A New SONG, Inscrib'd to the brave Men of Kent, made in Honour of the Nobility and Gentry of that Renown'd and Ancient County.

WE

WHEN Harrold was Invaded,
And falling lost his Crown;
And Norman William waded

Through Gore to pull him down :
When Countys round with fear profound,
To mend their sad Condition ;
And Lands to save, base Homage gave,
Bold Kent made no Submission.

CHORUS.

Sing, sing in Praise of Men of Kent,
So Loyal brave and free;
'Mongst Britain's Race, if one surpass,
A Man of Kent is he.

The hardy stout Free-holders,
That knew the Tyrant near;
In Girdles, and on Shoulders,
A Grove of Oaks did bear:
Whom when he saw in Battle draw,

And thought how he might need 'em ;
He turn'd his Arms, allow'd their Terms,
Compleat with noble Freedom :
Then sing in Praise, &c.

And when by Barons wrangling,
Hot Faction did Increase,
And vile Intestine Jangling,

Had banish'd England's Peace,

The Men of Kent to Battle went,

They fear'd no Wild confusion;

But joyn'd with York, soon did the work,
And made a blest conclusion:

Then sing in Praise, &c.

At

At Hunting, or the Race too,
They sprightly Vigour shew;
And at a Female Chase too,

None like a Kentish Beau :

All blest with Health, and as for Wealth,
By Fortunes kind embraces;
A Yeoman grey shall oft out-weigh,
A Knight in other places:
Then sing in Praise, &c.

The Generous, Brave and Hearty,
All o'er the Shire we find ;
And for the Low-Church Party,
They're of the Brightest kind :
For King and Laws, they prop the Cause,
Which High-Church has confounded;
They love with height the Moderate right,
But hate the Crop-Ear'd Round-head:
Then sing in Praise, &c.

The promis'd Land of Blessing,
For our Forefathers meant ;

Is now, in right Possessing,

For Canaan sure was Kent:

The Dome at Knoll, by Fame enroll'd
The Church at Canterbury;

The Hops, the Beer, the Cherrys here,

May fill a famous Story.

Then sing in Praise of Kentish Men,
So Loyal, Brave and Free;
'Mongst Britain's Race, if one surpass,
A Man of Kent is He.

An

An ODE on Queen MARY: Set by Mr. Henry Purcell, and the Notes to be found in his Orpheus Brittanicus.

IGH on a Throne of glittering Ore,

H Exalted by Almighty fate;

Out-shining the bright Jem she wore,
The Gracious Gloriana sate.

The dazling Beams of Majesty,
Too fierce for mortal Eyes to see;
She veil'd, and with a smiling Brow
She taught th' admiring World below.

Since Vertue is the chiefest good,

Gay Power should only be her Dress;
Which often taints the purest blood,
Free Conscience is the solid Peace.

Glory is but a Flattering dream
Of wealth, that is not, tho' it seem;
False Vision whose vain Joys do make
Poor Mortals poorer, when they wake.

The fawning croud of Slaves that Bow,
With praise could ne'er my Sence controul;
Vast Pyramids of State seem low,

So much above it sits my Soul.

She spoke, whilst Gods unseen, that stood
Admiring one so Great, so Good;
Flew straight to Heaven, and all along,
Bright Gloriana was their Song.

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