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No ſcounderal can wich I'm compare!
Nor conicience there in him does dwell!
His like in a world is rare!
Say traitor where does thou now ſtray?
O! tell me where proud James doth feed?
It in Holy Rude-Houſe at play?
Or has he fled off with his ſteed?
Altho' his ſanctiouſly polite,
To weep and act the hypocrite,
And ſeem repenting,
It's but the effect of his fears,
And like the Crocodile's feign’d tear's,
He now is venting.
Indeed me thinks his outward deeds,
For what he's done much penance needs,
In what accus'd,
That king of bankrupts he might reign,
The Abbey (ſome ſay) he did gain,
Nor was refus'd,
Now Sandy! e'en juſt take your cafe,
Let every ane another teaze,
And uſe their ſkill,
You may defend yourſelf as chief;
And live ſecure as any thief,
Into a Mill.
I think I hear him ſay "juſt ſo,
Let a the Rabble ſharc the blow,
I care na by,
I've kept the ſecret, gaind the point!
Come bring a glass, and roſt a joint;
I've gaind the pye.
It's bad wind blows no body good,
I'll live upon the beſt of food:
Come mull ſome wine.
Bring Mackral! Fowls and rottet meat,
This Alexander great, in ſtate
That now muſt dine.
