The Lying Whig drawn in his own colours the Whigs who such damnable falshoods devise, are true begot sons of the father of lyes : to the Tune of Packingtons pound. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription B26364 of text R39693 in the English Short Title Catalog. Textual 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. 6KB 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 B26364 Wing L3562A ocm 18472458

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 Early English books online text creation partnership. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. B26364) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 206518) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1638:27) The Lying Whig drawn in his own colours the Whigs who such damnable falshoods devise, are true begot sons of the father of lyes : to the Tune of Packingtons pound. 1 broadside. [s.n.], London : 1685. Without music. Place and date of publication suggested by Wing. Imperfect: torn, with loss of print. Reproduction of original in the Harvard University Library.

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 eng Ballads, English. eebo The Lying Whig drawn in his own colours : the Whigs who such damnable falshoods devise, are true begot sons of the father of lyes : to the Tune of Pac n/a 1685 1 881 4 0 0 0 17 0 1975.03 F The rate of 1975.03 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the F category of texts with 100 or more defects per 10,000 words. 2014-04 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2014-10 Sampled and proofread 2014-10 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2015-03 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
The LYING WHIG Drawn in his own Colours ; The Whigs who such damnable falshoods devise , Are true begot Sons of the Father of Lyes . To the Tune of Packingtons Pound .

this may be printed

R. L. S.
I. HOw wretched is England above any Nation E're since the rebellious Whig-reformation ! The Gospel our Faith did formerly guide , But it would not with Traytors principles side : When other Grounds needed , The Whig-lyes succeeded , And by the Saint-party are equally heeded : These carry on cleverly the Good old Cause In spight of all Truth , Religion and Laws . II . The Heads of the Party first met in Caball Coyn Lyes , and then toss them about like a Ball ; The rabble to fright , or keep them in mettle , For fear they should to the King's Government settle : As soon as come out They spread them about By Gossips and Block-heads 'mongst the rabble rout , which they blindly credit , and each silly Soul Drinks poysonous Treason by swallowing them whole . III . No more holy Bibles now Printed must be , Says Whig , though the contrary daily we see ; The City must fall by Cannon or Fire Or Massacres none but themselves do conspire : Thus the rabble they ply With many a damn'd lye , That desperate grown they may rise at their cry . Their merciful Soveraign thus they traduce , And his Generosity daily abuse . IV . What Prophesies did the King's Crowning fore-run , Assuring us sadly 't should never be done ! The Drum in Well-bottom did sound the same tone , And under St. James's was heard many a groan ; Nay Spright was seen there , To put folks in fear , Which n'er but before a Kings death did appear ; All which blaz'd about by the bus●y Whig-Elves , Show plain they intended to kill him themselves . V. King Charles , whose mild soul no malice could move These Whigs summon'd down from Heaven above ; His errand contrived was on the best fashion , To usher in Perkin's foul-mouth'd Declaration : While he was alive The Villains did strive Of life with a Blunderbuss him to deprive : And now that with Happiness his Soul is blest , These Sorcerers will not allow his Ghost rest . VI . Brave Albemarle , as we were told without erring , Was certainly kill'd as dead as a Herring ; His Corps brought nea● 〈…〉 Coffin bespoke And the Ground for 〈…〉 broke ; None must trust their Eyes In their Mysteries , These infalliable Coxcombs can never tell lyes What e're they hold forth to the Whig-ridden rabble Is sure as their Faith and made current by babble . VIII . Argyle , that Arch-Traytor , half Scotland had won Crys Whig , when his party was utterly undone : His Armey did full forty thousand contain , When the run-away Rebel alone did remain ; Though beat and forsaken He could not be taken , Nay now his Head's off they to life him awaken . So all the Whig says must backwards be read , Argyle is still living and Albemarl's dead . IX . This Bully your Id'ot , that small man of might , With three hundred men would kill all out-right : His invincible Army was fifteen mile long , And full fifty thousand in number was strong ; Nay when he was beat They tell us that yet At Chester he has twenty thousand compleat : But sure now Jack Catch has chopt off his head , At length you 'l believe your great Hector is dead . X. You thought your grand Worthies so valiant and brave They'd dye in the Field e'r their party they 'd leave ; But Gray's matchless valour , his friends all forsaken Was in a vile habit rediculously taken , And Monmoueh was such He did not think much To run from the battle , and lurk in a Ditch ; And dye on a Scaffold in shamfulest manner , Rather than in the Field . the bed of Honnour . XI . You obstinate Whigs at length open your Eeys , See how the Worlds Soveraign Rebellion defys ! Consider what Providences daily meet , Our Kings to protect , and your Plots to defeat . What e're you contrive It never can thrive , And all your attempts 'gainst the stream do but strive ; Then give God the Glory , fall to your Vocation , That Trade may inrich , and Peace bless our Nation XII . Behold our great King like the glorius Son In full lustre shines while your Meteor falls down : Three thousand of his , to curb your vain boast , Has beaten your Rebels invincible host : He 's generous and brave Weak Penitents to save , But obstinate Ring-leaders Justice must have : Crave mercy and leave your lyes fram'd to affright The Nation distracted , and do the Truth right . XIII . And all you good people , at length for mere shame