Must hire Tom D'urfey to make a smart Song, Where, where, as in a glass, They'll see plainly each face; Lyrick, and Crambo, to vy el de Gambo, Would soon sing, &c.
Thus mighty Sir, thus finishing all,
Sing, sing vive le Roy; I wish you long Life, and your Fame to extol, And sing vive le Roy: You'd throw down Mardyke, and you'd build up Whitehall, Hark, hark Muses on high, Chant loud Carols of Joy: Britain's Reliever, Reign o're us for ever, And long, long vive le Roy, Long, long vive le Roy.
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A New Song on the late Peace, and the present turn of Times. The Words made to a pretty Playhouse Tune.
NOw some Years are gone,
Since you saw Apollo smiling,
Britain's cares exiling;
When the Dove was flown:
To crop the Branch, the sign of Peace,
Then flew o're the Nation,
A Royal Proclamation;
Human gore,
Should flow no more,
Nor Crimson o're,
The Flemish shore:
All hated feuds abroad, should ever cease,
