The Ablution.

SINCE Whigs are of late,

So brisk and elate,

And some of our side so uneasie,

At the news that are told,

I'll a secret unfold,

Which I'm sure must encourage and please ye.

But first you must note,
When Jemmy took boat,
How Providence matters did guide,

Preserving him free,

From all dangers at sea,

For two Proverbs we know of his side.

The end of this story,

I now set before ye,
Is plain to all reason and sense,
That fate does design,

We shall have the right line,

Though many have been in suspense.

Though some have believed,
And some misconceived,
His courage, and been disappointed;
Yet the sequel will show,

That he feared not his foe-
Who can hurt great St Peter's anointed?

Have you never been told,
How Achilles of old,

Was plunged in the river of Styx?

The virtue of which water,

Preserved him thereafter,

From wounds by swords, arrows, or kicks.

This made him so stout,

His en'mies to rout,

That men were afraid to resist him;

But at last he did feel,

A death-wound in the heel,

For there only the liquor had missed him.

Our young hero so,

That to war he might go,

And make without danger much slaughter,
His holiness prayed,

He secure might be made,

By the help of some sanctified water.

"For once, my good son,

This thing shall be done,"

Says the Father; "but first you must strip you;

And then, my dear squire,

We both will retire,

And in holy tub I will dip you."

Then he gave a loud bawl,
And his servants did call,
To bring him a collar of gold;
And with it a rope,

Which our father the Pope,

When he ducked his son Jemmy, might hold.

Round the neck of this king,

With the rope in a ring,

St Peter this collar did tie ;
Then plunged him thrice

In this water most nice;

O, how our young monarch did sigh!

Now sure of success,
He straightway did dress,
Then thanking the head of the church,
Went to Scotland in speed,

To his friends in much need,

Who fear'd they'd been left in the lurch.

Now glad they did seem,

As if roused from a dream;
And when he the tale did disclose,
They returned an address,
On his joyful success,

For so happily beating his foes.

So sure they were on't,

As if they had done't,

And when they were told that Argyle

VOL. II.

3 L

APPENDIX.

Was marching to Perth,

They said, with much mirth,

They were sure his designs they would spoil.

But one cloudy day,

As Mar chanced to stray

With his monarch a space from the rest,
Of a sudden he cried,

"An ill omen I've spied,

That foretells we shall sore be distressed.

"Round your royal neck quite,
There's a mark very white,

Which I fear from the water was kept.
Achilles just so,

Though 'twas farther below,

Was in danger of death"-then they wept.

The Raree-show.

ALL loyal men, come zee my vine rary show,

Dat your voes vrom your vriends den you truly may know; In dis box is de vinest zight ever you zaw,

Vor it shows all de willains attainted by law.

Virst dere is valse St John to de life to be zeen,

Who to make a base peace did advise de late Queen,
His country vor monies de knave did betray,
But vor vear ov an halter did zoon run away.

Dat woman vine drest he keeps vor his miss,
She vill give him de itch, vor de magnum ov bliss ;
Widout she zeems shaint, to cover her zin,
But oh! de damn bish be all devil widin.

Zee dere be Shames Butler, who e'er ran in debt,
To make him in all his debauch'ries look great ;
Who de French would not vite, and dere, on my word,
You may zee how de padlock does hang on his sword.

Zee dere is de rebel we once called Mar,

Whose head, was it right should be on Temple Bar;
Zee how like a wagabond Erskine does look,
And his vote now does curse, by bell, candle, and book.

Zee yonder is Nithsdale, who never was good,
What a vigure he makes in his long riding-hood!
Dat vashion dat now is zo much here in vogue
Was de means ov preserving from Marvel a rogue.

Zee dere, zur, dat's Derwentwater, quite dead,
Zee under his arm he does carry his head,
Had dis traitor ven living but had any grace,
His joulter he still had kept on de right place.

Zee dere is anoder rebellious base peer,
Who died, az he zed, a true protestant here,
But vought vor de bastard, de devil, and Pope,
Vor which he deserved not an ax but a rope.

Zee dere de Pretender dat zon of a

Whom none but de mob and de strumpets adore,

Zee how he does zit wid vinger in eye.

And would vor a kingdom not vite, zur, but cry.

Is not dis a knot of willains, I pray,

Who will not deir lawvul zovereign obey?

But ven dey're all hanged, King George he zhall reign,
De dewices ov rebels zhall all prove in wain.

The Raree-show.

HERE be de var pratty zhow vrom Lorrain just brought over; 'Tis bot tragick and comic de machine vill discover.

O raree zhow, &c.

Den vurst me present you vid von var pratty ting,
De bricklayer's zon personating ov de King.
O raree zhow, &c.

Now look on de left hand, and dat vill disclose,
His last brave campaign, and how he dealt vid his voes.
O raree zhow, &c.

Here be de Ormond and Mar dat attend him in ztate,
Who ven dey do crown him sall be made vary great.
O raree zhow, &c.

Here be all de rebels in Newgate and de Tower,
Staring von at denoder most damnably zour.
O raree zhow, &c.

Here be de tory, incog. stand trembling vor vear,
De rebels dat impeach make de treasons appear.
O raree zhow, &c.

Here be de shaints to be zeen who lately died martyrs,
And we zoon will have more made by Shack Ketch's garters.

O raree zhow, &c.

Here be de ten tousand tory, vor King George vid all deir heart, Yet curse all who wish to his voes deir desert.

O raree zhow, &c.

Here be de cabal or de shesuits, taking var great pain,
To shtir up more vool to a shecond campaign.
O raree zhow, &c.