No PEACE for the WICKED:
OR
WARS broke out in the CITY.

To the TUNE of, Under the Greenwood Tree.

I.

DRAW near, ye fober Citizens,
Who dwell in London City;
And if I can from Tears refrain,
I'll fing a dol'rous Dirty:
But, oh! my Soul the Tale abhors,
Alack! what Pity 'tis,
That Aldermen should rage in Wars,
And Gen'ral's ruft in Peace?

II.

'Twas at a Feaf, our Lord-Mayor gave
To Lords, and Aldermen,
Where a moft bloody War broke out
'Twixt W—r, and B—n:
W—r was, I don't know what;
B—n's Trade was boiling Soap;
And, if he minds no other Trade,
He may eſcape a Rope.

III.

But he, to State-Affairs, alas!
Muſt turn his Soap-fad Brains;
And to, as Chains now hang on him,
May he ne'er hang in Chains:
But ſay, my Mufe, what Devil, or God,
Could raſe this mighty Pother;
Make peaceful Souls boil o'er with Rage,
And Brother baffle Brother.

IV.

The noſy God of Drunkennefs
Jump'd into B—n's tenth Bottle;
And thence, with Harlequin's Addrefs,
Jump'd into B—n's poor Noddle:

And then, and there, perfuade did he,
Dull B—n, for to be witty;
And to propoſe ſome Cocoa-Tree-
Heaſths, in the Loyal City.

V.

“Let's drink,” ſays he, “the brave Prince C—,
“And d—n each H—r—n:
“[The Raſcal that will not pledge me,
“By G—d's a Presbyterian.”
“O B—n, O B—n,” cries W—r;
“[A] Shame it is moſt burning;
“To name such treach'rous Heaſths, thou'rt mad;
“But, not with too much Learning.”

VI.

In harmleſs Words they parlied ſiſt;
As, “You like, Sir; and you lie:
“Thou art a Scoundrel,” W—r;
“B—n, thou art a meer Bully.”
Then wanting Words to vent their Rage,
They're ſore'd to come to Blows;
W—r lugg'd B—n's Aſs's Ears,
B—n tweak'd W—r's Noſe.

VII.

Mars now let loofe the Dogs of War,
“ To Arms,” the Furies found :
Earth to its very Centre ſhooſ,
When B—n fell to the Ground :
Oh! could blind Homer * but have ſeen,
And ſung this mighty Battle,
How City Heads broke City Stones !
How Chains of Gold did rattle !

VIII.

How W—r's pale Noſe grew red,
And ſpotted Streams of Blood;
How from the Breeches Knees of B—n
Down ruſh'd a tawny Flood !
The Hero ſmil'd 'midst all his Fears,
To find out by the Smell;
And by the Colour to discern,
It was not Blood that fell.

IX.

And now, ye fober Citizens,
Be warn'd by B—n's ſad Fate;
Observe King Charles the Martyr's Rule,
And drink no Heaſths of State.
But, if you needs muſt drink a Health,
Then be adviſ'd by me,
Leave out the dangerous Words brave Prince,
And only drink plain C—-*.

X.

And to, God bleſs our good Lord-Mayor,
A worthy Citizen;
And grant his Chair may ne'er be fill'd
With ſuch a F—l as B—n:
May Men of Decency and Senſe
Our City Feaſts fill guide well;
And crazy Nods lent to preſide
At Bedlam, or at Bridewell †.

* By which it is meant Charles, Confucius, etc.

† The worthy Mr. Alcony in B—n, is a President of both the Hospitals; famous for the found Senſe and good Morals of their Governors, as well as In-habitants.

* A Great Ballad-finger.

OXFORD: Printed in the Year 1749.