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New song call'd The loyal weavers

  A new SONG,

      CALL'd THE

  Loyal Weavers.

IN Oxfordſhire, a famous Town,
For Loyaliſts of great Renown,
Hiſtory doth their Fame record,
For being all of one Accord.

Uſurping Power they ne'er obey,
And firm they ſtand unto this Day,
GREAT GEORGE'S Praiſe they daily ſing,
But none gives Praiſe to JAMES the KING.

No greater Contraſt can e'er be ſeen,
Than Winter SNOW, and Paſtures GREEN,
A Biackſmith's SON, once in this Land,
Held forth a KING, at his Command.

A KING, by Counſel bad advis'd,
Doth by his SUBJECTS grow deſpis'd,
As Doctors oft times give Advice
To take a Pill, but ſet their PRICE.

A SURGEON may provoke a Riot,
But Weavers ſtudy to be quiet,
A PARSON may pretend to read,
A LAWYER may pretend to plead.

But old eſtabliſh'd Laws ſhall ſtand,
For no NEW MAN ſhall rule this Land;
We're Loyal Subjects, Faithful Friends,
love, Juſtice, Honour, are our Ends.

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