The Devils were brawling at Burnet's descending,

But, at his Arrival, they left off contending;

Old Lucifer ran his dear Bishop to meet,

And thus the Arch-devil th' Apostate did greet,

Tal de ral.

My dear Bishop Burnet, I'm glad beyond measure,

This Visit unlook'd for gives infinite Pleasure;

And O, my dear Sarum, how go Things above,

Does G— hate the Tories and Whigs only love.

Tal de ral.

Was your Highness in propria Persona to reign,

You could not more justly your Empire maintain.

And how does Ben. Hoadly? Oh! he's very well,

A truer blue Whig you have not in Hell.

Tal de ral.

Hugh Peters is making a Sneaker within

For Luther, Buchanan, John Knox, and Calvin;

And when they have toss'd off a Brace of full Bowls,

You'll swear you ne'er met with honester Souls,

Tal de ral.

This Night we'll carouze, in spite of all Pain,

Go Cromwell, you Dog, King William unchain;

And tell him his Gilly is lately come down,

Who's just left his Mitre as he left his Crown.

Tal de ral.

Whose Lives, till they died, in our Service were spent,

They only come hither who never repent;

Let Heralds aloud then our Victories tell,

Let G— reign for ever; Amen, cry'd all Hell.

Tal de ral.