Extract from a Jacobite song consisting of 43 verses, 1722. The Jacobites were the supporters of King James VII of Scotland and II of Great Britain, his son James, ‘The Old Pretender’, King James VIII of Scotland and III of Great Britain and his grandson Prince Charles Edward Stuart, ‘The Young Pretender’. The word Jacobite comes from Jacobus, King James’s name in Latin. This song is calling for the return to the throne of the ‘Old Pretender’ and an end to rule by George I, House of Hanover. (SP 35/40 f.179).
A PROPHETICK [what will happen in the future]
CONGRATULATORY HYMN TO HIS SACRED
BRITANNICK MAJESTY KING JAMES THE III [‘The Old Pretender’]
Written by Mr—during his Concealment after his Escape from—
O.S & Left at his Lodgings
Sound the shrill Trumpet, fill it’s Silver Womb
With sweeter Notes than ever yet were blown
Great Britain’s Majesty to welcome home.
Tune all Your Instruments & Voices raise
With loftier strains, & with Seraphick [angelic] Lays
To Heaven’s & to immortal James’s [‘The Old Pretender’] Praise.
See, See, He comes of all Mankind the first,
Insufferings, Pietie, & Experience nurs’d,
The Royal Englishman, Great, Good & Just:
On tiptoes Atlas [Greek god responsible for holding the heavens on his shoulders]
then, Lift Heaven more high,
And give us Air enough to breath our Joy
In raptures rivalling Heaven’s Hierarchy;
No more shall foreign scum pollute our Throne;
No longer under such. We’ll blush & groan;
But Englishmen an English King will own.
What, shall a German Cuckold [George I] & his Fool,
An Ox & Ape ore generous Britons rule,
Whilst under them like Dogs We sneak & howl?
Not whilst our Royal, JAMES is to the dore,
A Prince Whom Europe’s Princes All adore,
And a Chaste Queen to England’s Monarch bore.
Welcome, thrice Welcome then our long lost sun,
Darkness & Hell & It’s Hobgoblins [monsters] run,
And to their black Abyss [hole] plunge head long down:
Whilst Britain’s Phoebus [Apollo, Greek god of light and truth] mounts divinely Clear,
Gilds with His Preference like a God our sphere,
And where was Hell before makes Heaven appear.
See, how We glad the Day & parted Night,
And Joy on every Look sit’s fiercely bright,
Like stars reflecting our Great Monarch’s Light,
Of Taxes eas’d & long impending Wars,
From Horrors freed & never ceasing Jars,
Our Wounds are heald that scarce remain the Scars:
See, to the General Bliss how all concurs,
Freedom in every Mind & Tongue & Purse,
Whilst Trade & Wealth & Joy each other nurse:
Behold Your Prospect, Britons, & strike home;
Curs’d be the Cowardly Heart that dreads a Tomb;
In such a Cause to dy, What happier Doom?
We must ere long upon a Bed of Death
Puff out our There unprofitable Breath;
He that dyes here a Life Eternal hath:
Yet just as swine that grovel in their stye,
Scream out aloud when Brother Hog must dye;
But till the Next is doom’d surcease [stop] their Cry.
So You (o shame to think!) each Gallant Friend
Led by vile Dogs in Power to timeless End
With Dastard [cowardly] Tears & fruitless Crys attend;
Thou swine, they Turn will come when Thou must dye,
And for a few curs’d Years in Slavery
Wilt thou be damn’d to all Eternity?
Behold thy King & Country claim thy Aid,
And if thou now wilt hide thy Coward’s Head
That Head Eternal Shame will soon or’e spread: