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Jacobite Songs 255
Chose rather thus to Murder'd be,
Than see their Rights Enslav'd.
He strove for their Invaded State,
From Brunswick's curst Arrival ;
Who proves their Emblem of ill Fate,
In Noll's and Will's Revival.
Behold I touch the Mournful Lyre,
Whose gentle Strings Impart,
(As first my Grief did them inspire)
Their Trembling to my Heart.
My Muse, all wreath'd in baleful Yew,
No Laurel Green shall wear ;
Thus is England's falling Church to me,
Whilst Whiggs the Triumph bear.
Townshend and Wake that drew him in,
His Errors to recall ;
Now like malicious Serpents, grin,
And Triumph in his Fall.
Deceit may Townshend's Nature be ;
'
In Wake, 'tis Gain's Creation,
'Cause, like the Crown, his Holy See,
Is but an Usurpation.
Tho' Paul in Fear did thus Recant,
Having his King deny'd ;
Like Peter, he return'd the Saint,
And an Apostle Dy'd.
And tho' Abjuring Oaths he took,
To our Usurping Tarter ;
Like Saul the Cause he thus forsook,
To be like Paul the Martyr.
His Dying Words with Truth did Shine ;
Himself, he did desire,
Should be his Monumental Shrine,
On every Church's Spire.
From thence, tho' Dead, he'd still relate,
For Faith his Life Surrender ;
By Mercy of its Guardian State,
And Merciful Defender.
And if the Sun had chanc'd to taint,
And chang'd him Black to view ;
Still their dark Deeds he'd Represent,
In Ecciesiastick Hue.