By Alex. Brome.
NOW fare thee well, London,
Thou next must be undone,
’Cause thou hast undone us before;
This cause and this tyrant
Had never play’d this high rant
Were’t not for thy _argent d’or_.
Now we must desert thee,
With the lines that begirt thee,
And the red-coated saints domineer;
Who with liberty fool thee,
While a monster doth rule thee,
And thou feel’st what before thou didst fear.
Now justice and freedom,
With the laws that did breed ’em,
Are sent to Jamaica for gold,
And those that upheld ’em
Have power but seldom,
For justice is barter’d and sold.
Now the Christian religion
Must seek a new region,
And the old saints give way to the new;
And we that are loyal
Vail to those that destroy all,
When the Christian gives place to the Jew.
But this is our glory,
In this wretched story
Calamities fall on the best;
And those that destroy us
Do better employ us,
To sing till they are supprest.