OR Bully PIERCE alias A---N the Turncoat.
When Pierce Renegado came first to the Town,
With Olive Complexion and Face upside down,
From Carts-Arse, and Pillory newly set free,
In Treason and Satyre, how rampant was he,
The thoughtless dull Rabble, the Turn-coat carress'd,
And for a keen Verse-wright they thought him the best,
Both Money and Praises he purchast at once
For Treason a Hero, at Satyre a Dunce,
CHORUS. Then what shall be done with this Traitor in grain,
Whom Bridwell or Pillory cannot restrain,
But hang him and twang him,
And strip him and whip him,
And toss him and kick him,
To Tyburn again.
The Coffee-House Crew he amus'd with his Cant,
And cloak't with Religion is held for a Saint
But as Ben said of old, just so may a Goose,
Had I but the holding, I'de soon let him loose
Religion, it's certain, he never had more
Than Rome's wooden Saints which he worship'd before,
For Pierce was a Papist, was high and in place,
He snuff'd and extinguish'd the Candles at Mass.
Then what shall be done, &c.
But A--- for Saintship, now so much in Vogue,
Had tryed all the Doubles and Turns of a Rogue,
Till Hell at the last his Invention supply'd,
And bid him in Legions of Devils confide
For such must they be who promote his designs,
And none but a Rogue will subscribe to his Lines
This Knave of a Brocker, by Hell was insur'd,
By Traytors to Kindle Sedition was hir'd?
Then what shall be done, &c.
Says Lucifer, fear not, my trusty brave Lad,
Of all my best Legions I've made thee the Head
This mighty Conventicle thou shalt undoe,
If Fate but permit, thou shall blow 'em up too,
Then answered Allan, Thanks to my leige Lord,
I feel my Blood revel and leap at the Word,
Inspir'd by my Prince with a Project so rare,
What Hell ever plotted and more too I dare.
Then what shall be done, &c.
To A---n in Fowllers a Story was told
One day when at Dinner, that being so bold,
To lybell the Parliament here in Lampoon,
He had been much Censur'd by many in Town,
As a rash-headie Coxcomb for running so near,
What might be interpreted, Treason ev'n here
And if Mr. Harley should call for the Fop,
Then we must in Justice deliver him up.
Then what shall be done, &c.
The Tydings of Tyburn had made the Rogue start,
And strait from his Breech flew a great Bouncing Fart
Your Musing says F---r, and eat not a bit,
By Jove quoth the Brocker I fear I'm beshit
Come Landlord say Grace, pray make haste let's ha done,
Quick quick Mr. F---r for I must begone,
Marry Fough with your Kins-men the Swine get along,
For Egad Mr. Legion you smell very strong.
Then what shall be done, &c.
Now dear blundering Pierce, prithee tell me for once,
What made thee expose thy self so like a Dunce?
Coud'st thou not consider thou poor silly Dron,
By lessning my parts, thou Burlesqu'd, but thy own,
Thy Topicks are still but a Jilt and a Whore,
Thy Crimes are call'd Legion, a Million and more,
Yet the impudent Swine still upbraids me with Sluts,
Farewell Renegado the Dee'l peirce your Guts.
Then what shall be done with this Traitor in grain,
Whom Bridwell or Pillory cannot restrain,
But bang him and twang him,
And strip him and whip him,
And toss him and kick him,
To Tyburn again.
