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‹‹‹ prev (354) Page 330Page 330Whig upon whig; or, A pleasant dismal song upon the old plotters newly found out

(356) next ››› Page 332Page 332Eustace Comines, the Irish evidence, his farewell to England

(355) Page 331 -
JACOBITE SONGS. 831
Are all run deil knows where,
'Cause stay they dare not here,
To fix the grand affair.
hone ! hone !
Juries, alas ! are thus,
hone ! hone !
There's no Ignoramus,
hone ! hone !
But you'll have justice done
To every mother's son,
And be hang'd one by one,
hone ! hone !
Now how like fools we look !
hone ! hone !
Had we not better took
hone ! hone !
Unto our trades and wives,
And have kept in our hives.
Which might have sav'd our lives ?
hone ! hone !\
The king he says that all
hone ! hone !
That are found guilty shall
hone ! hone !
Die by the axe or rope,
As some died for the Pope.
Brethren, there is no hope.
hone ! hone I
The Tories now will drink
hone ! hone !
The king's health with our clink,
hone ! hone !
Queen, duke, and duchess too,
And all the loyal crew,
Brethren, adieu ! adieu !
hone ! hone !

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