The Belgick boar. A new song, to the old tune of Chevy-Chase. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription B06866 of text S123911 in the English Short Title CatalogTextual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 8 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 B06866 Interim Tract Supplement Guide C.20.f.8[26] 99883605 ocm99883605 183232 2240878130

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 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. B06866) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 183232) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books; Tract supplement ; A5:2[23]) The Belgick boar. A new song, to the old tune of Chevy-Chase. 1 sheet ([1] p.). [s.n.], London, : printed in the year MDCXCV. [1695] Verse: "God prosper long our noble King ..." Trimmed. Reproduction of original in the British Library. eng James -- II, -- King of England, 1633-1701 -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. eebo The Belgick boar. A new song, to the old tune of Chevy-Chase. anon 1695 2 1075 1 0 0 0 0 0 9.3 B The rate of 9.3 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the B category of texts with fewer than 10 defects per 10,000 words. 2008-10 Assigned for keying and markup 2008-12 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2009-12 Sampled and proofread 2009-12 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2010-04 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
The BELGICK BOAR. A New SONG , to the Old Tune of Chevy-Chase . GOD prosper long our noble King , Our Hopes and Wishes all ; A fatal Landing late there did , In Devonshire befall . To drive our Monarch from his Throne , Prince Naso took his way : The Babe may rue that 's newly born , The landing at Torbay . The stubborn Tarquin void of Grace , A Vow to Hell does make , To force his Father Abdicate , And then his Crown to take . And eke the Royal Infant-Prince , To seize or drive away ; These Tidings to our Sov'reign came , In Whitehall where he lay . Who unconcern'd at the Report , At first would not believe , That any of his Royal Race Such Mischiefs could conceive . Till Time which ripens all Things , did The Villany disclose ; And of a Nephew and a Son Forg'd out the worst of Foes . Who by Infernal Instinct led , A mighty Fleet prepares , His Father's Kingdom to invade , And fill his Heart with Cares . Our Gracious King desires to know , What his Pretensions were , And how without his Leave , he durst Presume on Landing here . Declaring what was deem'd amiss , Should soon amended be , And whatsoe're should be desir'd , He would thereto agree . And for a speedy Parl'ament , He doth forthwith declare ; The Surly Brute not minding this ; Does to our Coast repair . With several Thousand Belgick Boars , All chosen Rogues for spight , Join'd with some Rebels who from hence And Justice had ta'ne flight . Who arm'd with Malice & with Hopes , Soon threw themselves on Shoar ; Crying , our Religion and our Laws They came for to restore . Then Declarations flew about As thick as any Hail , Which tho no Word was e're made good Did mightily prevail . We must be Papists or be Slaves , Was then the Gen'ral Cry ; But we 'll do any thing to save our Darling Liberty . We 'll all join with a Foreign Prince , Against our Lawful King ; For he from all our fancy'd Fears , Deliverance doth bring . And if what he declares proves true , As who knows but it may ; Were he the Devil of a Prince , We 'll rather him obey . Then our Allegiance let 's cast off , James shall no longer guide us ; And tho' the French would bridle us , None but the Dutch shall ride us . And those who will not join with us , In this Design so brave , Their Houses we 'll pull down or burn , And seize on what they have . These growing Evils to prevent , Our King his Force does bend ; But amongst those he most did trust , He scarce had left one Friend . O how my very Heart does bleed , To think how basely they Who long had eaten Royal Bread Their Master did betray ! And those to whom he 'd been most kind And greatest Favours shown ▪ Appear'd to be the very first Who sought him to Dethrone . O Compton ! Langston ! and the rest Who basely from him ran , Your Names for ever be accurs'd By ev'ry English Man . Proud Tarquin he pursues his Game , And quickly makes it plain , He came not to redress our Wrongs , But England's Crown to gain . And o're his Father's mangled Fame , His Chariot proudly drives , Whilst he , Good Man , altho' in vain , To pacifie him strives . But he ingrateful ! wou'd not hear His Offers tho' so kind , But caus'd the noble Messenger Forthwith to be confin'd . He brings his Nasty Croaking Crew Unto his Father's Gate , Dismist his own , makes them his Guard , Oh dismal turn of Fate ! so at Midnight drives him thence , O horrid impious thing ! ●ere such Affronts e're offer'd to A Father and a King ! A King so Great ! so Good ! so Just ! So Merciful to all ! His Vertue was his only Fault . And that which caus'd his Fall . Who now is forc'd his Life to save To fly his native Land , And leave his Scepter to be grasp'd By an ungracious Hand . Hells Journey-men are streight conven'd Who rob God of his Pow'r , Set up themselves a Stork-like King , the Subjects to devour . And to secure his Lawless Throne , Now give him all we have , And make each Free-born English Heart Become a Belgick Slave . The Bar , the Pulpit , and the Press Nefariously combine , To cry up an usurped Pow'r , And stamp it right Divine . Our Loyalty we must melt down , And have it coin'd anew , For what was current hereofore , Will now no longer do . Our Fetters we our Selves put on , Our Selves , our Selves do bubble ; Our Conscience a meer Pack-horse make Which now must carry double . O England ! when to future Times Thy Story shall be known How will they blush to think what Crimes Their Ancestors have done . But after all , what have we got By this our dear-bought King ? Why that our Scandal and Reproach Throughout the World does ring . That our Religion , Liberties , And Laws we held so dear , Are more invaded since this Change Than ever yet they were . Our Coffers drain'd , our Coin impair'd , That little that remains ; Our Persons seiz'd , nay Thoughts arraign'd , Our Freedom now is Chains . Our Traffick ruin'd , Shipping lost , Our Traders most undone ; Our bravest Heroes sacrific'd , Our ancient Glory gone . A Fatal Costly War entail'd , On this unhappy Isle ; Unless above what we deserve , Kind Heaven at last does smile . And bring our injur'd Monarch Home , And place Him on his Throne ; And to Confusion bring his Foes Which God grant may be soon .

LONDON , printed in the Year MDCXCV .