The Vicar of Bray.

When royal James possess'd the crown,
And popery grew in fashion,
The penal laws I hooted down,
And read the Declaration :

The Church of Rome I found would fit

Full well my constitution :

And I had been a Jesuit,

But for the Revolution.

And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever King shall reign,
Still I'll be the vicar of Bray, sir.

When William was our king declar'd,
To ease the nation's grievance ;
With this new wind about I steer'd,
And swore to him allegiance:

Old principles I did revoke,

Set conscience at a distance;

Passive obedience was a joke,

A jest was non-resistance.

And this is law that I'll maintain

Until my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever King shall reign,
Still I'll be the vicar of Bray, sir.

When royal Anne became our queen,
The Church of England's glory,
Another face of things was seen,
And I became a tory:
Occasional conformists base,

I blam'd their moderation;

And thought the church in danger was,

By such prevarication.

And this is law that I'll maintain

Until my dying day, sir,

That whatsoever King shall reign,
Still I'll be the vicar of Bray, sir.

The Vicar of Bray.

When George in pudding-time came o'er,
And moderate men look'd big, sir,
My principles I chang'd once more,
And so became a whig, sir;
And thus preferment I procur'd
From our new faith's defender;
And almost ev'ry day abjur'd

The Pope and the Pretender.

And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever King shall reign,
Still I'll be the vicar of Bray, sir.

Th' illustrious house of Hanover,
And Protestant succession,
To these I do allegiance swear-
While they can keep possession:

For in my faith and loyalty,

I never more will falter,

And George my lawful king shall be-
Until the times do alter.

And this is law that I'll maintain
Until my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever King shall reign,
Still I'll be the vicar of Bray, sir.

A Hunting we will Go.

Some are thrown in, some are thrown out,

And some are thrown in the ditch,
Yet a hunting we will go.

A Hunting we will Go.

Sly Reynard now like lightning flies,

And sweeps across the vale;

And when the hounds too near he spies,

There are several versions of this song, of various degrees of length and of merit. "This song," says Mr. Chappell, in his Collection of National English Airs, "was originally to the tune of Begging we will go,' (1660). The words by Fielding are contained in his ballad opera of Don Quixote in England, but have since been somewhat altered.