by the Sov'reign Charms Of CHARLES and YORK, and their Victorious Arms; With Heav'ns assistance, win Your selves Renown, Redeem the Credit of this Ancient Town; Say, LONDON'S 'PRENTICES have done the thing, Joyn'd Zeal to GOD with Duty to the KING.