The downfall of the CHANCERY. OR, The Lawyers Lamentation.  

FArewell Lords Commissioners,  
Your Hon'r lies a bleeding,  
Enjoin the House (if you can)  
To stay their proceeding:  
The Chanceries voted down,  
Well may your good Lordship's frown,  
And take up this sad tone,  
Ohone, Ohone.   

Farewell Master of the Rolls  
You must be outed,  
The house of Lenthals is  
All-to-be-routed:  
jack and Will. fat Knaves be,  
And full of iniquity,  
Take 'em Committees t'ee.  
Ohone, Ohone.   

Farewell the six Clerks too,  
Your Pride is falling,  
You must go cast about,  
For a new Calling:  
Humbly complain ye may,  
But 'tis in vain to pray,  
For y'are sure to have Nay.  
Ohone, Ohone.   

Farewell the Registers,  
(A sad Dismission)  
You no more bribes must take  
For Expedition;  
Farewell th' Examiner's too,  
Your which, when, where, and how,  
Will get you little now.  
Ohone, Ohone.   

Farewell that Goblin thing  
Called a Sub poena,  
The hobnailed Country Clown,  
Knows what I mean-a:  
Over Mountain, over Bog,  
The poor Bumkins this made jog,  
Oh 'twas a dreadful Pugg!  
Ohone, Ohone.   

Adieu, adieu, to Law,  
And Equity too:  
Alas poor Gownmen now  
What will ye do?  
You must e'en truckle it to  
The holy militant Crew,  
Marry, and a good shift too,  
Ohone, Ohone.   

Like old Alm'nacks you will look,  
When there's no pleading,  
Or like the poor Cancelled Peers,  
(Titles are fading:)  
When the Clients at your tail,  
And the good Angels fail,  
You may bid the Squire farewell.  
Ohone, Ohone.   

To Long-lane with your robes  
If you are wise,  
And sell the Cooks your Books  
To put under Pies:  
What need ye Littleton,  
Or the thing called a Gown,  
Now your Trade's going down?  
Ohone, Ohone.   

You had best turn Gifted-men,  
For y'are long wound,  
And can cant Gospel too,  
If y'are so minded:  
Unless you preach or fight,  
And practise the new light,  
Your Worships may go shit.  
Ohone, Ohone.   

Farewell the learned Cook,  
And his Reports,  
he'll be of small account  
When there's no Courts:  
john-a-nokes may well look pale,  
he'll lose his Manor of Dale,  
The sword will cut of th' entail,  
Ohone, Ohone.   

What will grim Bradshaw do,  
His hopes are routed?  
To little purpose now,  
His noddleships mooted,  
(His face and name suit well,  
Black as the Prince of Hell,)  
He may bid th' long robe farewell.  
Ohone, Ohone.   

What will Post Pride— do now,  
That pampered Saint,  
His greedy stomach must  
Suffer a long Lent:  
Shortly perhaps he'll rue,  
That he ere Church-lands knew,  
(Good Devil take your due.)  
Ohone, Ohone.   

What will young Keble do,  
When his Lord Sire  
Is put besides his place?  
(Alas poor Squire!)  
he'll find th' case altered,  
His breath will scarce get bread,  
To put in his Fool's head.  
Ohone, Ohone.   

What will old Marriot do  
When there's no motions?  
His Belly'll grumble sure,  
And raise commotions:  
Every fart he lets fly,  
Could it but speak, would cry,  
Hang up the Soldiery.  
Ohone, Ohone.   

What will poor Scribes do now  
For want of money?  
They must live chaste perforce,  
No Coin, no Coney:  
The Goose quill goes to wrack,  
This will make Bawds to crack,  
Their trading will grow slack.  
Ohone, Ohone.   

Farewell good dish and dash,  
No more long Scribles;  
Howl and lament ye Whores,  
And strain your Trebles,  
To such a doleful height,  
That it may move the State,  
To pity your sad Estate.  
Ohone, Ohone.   
FINIS.