The Loyal Conquest (1683, J. Dean 1)

by anon

For other versions of this work, see The Loyal Conquest.

The Loyal Conquest
Or, Destruction of Treason,
A Song

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To the Tune of, Lay by your Pleading, the Law ly’s a Bleeding.

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Now Loyal Tories
May Tryumph in Glories,
The Fatal Plot is now betray’d,
The Rest were Shams and Stories.
Now against Treason,
We have Law and Reason;
And e’ry Bloody Whigg must go,
To Pot in Time and Season.
 No Shamming, nor Flamming,
 No Ramming, nor Damming,
 No Ignoramus Jury’s now,
 For Whiggs, but only Hanging.

II.
 Look a little farther,
Place things in order,
Those that seek to Kill their King,
Godfrey might Murther.
Now they’r Detected,
By Heaven Neglected;
In black dispair cut their Throats,
Thus Pluto’s Work’s effected.
 No Shamming, nor Flamming, &c.

III.
 Catch grows in Passion,
And fears this New Fashion;
Lest e’ry Traytor hang himself,
And spoyle his best Profession.
Tho’ four in a Morning
Tyburn Adorning;
He Cryes out for a Score a time,
To get his Men their Learning.
 No Shamming, nor Flamming, &c.

IV.
 Now we have sounded
The bottom which confounded,
Our Plotting Parliament of late
Who had our King surrounded.
Hamden and others,
And Trencher were Brothers;
Who were to kill the King and Duke,
And hang us for the Murthers.
 No Shamming, nor Flamming, &c.

V.
 Surprising the Tower
And Court, in an Hour,
And enter at the Traytors Gate,
But was not in their Power.
O now Guards are Doubled,
E’re long they will be Tripled,
The Harmony of Gun and Drum,
Makes Guilty Conscience Troubled.
 No Shamming, nor Flamming, &c.

VI.
 If Grey is Retaken,
The Root o’th’ Plot is shaken,
Russel and the rest Condemn’d,
The Bleeding Cause to waken.
Monmouth in Town still
With Armstrong his Council;
The Lady G— may find him out,
Under some Smock or Gown Still.
 No Shamming, nor Flamming, &c.

VII.
 Give ’em no Quarter,
They Aim at Crown and Garter,
They’re of that Bloody Regiment,
That made their King a Martyr.
Leave none to breed on,
They’d make us to bleed on;
They are the bloody’st Caniballs
That ever man did Read on.
 No Shamming, nor Flamming,
 No Ramming, nor Damming,
 No Ignoramus Jury’s now,
 For Whiggs, but only Hanging.

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London Printed for J. Dean, 1683.