Part II.
11 Why doſt thou thus thy Slaves requite,
And not regard our Cry ?
Lo ! in the bitter Pangs of Death
Does thy lov'd High-Church lie.
12 Her worthy Sons, ( hard Fate! ) from all
Employments are diſplac'd;
No hopes to riſe again : And Whigs
Are with their Honours Grac'd.
13 Strangers do Lord it over us ;
Oh hopeful Reformation !
But where's a Prince to bleſs us with
A ſecond Reſtoration ?
14 Thy Martyr'd Sire, and thou great Fames,
Were wretchedly trapan'd,
And exil'd Penſioners, thy Race,
Are in a Foreign Land.
15 Was it for this thy Servants ſtrove
With ſo much Care and Toil,
And Peace paſt Underſtanding made,
For this their native Soil ?
16 Was't all Religion Catholick,
And the Right Line t'exclude
They ventur'd Neck and all, and ſhall
Brunſwick on us intrude ?
17 Quickly ariſe to our relief,
Our Faith begins to fail us:
For now the Hanoverian's come,
We fear the Rogues will Jail us,
18 Paſſive-Obedience backward ſhrinks,
And Non-Re ſiſtance dies ;
Nature Rebels, and Fact declares
Our Principles are Lies