Dr. Oats laſt Farewell to
England
He went on Ship-board upon Sunday laſt, with fourſcore Buros to Attend his Sir-Reverence to Stom-Bola; where he’s a going to be Mufty to the Grand Turk.
A Song To the Tune of the Loyal Conqueſt or Law lies a bleeding,
Farewell to London,
To Trenchard, and Hamdan,
I have ſwore my Plotting Jump away
Poor Lying Oats is undon.
My Bums now do ſlight me,
That uſed to delight me;
For when I come full charg’d, at them,
Like ſqualling Cats they fight me:
For Peaching, and Teaching,
For Blaſphemy, and Preaching
I like a Rogue muſt Run away,
And Damn’d for over Reaching.
To Trenchard, and Hamdan,
I have ſwore my Plotting Jump away
Poor Lying Oats is undon.
My Bums now do ſlight me,
That uſed to delight me;
For when I come full charg’d, at them,
Like ſqualling Cats they fight me:
For Peaching, and Teaching,
For Blaſphemy, and Preaching
I like a Rogue muſt Run away,
And Damn’d for over Reaching.
Oh! how things are alter’d,
Since Jeſuits I Halter’d,
Since Tap, and I did foil the Crown,
How all our Plots have faulter’d;
My Clyſter-pipe is Lowering,
And ſtinks for want of Scowering;
I muſt for Turky ſteer my Courſe,
And preach up, down-right Whoring:
For Peaching, and Teaching, &c.
Since Jeſuits I Halter’d,
Since Tap, and I did foil the Crown,
How all our Plots have faulter’d;
My Clyſter-pipe is Lowering,
And ſtinks for want of Scowering;
I muſt for Turky ſteer my Courſe,
And preach up, down-right Whoring:
For Peaching, and Teaching, &c.
Bedlow now is Rotten,
And Dugdal is forgotten,
My Plotting-Trade is at an end,
All our Cabals are broken;
Our Credit ſtill is ſmaller,
Like Braſen Prance the Bauler;
There’s near a Turk in all the Town,
Dares cry out for a Waller:
For Peaching, and Teaching, &c.
And Dugdal is forgotten,
My Plotting-Trade is at an end,
All our Cabals are broken;
Our Credit ſtill is ſmaller,
Like Braſen Prance the Bauler;
There’s near a Turk in all the Town,
Dares cry out for a Waller:
For Peaching, and Teaching, &c.
Tom and Gray in Trenches
For Treaſon ſmall offences,
I ſqueake about, to find ’em out,
In holes amongſt the Wenches;
His Grace, did I but fear him,
I’d pawn my Jump to clear him,
He’s claſpt ſo cloſe in Venus Arms,
No Mortal can come near him,
For Peaching, and Teaching, &c.
For Treaſon ſmall offences,
I ſqueake about, to find ’em out,
In holes amongſt the Wenches;
His Grace, did I but fear him,
I’d pawn my Jump to clear him,
He’s claſpt ſo cloſe in Venus Arms,
No Mortal can come near him,
For Peaching, and Teaching, &c.
My God Mahomet tells me,
Their ſtill in Town, and will be,
Like curſed Cain I muſt turn out,
If here I ſtay, they’l hang me;
Was ever poor Impoſter,
Expos’d to more Diſaſter,
I often think to hang my ſelf,
To pleaſe Old-Nick, my Maſter:
For Peaching, and Teaching, &c.
Their ſtill in Town, and will be,
Like curſed Cain I muſt turn out,
If here I ſtay, they’l hang me;
Was ever poor Impoſter,
Expos’d to more Diſaſter,
I often think to hang my ſelf,
To pleaſe Old-Nick, my Maſter:
For Peaching, and Teaching, &c.
I Thouſands have jayled,
And ſcorn’d they ſhould be Bayled,
Swore men to Death, I never ſaw,
That Magick now has failed.
The Lords in the Tower,
I had ’em once ſecure,
Laſt Parliament looſing the heat,
My Oath has loſt its power:
For Peaching, and Teaching, &c.
And ſcorn’d they ſhould be Bayled,
Swore men to Death, I never ſaw,
That Magick now has failed.
The Lords in the Tower,
I had ’em once ſecure,
Laſt Parliament looſing the heat,
My Oath has loſt its power:
For Peaching, and Teaching, &c.
Since firſt, I did diſcover,
My Prayers I near ſaid over,
I took my leave of Jeſus Chriſt
E’re I came from St. Omer;
Nought but Ghoſts and Quarters,
Of mangled Prieſts and Martyrs,
Appears before my eyes at nights
And men Ty’d up in Halters,
For Peaching, and Teaching, &c.
My Prayers I near ſaid over,
I took my leave of Jeſus Chriſt
E’re I came from St. Omer;
Nought but Ghoſts and Quarters,
Of mangled Prieſts and Martyrs,
Appears before my eyes at nights
And men Ty’d up in Halters,
For Peaching, and Teaching, &c.
Farewell to White-Hall,
Where Guards did me Attend all;
And when they did not pleaſe me well,
I wiſht ’em hang’d and damn’d all,
My Ten Pounds a Week too,
’Zſounds now tis all Due,
Fiends and Furies help me Too’t
Or for the Plot i'll hang you:
For Peaching, and Teaching,
For Blaſphemy, and Preaching
I like a Rogue muſt Run away,
And Damn’d for over Reaching.
Where Guards did me Attend all;
And when they did not pleaſe me well,
I wiſht ’em hang’d and damn’d all,
My Ten Pounds a Week too,
’Zſounds now tis all Due,
Fiends and Furies help me Too’t
Or for the Plot i'll hang you:
For Peaching, and Teaching,
For Blaſphemy, and Preaching
I like a Rogue muſt Run away,
And Damn’d for over Reaching.
Finis.
London, Printed for J. Dean, Bookſeller in Cranburn-ſtreet, in Leiceſter-Fields, near Newport-Houſe.
