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The news of this consperracy and villianous attempt,
I read it in a newspaper, from Italy it was sent :
It was sent from lovely Italy, where the olives they do grow,
And our Holy Father lives, yes, yes, while his name it is No No.
And 'tis there our English noblemen goes that is Puseyites no longer,
And 'tis there the splendid churches is, and the fountains playing
And the palace of PRINCE TORLONIA, likewise the Vatican;
And 'tis there our splendid churches is in all their pride and glory,
Now in this town of famous Room, as I dessay you have heard,
That there should always barbers be wheresumever beards do grow.
And as it always has been so since the world it did begin,
There comes a certing gintleman with razier, soap, and lather,
Them sanguinary Prodestants, which I abore and hate,
Exhibiting a wickedness which I never heerd or read of ;
What do you think them Prodestants wished? to cut the good Pope's head off!
And to the kind POPE's Air-dresser the Prodestant Clark did go,
"What hever can be easier," said this Clerk-this Man of Sin,
This wicked conversation it chanced was overerd
By an Italian lady; she heard it every word:
Which by birth she was a Marchioness, in service forced to go
When the lady heard the news, as duty did obleege,
As fast as her legs could carry her she ran to the Poleege.
"The ebomminable Englishmen, the Parsing and his Clark,
"And for saving of His Holiness and his trebble crownd I humbly hope your Worships will give me a few pound; Because I was a Marchioness many years ago,
Before I came to service at the gate of Popolo."
That sackreligious Air-dresser, the Parson and his man,
Wouldn't, though ask'd continyally, own their wicked plan-
That was plotting of the murder of the good Pro NONO.
Now isn't this safishnt proof, ye gentlemen at home,
How wicked is them Prodestants, and how good our Pope at Rome;
So let us drink confusion to LORD JOHN and LORD MINTO,
And a health unto His Eminence, and good Pro NONO.
COME all ye Christian people, and listen to my tail,
It is all about a doctor was travelling by the rail,
By the Heastern Counties' Railway (vich the shares I don't desire), From Ixworth town in Suffolk, vich his name did not transpire.
A travelling from Bury this Doctor was employed
With a gentleman, a friend of his, vich his name was Captain Loyd, And on reaching Marks Tey Station, that is next beyond Colchester, a lady entered in to them most elegantly dressed.
She entered into the Carriage all with a tottering step,
She had a fust-class ticket, this lovely lady said,
A seein of her cryin, and shiverin and pail,
To her spoke this surging, the Ero of my tail;
Say see you look unwell, Ma'am, I'll elp you if I can,
And you may tell your case to me, for I'm a meddicle man.
"Thank you, Sir," the lady said, "I only look so pale,
So in conwersation the journey they beguiled,
Capting Loyd and the meddicle man, and the lady and the child, Till the warious stations along the line was passed,
For even the Heastern Counties' trains must come in at last.
When at Shoreditch tumminus at lenth stopped the train,