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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Cavalier Songs and Ballads of England, by
+Various, Edited by Charles Mackay
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Cavalier Songs and Ballads of England
+ from 1642 to 1684
+
+
+Author: Various
+
+Editor: Charles Mackay
+
+Release Date: February 22, 2015 [eBook #1030]
+[This file was first posted on September 2, 1997]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CAVALIER SONGS AND BALLADS OF
+ENGLAND***
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1863 Griffin Bohn and Co. edition by David Price,
+email ccx074@pglaf.org
+
+
+
+
+
+ The
+ CAVALIER SONGS AND BALLADS
+ OF ENGLAND
+
+
+ FROM 1642 TO 1684
+
+ * * * * *
+
+ EDITED BY
+ CHARLES MACKAY
+ LL.D.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+ LONDON
+ GRIFFIN BOHN AND CO
+ STATIONERS’ HALL COURT
+ 1863.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+ JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+
+THE Cavalier Ballads of England, like the Jacobite Ballads of England and
+Scotland at a later period, are mines of wealth for the student of the
+history and social manners of our ancestors. The rude but often
+beautiful political lyrics of the early days of the Stuarts were far more
+interesting and important to the people who heard or repeated them, than
+any similar compositions can be in our time. When the printing press was
+the mere vehicle of polemics for the educated minority, and when the
+daily journal was neither a luxury of the poor, a necessity of the rich,
+nor an appreciable power in the formation and guidance of public opinion,
+the song and the ballad appealed to the passion, if not to the intellect
+of the masses, and instructed them in all the leading events of the time.
+In our day the people need no information of the kind, for they procure
+it from the more readily available and more copious if not more reliable,
+source of the daily and weekly press. The song and ballad have ceased to
+deal with public affairs. No new ones of the kind are made except as
+miserable parodies and burlesques that may amuse sober costermongers and
+half-drunken men about town, who frequent music saloons at midnight, but
+which are offensive to every one else. Such genuine old ballads as
+remain in the popular memory are either fast dying out, or relate
+exclusively to the never-to-be-superseded topics of love, war, and wine.
+The people of our day have little heart or appreciation for song, except
+in Scotland and Ireland. England and America are too prosaic and too
+busy, and the masses, notwithstanding all their supposed advantages in
+education, are much too vulgar to delight in either song or ballad that
+rises to the dignity of poetry. They appreciate the buffooneries of the
+“Negro Minstrelsy,” and the inanities and the vapidities of sentimental
+love songs, but the elegance of such writers as Thomas Moore, and the
+force of such vigorous thinkers and tender lyrists as Robert Burns, are
+above their sphere, and are left to scholars in their closets and ladies
+in their drawing-rooms. The case was different among our ancestors in
+the memorable period of the struggle for liberty that commenced in the
+reign of Charles I. The Puritans had the pulpit on their side, and found
+it a powerful instrument. The Cavaliers had the song writers on theirs,
+and found them equally effective. And the song and ballad writers of
+that day were not always illiterate versifiers. Some of them were the
+choicest wits and most accomplished gentlemen of the nation. As they
+could not reach the ears of their countrymen by the printed book, the
+pamphlet, or the newspaper, nor mount the pulpit and dispute with
+Puritanism on its own ground and in its own precincts, they found the
+song, the ballad, and the epigram more available among a musical and
+song-loving people such as the English then were, and trusted to these to
+keep up the spirit of loyalty in the evil days of the royal cause, to
+teach courage in adversity, and cheerfulness in all circumstances, and to
+ridicule the hypocrites whom they could not shame, and the tyrants whom
+they could not overthrow. Though many thousands of these have been
+preserved in the King’s Pamphlets in the British Museum, and in other
+collections which have been freely ransacked for the materials of the
+following pages, as many thousands more have undoubtedly perished.
+Originally printed as broadsides, and sold for a halfpenny at country
+fairs, it used to be the fashion of the peasantry to paste them up in
+cupboards, or on the backs of doors, and farmers’ wives, as well as
+servant girls and farm labourers, who were able to read, would often
+paste them on the lids of their trunks, as the best means of preserving
+them. This is one reason why so many of them have been lost without
+recovery. To Sir W. C. Trevelyan literature is indebted for the
+restoration of a few of these waifs and strays, which he found pasted in
+an old trunk of the days of Cromwell, and which he carefully detached and
+presented to the British Museum. But a sufficient number of these flying
+leaves of satire, sentiment, and loyalty have reached our time, to throw
+a curious and instructive light upon the feelings of the men who resisted
+the progress of the English Revolution; and who made loyalty to the
+person of the monarch, even when the monarch was wrong, the first of the
+civic virtues. In the superabundance of the materials at command, as
+will be seen from the appended list of books and MSS. which have been
+consulted and drawn upon to form this collection, the difficulty was to
+keep within bounds, and to select only such specimens as merited a place
+in a volume necessarily limited, by their celebrity, their wit, their
+beauty, their historical interest, or the light they might happen to
+throw on the obscure biography of the most remarkable actors in the
+scenes which they describe. It would be too much to claim for these
+ballads the exalted title of poetry. They are not poetical in the
+highest sense of the word, and possibly would not have been so effective
+for the purpose which they were intended to serve, if their writers had
+been more fanciful and imaginative, or less intent upon what they had to
+say than upon the manner of saying it. But if not extremely poetical,
+they are extremely national, and racy of the soil; and some of them are
+certain to live as long as the language which produced them. For the
+convenience of reference and consultation they have been arranged
+chronologically; beginning with the discontents that inaugurated the
+reign of Charles I., and following regularly to the final, though
+short-lived, triumph of the Cavalier cause, in the accession of James II.
+After his ill-omened advent to the throne, the Cavalier became the
+Jacobite. In this collection no Jacobite songs, properly so called, are
+included, it being the intention of the publishers to issue a companion
+volume, of the Jacobite Ballads of England, from the accession of James
+II. to the battle of Culloden, should the public receive the present
+volume with sufficient favour to justify the venture.
+
+The Editor cannot, in justice to previous fellow-labourers, omit to
+record his obligation to the interesting volume, with its learned
+annotations, contributed by Mr Thomas Wright to the Percy Society; or to
+another and equally valuable collection, edited by Mr J. O. Halliwell.
+
+_December_, 1862.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+ PAGE
+When the King enjoys his own again 1
+,, comes home in Peace again 4
+I love my King and Country well 6
+The Commoners 8
+The Royalist 10
+The New Courtier 11
+Upon the Cavaliers departing out of London 13
+A Mad World, my Masters 14
+The Man O’ The Moon 16
+The Tub-Preacher 18
+The New Litany 20
+The Old Protestant’s Litany 23
+Vive Le Roy 27
+The Cavalier 28
+A Caveat to the Roundheads 31
+Hey, then, up go we 32
+The Clean Contrary Way, or, Colonel Venne’s Encouragement 35
+to his Soldiers
+The Cameronian Cat 37
+The Royal Feast 39
+Upon His Majesty’s coming to Holmby 50
+I thank you twice 51
+The Cities Loyaltie to the King 52
+The Lawyers’ Lamentation for the Loss of Charing-Cross 55
+The Downfal of Charing-Cross 56
+The Long Parliament 58
+The Puritan 61
+The Roundhead 64
+Prattle your pleasure under the rose 65
+The Dominion of the Sword 67
+The State’s New Coin 70
+The Anarchie, or the Blest Reformation since 1640 71
+A Coffin for King Charles, a Crown For Cromwell, And A Pit 76
+For The People
+A Short Litany For The Year 1649 81
+The Sale of Rebellion’s Household Stuff 82
+The Cavalier’s Farewell to his Mistress, being called to 86
+the Wars
+The Last News from France 87
+Song to the Figure Two 91
+The Reformation 94
+Upon the General Pardon passed by the Rump 98
+An Old Song on Oliver’s Court 100
+The Parliament Routed, or Here’s a House to be Let 102
+A Christmas Song, when the Rump was first dissolved 107
+A Free Parliament Litany 110
+The Mock Song 114
+The Answer 116
+As close as a Goose 118
+The Prisoners 120
+The Protecting Brewer 122
+The Arraignment of the Devil for stealing away President 124
+Bradshaw
+A New Ballad to an Old Tune, “Tom Of Bedlam” 130
+Saint George and the Dragon, Anglice Mercurius Poeticus 133
+The Second Part of St George for England 143
+A New-year’s Gift for the Rump 147
+A Proper New Ballad on the Old Parliament; or, the Second 151
+Part of Knave Out of Doors
+The Tale of the Cobbler and the Vicar of Bray 166
+The Geneva Ballad 191
+The Devil’s Progress on Earth, or Huggle Duggle, etc. 194
+A Bottle Definition of that Fallen Angel, called a Whig 196
+The Desponding Whig 197
+Phanatick Zeal, or a Looking-glass for the Whigs 199
+A New Game at Cards: or, Win at First and Lose at Last 202
+The Cavaleers Litany 205
+The Cavalier’s Complaint 209
+An Echo to the Cavalier’s Complaint 211
+A Relation 213
+The Glory of these Nations 217
+The Noble Progress, or, a True Relation of the Lord General 223
+Monk’s Political Proceedings
+On the King’s Return 227
+The Brave Barbary 228
+A Catch 229
+The Turn-coat 231
+The Claret-drinker’s Song, or, the Good Fellow’s Design 233
+The Loyal Subjects’ Hearty Wishes to King Charles II. 236
+King Charles the Second’s Restoration, 29th May 243
+The Jubilee, or the Coronation Day 246
+The King enjoys his own again 247
+A Country Song, intituled the Restoration 248
+Here’s a Health unto His Majesty 251
+The Whigs drowned in an Honest Tory health 251
+The Cavalier 253
+The Lamentation of a Bad Market, or the Disbanded Souldier 255
+The Courtier’s Health; or, The Merry Boys of the Times 260
+The Loyal Tories’ Delight; or A Pill for Fanaticks 262
+The Royal Admiral 265
+The Unfortunate Whigs 266
+The Downfall of the Good Old Cause 268
+Old Jemmy 271
+The Cloak’s Knavery 274
+The Time-server, or a Medley 278
+The Soldier’s Delight 280
+The Loyal Soldier 281
+The Polititian 283
+A New Droll 285
+The Royalist 287
+The Royalist’s Resolve 288
+Loyalty turned up Trump, or the Danger over 290
+The Loyalist’s Encouragement 290
+The Trouper 292
+On the Times, or The Good Subject’s Wish 293
+The Jovialists’ Coronation 294
+The Loyal Prisoner 295
+Canary’s Coronation 297
+The Mournful Subjects, or, The Whole Nation’s Lamination, 299
+from the highest to the lowest
+Memento Mori 303
+Accession of James II. 305
+On the Most High and Mighty Monarch King James 307
+In a Summer’s Day 309
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF
+BALLAD AND SONG BOOKS
+AND
+MSS. QUOTED IN THIS COLLECTION.
+
+
+Ashmolean Collection.
+
+Antidote to Melancholy, 1682.
+
+Apollo’s Banquet, 1690.
+
+Additional MSS.
+
+Aviary, 1740–1745.
+
+Broadsides, in the reign of Charles II.
+
+„ „ „ _Roxburghe ballads_.
+
+Butler’s, Samuel, Posthumous Works, 1732.
+
+Burney’s, Dr, Collection of Songs.
+
+Ballads, six, of the time of Charles II., in the British Museum.
+
+Bagford’s Collection [qu. date].
+
+Brome’s, Alex., Songs [qu. date].
+
+Banquet of Music, 1689.
+
+Bull’s, Dr, Collection of Songs [qu. date].
+
+* Collection of State Songs that have been published since the Rebellion,
+and sung at the several Mug-houses in the Cities of London and
+Westminster, 1716.
+
+* Collection of Loyal Songs, 1750 [Jacobites].
+
+Complete Collection of Old and New English and Scotch Songs, 1735.
+
+Craig’s Collection, 1730.
+
+Convivial Songster, 1782.
+
+Crown Garlands of Golden Roses.
+
+Carey’s, Henry, Musical Centus, 1740.
+
+* D’Urfey’s Songs (4 volumes,) or Pills to Purge Melancholy.
+
+Douce’s Collection, Oxford.
+
+Delightful Companion for the Recorder, 1686.
+
+Dixon’s Ballads of the Peasants of England.
+
+English Political Songs and Ballads of the 17th and 18th Centuries, by
+Walker Wilkins.
+
+Evans’ Old Ballads, 1810.
+
+England under the House of Hanover, by Thos. Wright.
+
+Folly in Print, or a Book of Rhymes, 1667.
+
+Golden Garlands of Princely delights, 1620.
+
+Harleian MSS.
+
+Halifax’s Songs, 1694.
+
+Halliwell’s Collection of Ballads, “Cheetham Library.”
+
+Hogg’s Jacobite Relics of Scotland.
+
+Jordan’s, Thomas, London Triumphant, 1672.
+
+King’s Library.
+
+„ Pamphlets—Collection of Political Songs, from 1640 to the Restoration
+of Charles II.
+
+Kitchener, Dr, Loyal and National Songs.
+
+Loyal Songs, 120, 1684, by N. Thompson.
+
+,, 180, 1685 to 1694.
+
+Loyal Songs, 1731.
+
+* Loyal Songs written against the Rump Parliament, between 1639 and 1661.
+
+Loyal Garland, containing choice Songs, &c., of our late Revolution,
+1761, and 5th Edition, 1686, Percy Society.
+
+Merry Drollery, complete, 1670.
+
+Muses’ Merriment, 1656. _See_ “Sportive Wit.”
+
+Musical MSS., British Museum.
+
+Musical Miscellany, Watts.
+
+Muse’s Delight, 1757, or “Apollo’s Cabinet.”
+
+Old Ballads, 1723, British Museum.
+
+Playford’s Music and Mirth—“Douce’s Collection.”
+
+„ Choice Songs, &c.
+
+Playford’s Theatre of Music, 1685.
+
+,, Pleasant Music Companion.
+
+,, Catch that Catch can.
+
+„ Antidote against Melancholy, 1669.
+
+Political Merriment.
+
+* Pills to Purge Melancholy, 1661.
+
+Parker’s, Martin, Ballads, Roxburghe Collection.
+
+Political Ballads, Percy Society, Wright’s Collection.
+
+Pepys’ Collection, British Museum.
+
+Rats rhymed to Death, 1660; King’s Pamphlets, British Museum.
+
+* Roxburghe Ballads, 3 vols.
+
+Rump Collection of Songs, 1639 to 1661. _See_ Loyal Songs.
+
+Ritson’s Ancient Songs, 1790.
+
+,, English ,,
+
+Ramsay, Allan, Tea-table Miscellany, 1724.
+
+Rome rhymed to Death [qu. date].
+
+Sportive Wit; the Muse’s Merriment [qu. date].
+
+Skene MSS.
+
+Suckling’s, Sir John, Works [qu. date].
+
+Second Tale of a Tub, 1715.
+
+Satirical Songs on Costume.
+
+True Loyalist, or Chevalier’s Favourite, 1779.
+
+Triumph of Wit, or Ingenuity Displayed.
+
+Taubman’s, Mat., Heroic and Choice Songs on the Times, 1682.
+
+Westminster Drollery, 1671.
+
+* Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge Melancholy.
+
+Wit restored, 1658.
+
+Wit’s Recreation, 1654
+
+Williams’, Sir Charles Hanbury, Political Songs.
+
+Wood’s, Anthony, Collection at Oxford [Ashmolean].
+
+Withers, George, Songs.
+
+Wade’s, John, Ballads [qu. date].
+
+
+
+
+CAVALIER SONGS AND BALLADS.
+
+
+WHEN THE KING ENJOYS HIS OWN AGAIN.
+
+
+This is perhaps the most popular of all the Cavalier songs—a favour which
+it partly owes to the excellent melody with which it is associated. The
+song, says Mr Chappell, is ascertained to be by Martin Parker, by the
+following extract from the _Gossips’ Feast_, or Moral Tales, 1647. “By
+my faith, Martin Parker never got a fairer treat: no, not when he indited
+that sweet ballad, When the King enjoys his own again.” In the poet’s
+Blind Man’s Bough (or Buff), 1641, Martin Parker says,
+
+ “Whatever yet was published by me
+ Was known as Martin Parker, or M. P.;”
+
+but this song was printed without his name or initials, at a time when it
+would have been dangerous to give either his own name or that of his
+publisher. Ritson calls it the most famous song of any time or country.
+Invented to support the declining interest of Charles I., it served
+afterwards with more success to keep up the spirits of the Cavaliers, and
+promote the restoration of his son; an event which it was employed to
+celebrate all over the kingdom. At the Revolution of 1688, it of course
+became an adherent of the exiled King, whose cause it never deserted. It
+did equal service in 1715 and 1745. The tune appears to have been
+originally known as _Marry me_, _marry me_, _quoth he_, _bonnie lass_.
+Booker, Pond, Hammond, Rivers, Swallow, Dade, and “The Man in the Moon,”
+were all astrologers and Almanac makers in the early days of the civil
+war. “The Man in the Moon” appears to have been a loyalist in his
+predictions. Hammond’s Almanac is called “bloody” because the compiler
+always took care to note the anniversary of the death, execution, or
+downfall of a Royalist.
+
+ WHAT _Booker_ doth prognosticate
+ Concerning kings’ or kingdoms’ fate?
+ I think myself to be as wise
+ As he that gazeth on the skies;
+ My skill goes beyond the depth of a _Pond_,
+ Or _Rivers_ in the greatest rain,
+ Thereby I can tell all things will be well
+ When the King enjoys his own again.
+
+ There’s neither _Swallow_, _Dove_, nor _Dade_,
+ Can soar more high, or deeper wade,
+ Nor show a reason from the stars
+ What causeth peace or civil wars;
+ The Man in the Moon may wear out his shoon
+ By running after Charles his wain:
+ But all’s to no end, for the times will not mend
+ Till the King enjoys his own again.
+
+ Though for a time we see Whitehall
+ With cobwebs hanging on the wall
+ Instead of silk and silver brave,
+ Which formerly it used to have,
+ With rich perfume in every room,—
+ Delightful to that princely train,
+ Which again you shall see, when the time it shall be,
+ That the King enjoys his own again.
+
+ Full forty years the royal crown
+ Hath been his father’s and his own;
+ And is there any one but he
+ That in the same should sharer be?
+ For who better may the sceptre sway
+ Than he that hath such right to reign?
+ Then let’s hope for a peace, for the wars will not cease
+ Till the King enjoys his own again.
+
+ [Did _Walker_ no predictions lack
+ In Hammond’s bloody almanack?
+ Foretelling things that would ensue,
+ That all proves right, if lies be true;
+ But why should not he the pillory foresee,
+ Wherein poor Toby once was ta’en?
+ And also foreknow to the gallows he must go
+ When the King enjoys his own again?] {1}
+
+ Till then upon Ararat’s hill
+ My hope shall cast her anchor still,
+ Until I see some peaceful dove
+ Bring home the branch I dearly love;
+ Then will I wait till the waters abate
+ Which now disturb my troubled brain,
+ Else never rejoice till I hear the voice
+ That the King enjoys his own again.
+
+
+
+WHEN THE KING COMES HOME IN PEACE AGAIN.
+
+
+From a broadside in the Roxburghe Collection of Ballads. It appears to
+have been written shortly after Martin Parker’s original ballad obtained
+popularity among the Royalists, and to be by another hand. It bears
+neither date nor printer’s name; and has “God save the King, Amen,” in
+large letters at the end.
+
+ OXFORD and Cambridge shall agree,
+ With honour crown’d, and dignity;
+ For learned men shall then take place,
+ And bad be silenced with disgrace:
+ They’ll know it to be but a casualty
+ That hath so long disturb’d their brain;
+ For I can surely tell that all things will go well
+ When the King comes home in peace again.
+
+ Church government shall settled be,
+ And then I hope we shall agree
+ Without their help, whose high-brain’d zeal
+ Hath long disturb’d the common weal;
+ Greed out of date, and cobblers that do prate
+ Of wars that still disturb their brain;
+ The which you will see, when the time it shall be
+ That the King comes home in peace again.
+
+ Though many now are much in debt,
+ And many shops are to be let,
+ A golden time is drawing near,
+ Men shops shall take to hold their ware;
+ And then all our trade shall flourishing be made,
+ To which ere long we shall attain;
+ For still I can tell all things will be well
+ When the King comes home in peace again.
+
+ Maidens shall enjoy their mates,
+ And honest men their lost estates;
+ Women shall have what they do lack,
+ Their husbands, who are coming back.
+ When the wars have an end, then I and my friend
+ All subjects’ freedom shall obtain;
+ By which I can tell all things will be well
+ When we enjoy sweet peace again.
+
+ Though people now walk in great fear
+ Along the country everywhere,
+ Thieves shall then tremble at the law,
+ And justice shall keep them in awe:
+ The Frenchies shall flee with their treacherie,
+ And the foes of the King ashamed remain:
+ The which you shall see when the time it shall be
+ That the King comes home in peace again.
+
+ The Parliament must willing be
+ That all the world may plainly see
+ How they do labour still for peace,
+ That now these bloody wars may cease;
+ For they will gladly spend their lives to defend
+ The King in all his right to reign:
+ So then I can tell all things will be well
+ When we enjoy sweet peace again.
+
+ When all these things to pass shall come
+ Then farewell Musket, Pick, and Drum,
+ The Lamb shall with the Lion feed,
+ Which were a happy time indeed.
+ O let us pray we may all see the day
+ That peace may govern in his name,
+ For then I can tell all things will be well
+ When the King comes home in peace again.
+
+
+
+I LOVE MY KING AND COUNTRY WELL.
+
+
+From Songs and other Poems by Alex. Brome, Gent. Published London 1664;
+written 1645.
+
+ I LOVE my King and country well,
+ Religion and the laws;
+ Which I’m mad at the heart that e’er we did sell
+ To buy the good old cause.
+ These unnatural wars
+ And brotherly jars
+ Are no delight or joy to me;
+ But it is my desire
+ That the wars should expire,
+ And the King and his realms agree.
+
+ I never yet did take up arms,
+ And yet I dare to dye;
+ But I’ll not be seduced by phanatical charms
+ Till I know a reason why.
+ Why the King and the state
+ Should fall to debate
+ I ne’er could yet a reason see,
+ But I find many one
+ Why the wars should be done,
+ And the King and his realms agree.
+
+ I love the King and the Parliament,
+ But I love them both together:
+ And when they by division asunder are rent,
+ I know ’tis good for neither.
+ Whichsoe’er of those
+ Be victorious,
+ I’m sure for us no good ’twill be,
+ For our plagues will increase
+ Unless we have peace,
+ And the King and his realms agree.
+
+ The King without them can’t long stand,
+ Nor they without the King;
+ ’Tis they must advise, and ’tis he must command,
+ For their power from his must spring.
+ ’Tis a comfortless sway
+ When none will obey;
+ If the King han’t his right, which way shall we?
+ They may vote and make laws,
+ But no good they will cause
+ Till the King and his realm agree.
+
+ A pure religion I would have,
+ Not mixt with human wit;
+ And I cannot endure that each ignorant knave
+ Should dare to meddle with it.
+ The tricks of the law
+ I would fain withdraw,
+ That it may be alike to each degree:
+ And I fain would have such
+ As do meddle so much,
+ With the King and the church agree.
+
+ We have pray’d and pray’d that the wars might cease,
+ And we be free men made;
+ I would fight, if my fighting would bring any peace,
+ But war is become a trade.
+ Our servants did ride
+ With swords by their side,
+ And made their masters footmen be;
+ But we’ll be no more slaves
+ To the beggars and knaves
+ Now the King and the realms do agree.
+
+
+
+THE COMMONERS.
+
+
+ Written in 1645 to the Club-men, by Alex. Brome.
+
+ COME your ways,
+ Bonny boys
+ Of the town,
+ For now is your time or never:
+ Shall your fears
+ Or your cares
+ Cast you down?
+ Hang your wealth
+ And your health,
+ Get renown.
+ We are all undone for ever,
+ Now the King and the crown
+ Are tumbling down,
+ And the realm doth groan with disasters;
+ And the scum of the land
+ Are the men that command,
+ And our slaves are become our masters.
+
+ Now our lives,
+ Children, wives,
+ And estate,
+ Are a prey to the lust and plunder,
+ To the rage
+ Of our age;
+ And the fate
+ Of our land
+ Is at hand;
+ ’Tis too late
+ To tread these usurpers under.
+ First down goes the crown,
+ Then follows the gown,
+ Thus levell’d are we by the Roundhead;
+ While Church and State must
+ Feed their pride and their lust,
+ And the kingdom and king be confounded.
+
+ Shall we still
+ Suffer ill
+ And be dumb,
+ And let every varlet undo us?
+ Shall we doubt
+ Of each lout
+ That doth come,
+ With a voice
+ Like the noise
+ Of a drum,
+ And a sword or a buff-coat, to us?
+ Shall we lose our estates
+ By plunder and rates,
+ To bedeck those proud upstarts that swagger?
+ Rather fight for your meat
+ Which those locusts do eat,
+ Now every man’s a beggar.
+
+
+
+THE ROYALIST.
+
+
+ By Alex. Brome. Written 1646.
+
+ COME pass about the bowl to me,
+ A health to our distressed King;
+ Though we’re in hold let cups go free,
+ Birds in a cage may freely sing.
+ The ground does tipple healths afar
+ When storms do fall, and shall not we?
+ A sorrow dares not show its face
+ When we are ships, and sack’s the sea.
+
+ Pox on this grief, hang wealth, let’s sing;
+ Shall’s kill ourselves for fear of death?
+ We’ll live by th’ air which songs do bring,
+ Our sighing does but waste our breath.
+ Then let us not be discontent,
+ Nor drink a glass the less of wine;
+ In vain they’ll think their plagues are spent
+ When once they see we don’t repine.
+
+ We do not suffer here alone,
+ Though we are beggar’d, so’s the King;
+ ’Tis sin t’ have wealth when he has none,
+ Tush! poverty’s a royal thing!
+ When we are larded well with drink,
+ Our head shall turn as round as theirs,
+ Our feet shall rise, our bodies sink
+ Clean down the wind like Cavaliers.
+
+ Fill this unnatural quart with sack,
+ Nature all vacuums doth decline;
+ Ourselves will be a zodiac,
+ And every mouth shall be a sign.
+ Methinks the travels of the glass
+ Are circular, like Plato’s year;
+ Where everything is as it was
+ Let’s tipple round: and so ’tis here.
+
+
+
+THE NEW COURTIER.
+
+
+ By Alex. Brome. 1648.
+
+ SINCE it must be so
+ Then so let it go,
+ Let the giddy-brain’d times turn round;
+ Since we have no king let the goblet be crown’d,
+ Our monarchy thus will recover:
+ While the pottles are weeping
+ We’ll drench our sad souls
+ In big-bellied bowls;
+ Our sorrows in sack shall lie steeping,
+ And we’ll drink till our eyes do run over;
+ And prove it by reason
+ That it can be no treason
+ To drink and to sing
+ A mournival of healths to our new-crown’d King.
+
+ Let us all stand bare;—
+ In the presence we are,
+ Let our noses like bonfires shine;
+ Instead of the conduits, let the pottles run wine,
+ To perfect this new coronation;
+ And we that are loyal
+ In drink shall be peers,
+ While that face that wears
+ Pure claret, looks like the blood-royal,
+ And outstares the bones of the nation:
+ In sign of obedience,
+ Our oath of allegiance
+ Beer-glasses shall be,
+ And he that tipples ten is of the nobility.
+
+ But if in this reign
+ The halberted train
+ Or the constable should rebel,
+ And should make their turbill’d militia to swell,
+ And against the King’s party raise arms;
+ Then the drawers, like yeomen
+ Of the guards, with quart pots
+ Shall fuddle the sots,
+ While we make ’em both cuckolds and freemen;
+ And on their wives beat up alarums.
+ Thus as each health passes
+ We’ll triple the glasses,
+ And hold it no sin
+ To be loyal and drink in defence of our King.
+
+
+
+UPON THE CAVALIERS DEPARTING OUT OF LONDON.
+
+
+ By Alex. Brome.
+
+ NOW fare thee well, London,
+ Thou next must be undone,
+ ’Cause thou hast undone us before;
+ This cause and this tyrant
+ Had never play’d this high rant
+ Were’t not for thy _argent d’or_.
+
+ Now we must desert thee,
+ With the lines that begirt thee,
+ And the red-coated saints domineer;
+ Who with liberty fool thee,
+ While a monster doth rule thee,
+ And thou feel’st what before thou didst fear.
+
+ Now justice and freedom,
+ With the laws that did breed ’em,
+ Are sent to Jamaica for gold,
+ And those that upheld ’em
+ Have power but seldom,
+ For justice is barter’d and sold.
+
+ Now the Christian religion
+ Must seek a new region,
+ And the old saints give way to the new;
+ And we that are loyal
+ Vail to those that destroy all,
+ When the Christian gives place to the Jew.
+
+ But this is our glory,
+ In this wretched story
+ Calamities fall on the best;
+ And those that destroy us
+ Do better employ us,
+ To sing till they are supprest.
+
+
+
+A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS.
+
+
+ From the King’s pamphlets, British Museum.
+
+ WE have a King, and yet no King,
+ For he hath lost his power;
+ For ’gainst his will his subjects are
+ Imprison’d in the Tower.
+
+ We had some laws (but now no laws)
+ By which he held his crown;
+ And we had estates and liberties,
+ But now they’re voted down.
+
+ We had religion, but of late
+ That’s beaten down with clubs;
+ Whilst that profaneness authorized
+ Is belched forth in tubs.
+
+ We were free subjects born, but now
+ We are by force made slaves,
+ By some whom we did count our friends,
+ But in the end proved knaves.
+
+ And now to such a grievous height
+ Are our misfortunes grown,
+ That our estates are took away
+ By tricks before ne’er known.
+
+ For there are agents sent abroad
+ Most humbly for to crave
+ Our alms; but if they are denied,
+ And of us nothing have,
+
+ Then by a vote _ex tempore_
+ We are to prison sent,
+ Mark’d with the name of enemy,
+ To King and Parliament:
+
+ And during our imprisonment,
+ Their lawless bulls do plunder
+ A license to their soldiers,
+ Our houses for to plunder.
+
+ And if their hounds do chance to smell
+ A man whose fortunes are
+ Of some account, whose purse is full,
+ Which now is somewhat rare;
+
+ A _monster_ now, _delinquent_ term’d,
+ He is declared to be,
+ And that his lands, as well as goods,
+ Sequester’d ought to be.
+
+ As if our prisons were too good,
+ He is to Yarmouth sent,
+ By virtue of a warrant from
+ The King and Parliament.
+
+ Thus in our royal sovereign’s name,
+ And eke his power infused,
+ And by the virtue of the same,
+ He and all his abused.
+
+ For by this means his castles now
+ Are in the power of those
+ Who treach’rously, with might and main,
+ Do strive him to depose.
+
+ Arise, therefore, brave British men,
+ Fight for your King and State,
+ Against those trait’rous men that strive
+ This realm to ruinate.
+
+ ’Tis Pym, ’tis Pym and his colleagues,
+ That did our woe engender;
+ Nought but their lives can end our woes,
+ And us in safety render.
+
+
+
+THE MAN O’ THE MOON.
+
+
+Hogg, in his second series of Jacobite Relics, states that he “got this
+song among some old papers belonging to Mr Orr of Alloa,” and that he
+never met with it elsewhere. In his first series he printed a Scottish
+song beginning,—
+
+ “Then was a man came fron the moon
+ And landed in our town, sir,
+ And he has sworn a solemn oath
+ That all but knaves must down, sir.”
+
+In Martin Parker’s foregoing ballad, “When the King enjoys his own
+again,” there is also an allusion to the man in the moon:—
+
+ “The Man in the Moon
+ May wear out his shoon
+ By running after Charles his wain;”
+
+as it would appear that the “Man in the Moon,” was the title assumed by
+an almanack-maker of the time of the Commonwealth, who, like other
+astronomers and astrologers, predicted the King’s restoration. In this
+song the “Man o’ the Moon” clearly signifies King Charles.
+
+ The man o’ the moon for ever!
+ The man o’ the moon for ever!
+ We’ll drink to him still
+ In a merry cup of ale,—
+ Here’s the man o’ the moon for ever!
+
+ The man o’ the moon, here’s to him!
+ How few there be that know him!
+ But we’ll drink to him still
+ In a merry cup of ale,—
+ The man o’ the moon, here’s to him!
+
+ Brave man o’ the moon, we hail thee,
+ The true heart ne’er shall fail thee;
+ For the day that’s gone
+ And the day that’s our own—
+ Brave man o’ the moon, we hail thee.
+
+ We have seen the bear bestride thee,
+ And the clouds of winter hide thee,
+ But the moon is changed
+ And here we are ranged,—
+ Brave man o’ the moon, we bide thee.
+
+ The man o’ the moon for ever!
+ The man o’ the moon for ever!
+ We’ll drink to him still
+ In a merry cup of ale,—
+ Here’s the man o’ the moon for ever!
+
+ We have grieved the land should shun thee,
+ And have never ceased to mourn thee,
+ But for all our grief
+ There was no relief,—
+ Now, man o’ the moon, return thee.
+
+ There’s Orion with his golden belt,
+ And Mars, that burning mover,
+ But of all the lights
+ That rule the nights,
+ The man o’ the moon for ever!
+
+
+
+THE TUB-PREACHER.
+
+
+ By Samuel Butler (Author of Hudibras).
+ To the tune of “The Old Courtier of the Queen’s.”
+
+ WITH face and fashion to be known,
+ With eyes all white, and many a groan,
+ With neck awry and snivelling tone,
+ And handkerchief from nose new-blown,
+ And loving cant to sister Joan;
+ ’Tis a new teacher about the town,
+ Oh! the town’s new teacher!
+
+ With cozening laugh, and hollow cheek,
+ To get new gatherings every week,
+ With paltry sense as man can speak,
+ With some small Hebrew, and no Greek,
+ With hums and haws when stuff’s to seek;
+ ’Tis a new teacher, etc.
+
+ With hair cut shorter than the brow,
+ With little band, as you know how,
+ With cloak like Paul, no coat I trow,
+ With surplice none, nor girdle now,
+ With hands to thump, nor knees to bow;
+ ’Tis a new teacher, etc.
+
+ With shop-board breeding and intrusion,
+ By some outlandish institution,
+ With Calvin’s method and conclusion,
+ To bring all things into confusion,
+ And far-stretched sighs for mere illusion;
+ ’Tis a new teacher, etc.
+
+ With threats of absolute damnation,
+ But certainty of some salvation
+ To his new sect, not every nation,
+ With election and reprobation,
+ And with some use of consolation;
+ ’Tis a new teacher, etc.
+
+ With troops expecting him at door
+ To hear a sermon and no more,
+ And women follow him good store,
+ And with great Bibles to turn o’er,
+ Whilst Tom writes notes, as bar-boys score,
+ ’Tis a new teacher, etc.
+
+ With double cap to put his head in,
+ That looks like a black pot tipp’d with tin;
+ While with antic gestures he doth gape and grin;
+ The sisters admire, and he wheedles them in,
+ Who to cheat their husbands think no sin;
+ ’Tis a new teacher, etc.
+
+ With great pretended spiritual motions,
+ And many fine whimsical notions,
+ With blind zeal and large devotions,
+ With broaching rebellion and raising commotions,
+ And poisoning the people with Geneva potions;
+ ’Tis a new teacher, etc.
+
+
+
+THE NEW LITANY.
+
+
+From the King’s pamphlets, British Museum. Satires in the form of a
+litany were common from 1646 to 1746, and even later.
+
+ FROM an extempore prayer and a godly ditty,
+ From the churlish government of a city,
+ From the power of a country committee,
+ Libera nos, Domine.
+
+ From the Turk, the Pope, and the Scottish nation,
+ From being govern’d by proclamation,
+ And from an old Protestant, quite out of fashion,
+ Libera, etc.
+
+ From meddling with those that are out of our reaches,
+ From a fighting priest, and a soldier that preaches,
+ From an ignoramus that writes, and a woman that teaches,
+ Libera, etc.
+
+ From the doctrine of deposing of a king,
+ From the _Directory_, {2} or any such thing,
+ From a fine new marriage without a ring,
+ Libera, etc.
+
+ From a city that yields at the first summons,
+ From plundering goods, either man or woman’s,
+ Or having to do with the House of Commons,
+ Libera, etc.
+
+ From a stumbling horse that tumbles o’er and o’er,
+ From ushering a lady, or walking before,
+ From an English-Irish rebel, newly come o’er, {3}
+ Libera, etc.
+
+ From compounding, or hanging in a silken altar,
+ From oaths and covenants, and being pounded in a mortar,
+ From contributions, or free-quarter,
+ Libera, etc.
+
+ From mouldy bread, and musty beer,
+ From a holiday’s fast, and a Friday’s cheer,
+ From a brother-hood, and a she-cavalier,
+ Libera, etc.
+
+ From Nick Neuter, for you, and for you,
+ From Thomas Turn-coat, that will never prove true,
+ From a reverend Rabbi that’s worse than a Jew,
+ Libera, etc.
+
+ From a country justice that still looks big,
+ From swallowing up the Italian fig,
+ Or learning of the Scottish jig,
+ Libera, etc.
+
+ From being taken in a disguise,
+ From believing of the printed lies,
+ From the Devil and from the Excise, {4}
+ Libera, etc.
+
+ From a broken pate with a pint pot,
+ For fighting for I know not what,
+ And from a friend as false as a Scot,
+ Libera, etc.
+
+ From one that speaks no sense, yet talks all that he can,
+ From an old woman and a Parliament man,
+ From an Anabaptist and a Presbyter man,
+ Libera, etc.
+
+ From Irish rebels and Welsh hubbub-men,
+ From Independents and their tub-men,
+ From sheriffs’ bailiffs, and their club-men,
+ Libera, etc.
+
+ From one that cares not what he saith,
+ From trusting one that never payeth,
+ From a private preacher and a public faith,
+ Libera, etc.
+
+ From a vapouring horse and a Roundhead in buff,
+ From roaring Jack Cavee, with money little enough,
+ From beads and such idolatrous stuff,
+ Libera, etc.
+
+ From holydays, and all that’s holy,
+ From May-poles and fiddlers, and all that’s jolly
+ From Latin or learning, since that is folly,
+ Libera, etc.
+
+ And now to make an end of all,
+ I wish the Roundheads had a fall,
+ Or else were hanged in Goldsmith’s Hall.
+ Amen.
+
+ Benedicat Dominus.
+
+
+
+THE OLD PROTESTANT’S LITANY.
+
+
+ Against all sectaries
+ And their defendants,
+ Both Presbyterians
+ And Independents.
+
+Mr Walter Wilkins, in his Political Ballads of the Seventeenth and
+Eighteenth Centuries, says, the imprint of this broadside intimates that
+it was published in “the year of Hope, 1647,” and Thomson, the collector,
+added the precise date, the 7th of September.
+
+ THAT thou wilt be pleased to grant our requests,
+ And quite destroy all the vipers’ nests,
+ That England and her true religion molests,
+ Te rogamus audi nos.
+
+ That thou wilt be pleased to censure with pity
+ The present estate of our once famous city;
+ Let her still be govern’d by men just and witty,
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+ That thou wilt be pleased to consider the Tower,
+ And all other prisons in the Parliament’s power,
+ Where King Charles his friends find their welcome but sour,
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+ That thou wilt be pleased to look on the grief
+ Of the King’s old servants, and send them relief,
+ Restore to the yeomen o’ th’ Guard chines of beef,
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+ That thou wilt be pleased very quickly to bring
+ Unto his just rights our so much-wrong’d King,
+ That he may be happy in everything,
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+ That Whitehall may shine in its pristine lustre,
+ That the Parliament may make a general muster,
+ That knaves may be punish’d by men who are juster,
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+ That now the dog-days are fully expired,
+ That those cursed curs, which our patience have tired,
+ May suffer what is by true justice required,
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+ That thou wilt be pleased to incline conquering Thomas
+ (Who now hath both city and Tower gotten from us),
+ That he may be just in performing his promise,
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+ That our hopeful Prince and our gracious Queen
+ (Whom we here in England long time have not seen)
+ May soon be restored to what they have been,
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+ That the rest of the royal issue may be
+ From their Parliamentary guardians set free,
+ And be kept according to their high degree,
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+ That our ancient Liturgy may be restored,
+ That the organs (by sectaries so much abhorr’d)
+ May sound divine praises, according to the word,
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+ That the ring in marriage, the cross at the font,
+ Which the devil and the Roundheads so much affront,
+ May be used again, as before they were wont,
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+ That Episcopacy, used in its right kind,
+ In England once more entertainment may find,
+ That Scots and lewd factions may go down the wind,
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+ That thou wilt be pleased again to restore
+ All things in due order, as they were before,
+ That the Church and the State may be vex’d no more,
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+ That all the King’s friends may enjoy their estates,
+ And not be kept, as they have been, at low rates,
+ That the poor may find comfort again at their gates,
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+ That thou wilt all our oppressions remove,
+ And grant us firm faith and hope, join’d with true love,
+ Convert or confound all which virtue reprove,
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+ That all peevish sects that would live uncontroll’d,
+ And will not be govern’d, as all subjects should,
+ To New England may pack, or live quiet i’ th’ Old,
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+ That gracious King Charles, with his children and wife,
+ Who long time have suffer’d through this civil strife,
+ May end with high honour their natural life,
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+ That they who have seized on honest men’s treasure,
+ Only for their loyalty to God and to Cæsar,
+ May in time convenient find measure for measure,
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+ That thou all these blessings upon us wilt send,
+ We are no _Independents_, on Thee we depend,
+ And as we believe, from all harm us defend;
+ Te rogamus, etc.
+
+
+
+VIVE LE ROY.
+
+
+From a collection of songs, 1640 to 1660. It is also to be found in the
+additional MSS., No. 11, 608, p. 54, in the collection in the British
+Museum. It was sung to the air of Love lies bleeding,—and was, says Mr
+Chappell, “the God save the King” of Charles I., Charles II., and James
+II.
+
+ WHAT though the zealots pull down the prelates,
+ Push at the pulpit, and kick at the crown,
+ Shall we not never once more endeavour,
+ Strive to purchase our royall renown?
+ Shall not the Roundhead first be confounded?
+ Sa, sa, sa, say, boys, ha, ha, ha, ha, boys,
+ Then we’ll return with triumph and joy.
+ Then we’ll be merry, drink white wine and sherry,
+ Then we will sing, boys, God bless the King, boys,
+ Cast up our caps, and cry, _Vive le Roy_.
+
+ What though the wise make Alderman Isaac
+ Put us in prison and steal our estates,
+ Though we be forced to be unhorsed,
+ And walk on foot as it pleaseth the fates;
+ In the King’s army no man shall harm ye.
+ Then come along, boys, valiant and strong, boys,
+ Fight for your goods, which the Roundheads enjoy;
+ And when you venture London to enter,
+ And when you come, boys, with fife and drum, boys,
+ Isaac himself shall cry, _Vive le Roy_.
+
+ If you will choose them, do not refuse them,
+ Since honest Parliament never made thieves,
+ Charles will not further have rogues dipt in murder,
+ Neither by leases, long lives, nor reprieves.
+ ’Tis the conditions and propositions
+ Will not be granted, then be not daunted,
+ We will our honest old customs enjoy;
+ Paul’s not rejected, will be respected,
+ And in the quier voices rise higher,
+ Thanks to the heavens, and (cry), _Vive le Roy_.
+
+
+
+THE CAVALIER.
+
+
+By Samuel Butler. From his Posthumous Works. A somewhat different
+version appears in Chappell’s Popular Music of the Olden Time.
+
+ HE that is a clear
+ Cavalier
+ Will not repine,
+ Although
+ His pocket grow
+ So very low
+ He cannot get wine.
+
+ Fortune is a lass
+ Will embrace,
+ But soon destroy;
+ Born free,
+ In liberty
+ We’ll always be,
+ Singing _Vive le Roy_.
+
+ Virtue is its own reward,
+ And Fortune is a whore;
+ There’s none but knaves and fools regard her,
+ Or her power implore.
+ But he that is a trusty _Roger_,
+ And will serve the King;
+ Altho’ he be a tatter’d soldier,
+ Yet may skip and sing:
+ Whilst we that fight for love,
+ May in the way of honour prove
+ That they who make sport of us
+ May come short of us;
+ Fate will flatter them,
+ And will scatter them;
+ Whilst our loyalty
+ Looks upon royalty,
+ We that live peacefully,
+ May be successfully
+ Crown’d with a crown at last.
+
+ Tho’ a real honest man
+ May be quite undone,
+ He’ll show his allegiance,
+ Love, and obedience;
+ Those will raise him up,
+ Honour stays him up,
+ Virtue keeps him up,
+ And we praise him up.
+ Whilst the vain courtiers dine,
+ With their bottles full of wine,
+ Honour will make him fast.
+ Freely then
+ Let’s be honest men
+ And kick at fate,
+ For we may live to see
+ Our loyalty
+ Valued at a higher rate.
+ He that bears a sword
+ Or a word against the throne,
+ And does profanely prate
+ To abuse the state,
+ Hath no kindness for his own.
+
+ What tho’ painted plumes and prayers
+ Are the prosp’rous men,
+ Yet we’ll attend our own affairs
+ ’Till they come to ’t agen;
+ Treachery may be faced with light,
+ And letchery lined with furr;
+ A cuckold may be made a knight,
+ Sing _Fortune de la Guerre_.
+ But what’s that to us, brave boys,
+ That are right honest men?
+ We’ll conquer and come again,
+ Beat up the drum again;
+ Hey for _Cavaliers_,
+ Hoe for _Cavaliers_,
+ Drink for _Cavaliers_,
+ Fight for _Cavaliers_,
+ Dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub,
+ Have at Old _Beelzebub_,
+ _Oliver_ stinks for fear.
+
+ _Fifth Monarchy-men_ must down, boys,
+ With bulleys of every sect in town, boys;
+ We’ll rally and to ’t again,
+ Give ’em the rout again;
+ Fly like light about,
+ Face to the right-about,
+ Charge them home again
+ When they come on again;
+ _Sing Tantara rara_, _boys_,
+ _Tantara rara_, _boys_,
+ This is the life of an Old Cavalier.
+
+
+
+A CAVEAT TO THE ROUNDHEADS.
+
+
+ From the Posthumous Works of Samuel Butler.
+
+ I COME to charge ye
+ That fight the clergy,
+ And pull the mitre from the prelate’s head,
+ That you will be wary
+ Lest you miscarry
+ In all those factious humours you have bred;
+ But as for _Brownists_ we’ll have none,
+ But take them all and hang them one by one.
+
+ Your wicked actions
+ Join’d in factions
+ Are all but aims to rob the King of his due;
+ Then give this reason
+ For your treason,
+ That you’ll be ruled, if he’ll be ruled by you.
+ Then leave these factions, zealous brother,
+ Lest you be hanged one against another.
+
+
+
+HEY, THEN, UP GO WE.
+
+
+This song, says Mr Chappell, in his Popular Music of the Olden Time,
+which describes with some humour the taste of the Puritans, might pass
+for a Puritan song, if it were not contained in the “Shepherds’ Oracles,”
+by Francis Quarles, 1646. He was cup-bearer to Elizabeth, Queen of
+Bohemia, daughter of James I., and afterwards chronologer to the city of
+London. He died in 1644, and his Shepherds’ Oracles were a posthumous
+publication. It was often reprinted during the Restoration, and
+reproduced and slightly altered by Thomas Durfey, in his “Pills to Purge
+Melancholy,” where the burthen is, “Hey, boys, up go we.”
+
+ KNOW this, my brethren, heaven is clear,
+ And all the clouds are gone;
+ The righteous man shall flourish now,
+ Good days are coming on.
+ Then come, my brethren, and be glad,
+ And eke rejoyce with me;
+ Lawn sleeves and rochets shall go down,
+ And hey, then, up go we.
+
+ We’ll break the windows which the whore
+ Of Babylon hath painted,
+ And when the popish saints are down
+ Then Barrow shall be sainted;
+ There’s neither cross nor crucifix
+ Shall stand for men to see,
+ Rome’s trash and trumpery shall go down,
+ And hey, then, up go we.
+
+ Whate’er the Popish hands have built
+ Our hammers shall undo;
+ We’ll break their pipes and burn their copes,
+ And pull down churches too;
+ We’ll exercise within the groves,
+ And teach beneath a tree;
+ We’ll make a pulpit of a cask,
+ And hey, then, up go we.
+
+ We’ll put down Universities,
+ Where learning is profest,
+ Because they practise and maintain
+ The language of the Beast;
+ We’ll drive the doctors out of doors,
+ And all that learned be;
+ We’ll cry all arts and learning down,
+ And hey, then, up go we.
+
+ We’ll down with deans and prebends, too,
+ And I rejoyce to tell ye
+ We then shall get our fill of pig,
+ And capons for the belly.
+ We’ll burn the Fathers’ weighty tomes,
+ And make the School-men flee;
+ We’ll down with all that smells of wit,
+ And hey, then, up go we.
+
+ If once the Antichristian crew
+ Be crush’d and overthrown,
+ We’ll teach the nobles how to stoop,
+ And keep the gentry down:
+ Good manners have an ill report,
+ And turn to pride, we see,
+ We’ll therefore put good manners down,
+ And hey, then, up go we.
+
+ The name of lords shall be abhorr’d,
+ For every man’s a brother;
+ No reason why in Church and State
+ One man should rule another;
+ But when the change of government
+ Shall set our fingers free,
+ We’ll make these wanton sisters stoop,
+ And hey, then, up go we.
+
+ What though the King and Parliament
+ Do not accord together,
+ We have more cause to be content,
+ This is our sunshine weather:
+ For if that reason should take place,
+ And they should once agree,
+ Who would be in a Roundhead’s case,
+ For hey, then, up go we.
+
+ What should we do, then, in this case?
+ Let’s put it to a venture;
+ If that we hold out seven years’ space
+ We’ll sue out our indenture.
+ A time may come to make us rue,
+ And time may set us free,
+ Except the gallows claim his due,
+ And hey, then, up go we.
+
+
+
+THE CLEAN CONTRARY WAY,
+OR,
+COLONEL VENNE’S ENCOURAGEMENT TO HIS SOLDIERS.
+
+
+ To the air of “Hey, then, up go we.”
+ From a Collection of Loyal Songs written against the Rump Parliament.
+
+ FIGHT on, brave soldiers, for the cause,
+ Fear not the Cavaliers;
+ Their threat’nings are as senseless as
+ Our jealousies and fears.
+ Tis you must perfect this great work,
+ And all malignants slay;
+ You must bring back the King again
+ The clean contrary way.
+
+ ’Tis for religion that you fight,
+ And for the kingdom’s good;
+ By robbing churches, plundering them,
+ And shedding guiltless blood.
+ Down with the orthodoxal train,
+ All loyal subjects slay;
+ When these are gone, we shall be blest
+ The clean contrary way.
+
+ When _Charles_ we have made bankrupt,
+ Of power and crown bereft him,
+ And all his loyal subjects slain,
+ And none but rebels left him;
+ When we have beggar’d all the land,
+ And sent our trunks away,
+ We’ll make him then a glorious prince
+ The clean contrary way.
+
+ ’Tis to preserve his Majesty
+ That we against him fight,
+ Nor ever are we beaten back,
+ Because our cause is right:
+ If any make a scruple at
+ Our Declarations, say,—
+ Who fight for us, fight for the King
+ The clean contrary way.
+
+ At _Keinton_, _Brainsford_, _Plymouth_, _York_,
+ And divers places more,
+ What victories we saints obtain,
+ The like ne’er seen before:
+ How often we Prince _Rupert_ kill’d,
+ And bravely won the day,
+ The wicked Cavaliers did run
+ The clean contrary way.
+
+ The true religion we maintain,
+ The kingdom’s peace and plenty;
+ The privilege of Parliament
+ Not known to one and twenty;
+ The ancient fundamental laws,
+ And teach men to obey
+ Their lawful sovereign, and all these
+ The clean contrary way.
+
+ We subjects’ liberties preserve
+ By imprisonment and plunder,
+ And do enrich ourselves and state
+ By keeping th’ wicked under.
+ We must preserve mechanicks now
+ To lectorize and pray;
+ By them the gospel is advanced
+ The clean contrary way.
+
+ And though the King be much misled
+ By that malignant crew,
+ He’ll find us honest at the last,
+ Give all of us our due.
+ For we do wisely plot, and plot
+ Rebellion to alloy,
+ He sees we stand for peace and truth
+ The clean contrary way.
+
+ The publick faith shall save our souls
+ And our good works together;
+ And ships shall save our lives, that stay
+ Only for wind and weather:
+ But when our faith and works fall down
+ And all our hopes decay,
+ Our acts will bear us up to heaven
+ The clean contrary way.
+
+
+
+THE CAMERONIAN CAT.
+
+
+A well-known song from Hogg’s Jacobite Relics; and popular among the
+Cavaliers both of England and Scotland in the days of the Commonwealth.
+It was usually sung to a psalm tune; the singers imitating the style and
+manner of a precentor at a Presbyterian church.
+
+ THERE was a Cameronian cat
+ Was hunting for a prey,
+ And in the house she catch’d a mouse
+ Upon the Sabbath-day.
+
+ The Whig, being offended
+ At such an act profane,
+ Laid by his book, the cat he took,
+ And bound her in a chain.
+
+ Thou damn’d, thou cursed creature,
+ This deed so dark with thee,
+ Think’st thou to bring to hell below
+ My holy wife and me?
+
+ Assure thyself that for the deed
+ Thou blood for blood shalt pay,
+ For killing of the Lord’s own mouse
+ Upon the Sabbath-day.
+
+ The presbyter laid by the book,
+ And earnestly he pray’d
+ That the great sin the cat had done
+ Might not on him be laid.
+
+ And straight to execution
+ Poor pussy she was drawn,
+ And high hang’d up upon a tree—
+ The preacher sung a psalm.
+
+ And when the work was ended,
+ They thought the cat near dead,
+ She gave a paw, and then a mew,
+ And stretched out her head.
+
+ Thy name, said he, shall certainly
+ A beacon still remain,
+ A terror unto evil ones
+ For evermore, Amen.
+
+
+
+THE ROYAL FEAST.
+
+
+A Loyall Song of the Royall Feast kept by the Prisoners in the Towre,
+August last, with the Names, Titles, and Characters of every Prisoner.
+By Sir F. W., Knight and Baronet, Prisoner. (Sept. 16th, 1647.)
+
+“In the negotiations between the King and the Parliament during the
+summer and autumn of this year,” says Mr Thomas Wright in his Political
+Ballads of the Commonwealth, published for the Percy Society, “the case
+of the royalist prisoners in the Tower was frequently brought into
+question. The latter seized the occasion of complaining against the
+rigours (complaints apparently exaggerated) which were exerted against
+them, and on the 16th June, 1647, was published ‘A True Relation of the
+cruell and unparallel’d Oppression which hath been illegally imposed upon
+the Gentlemen Prisoners in the Tower of London.’ The several petitions
+contained in this tract have the signatures of Francis Howard, Henry
+Bedingfield, Walter Blount, Giles Strangwaies, Francis Butler, Henry
+Vaughan, Thomas Lunsford, Richard Gibson, Tho. Violet, John Morley,
+Francis Wortley, Edw. Bishop, John Hewet, Wingfield Bodenham, Henry
+Warren, W. Morton, John Slaughter, Gilbert Swinhow.”
+
+On the 19th of August (according to the MODERATE INTELLIGENCER of that
+date) the King sent to the royal prisoners in the Tower two fat bucks for
+a feast. This circumstance was the origin of the present ballad. It was
+written by Sir Francis Wortley, one of the prisoners. This ballad, as we
+learn by the concluding lines, was to be sung to the popular tune of
+“Chevy Chace.”
+
+ GOD save the best of kings, King Charles!
+ The best of queens, Queen Mary!
+ The ladies all, Gloster and Yorke,
+ Prince Charles, so like old harry! {5}
+
+ God send the King his own again,
+ His towre and all his coyners!
+ And blesse all kings who are to reigne,
+ From traytors and purloyners!
+ The King sent us poor traytors here
+ (But you may guesse the reason)
+ Two brace of bucks to mend the cheere,
+ Is’t not to eat them treason?
+
+ Let Selden search Cotton’s records,
+ And Rowley in the Towre,
+ They cannot match the president,
+ It is not in their power.
+ Old Collet would have joy’d to ’ve seen
+ This president recorded;
+ For all the papers he ere saw
+ Scarce such an one afforded.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ But that you may these traytors know,
+ I’ll be so bold to name them;
+ That if they ever traytors prove
+ Then this record may shame them:
+ But these are well-try’d loyal blades
+ (If England ere had any),
+ Search both the Houses through and through
+ You’ld scarcely finde so many.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ The first and chiefe a marquesse {6} is,
+ Long with the State did wrestle;
+ Had Ogle {7} done as much as he,
+ Th’ad spoyl’d Will Waller’s castle.
+ Ogle had wealth and title got,
+ So layd down his commissions;
+ The noble marquesse would not yield,
+ But scorn’d all base conditions.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ The next a worthy bishop {8} is,
+ Of schismaticks was hated;
+ But I the cause could never know,
+ Nor see the reason stated.
+ The cryes were loud, God knowes the cause,
+ They had a strange committee,
+ Which was a-foot well neere a yeare,
+ Who would have had small pitty.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ The next to him is a Welsh Judge, {9}
+ Durst tell them what was treason;
+ Old honest David durst be good
+ When it was out of season;
+ He durst discover all the tricks
+ The lawyers use, and knavery,
+ And show the subtile plots they use
+ To enthrall us into slavery.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ Frank Wortley {10} hath a jovial soule,
+ Yet never was good club-man;
+ He’s for the bishops and the church,
+ But can endure no tub-man.
+ He told Sir Thomas in the Towre,
+ Though he by him was undone,
+ It pleased him that he lost more men
+ In taking him then London.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ Sir Edward Hayles {11} was wond’rous rich,
+ No flower in Kent yields honey
+ In more abundance to the bee
+ Then they from him suck money;
+ Yet hee’s as chearfull as the best—
+ Judge Jenkins sees no reason
+ That honest men for wealth should be
+ Accused of high treason.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ Old Sir George Strangways {12} he came in,
+ Though he himself submitted,
+ Yet as a traytor he must be
+ Excepted and committed:
+ Yet they th’ exception now take off,
+ But not the sequestrations,
+ Hee must forsooth to Goldsmith’s-hall,
+ The place of desolation.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ Honest Sir Berr’s a reall man,
+ As ere was lapt in leather;
+ But he (God blesse us) loves the King,
+ And therefore was sent hither.
+ He durst be sheriff, and durst make
+ The Parliament acquainted
+ What he intended for to doe,
+ And for this was attainted.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ Sir Benefield, {13} Sir Walter Blunt,
+ Are Romishly affected,
+ So’s honest Frank of Howard’s race,
+ And slaughter is suspected. {14}
+ But how the devill comes this about,
+ That Papists are so loyall,
+ And those that call themselves God’s saints
+ Like devils do destroy all?
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ Jack Hewet {15} will have wholesome meat,
+ And drink good wine, if any;
+ His entertainment’s free and neat,
+ His choyce of friends not many;
+ Jack is a loyall-hearted man,
+ Well parted and a scholar;
+ He’ll grumble if things please him not,
+ But never grows to choller.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ Gallant Sir Thomas, {16} bold and stout
+ (Brave Lunsford), children eateth;
+ But he takes care, where he eats one,
+ There he a hundred getteth;
+ When Harlow’s wife brings her long bills,
+ He wishes she were blinded;
+ When shee speaks loud, as loud he swears
+ The woman’s earthly-minded.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ Sir Lewis {17} hath an able pen,
+ Can cudgell a committee;
+ He makes them doe him reason, though
+ They others do not pitty.
+ Brave Cleaveland had a willing minde,
+ Frank Wortley was not able,
+ But Lewis got foure pound per weeke
+ For’s children and his table.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ Giles Strangwayes {18} has a gallant soul,
+ A brain infatigable;
+ What study he ere undertakes
+ To master it hee’s able:
+ He studies on his theoremes,
+ And logarithmes for number;
+ He loves to speake of Lewis Dives, {19}
+ And they are ne’er asunder.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ Sir John Marlow’s {20} a loyall man
+ (If England ere bred any),
+ He bang’d the pedlar back and side,
+ Of Scots he killed many.
+ Had General King {21} done what he should,
+ And given the blew-caps battail,
+ Wee’d make them all run into Tweed
+ By droves, like sommer cattell.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ Will Morton’s {22} of that Cardinal’s race,
+ Who made that blessed maryage;
+ He is most loyall to his King,
+ In action, word, and carryage;
+ His sword and pen defends the cause,
+ If King Charles thinke not on him,
+ Will is amongst the rest undone,—
+ The Lord have mercy on him!
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ Tom Conisby {23} is stout and stern,
+ Yet of a sweet condition;
+ To them he loves his crime was great,
+ He read the King’s commission,
+ And required Cranborn to assist;
+ He charged, but should have pray’d him;
+ Tom was so bold he did require
+ All for the King should aid him.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ But I Win. Bodnam {24} had forgot,
+ Had suffer’d so much hardship;
+ There’s no man in the Towre had left
+ The King so young a wardship;
+ He’s firme both to the church and crowne,
+ The crown law and the canon;
+ The Houses put him to his shifts,
+ And his wife’s father Mammon.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ Sir Henry Vaughan {25} looks as grave
+ As any beard can make him;
+ Those come poore prisoners for to see
+ Doe for our patriarke take him.
+ Old Harry is a right true-blue,
+ As valiant as Pendraggon;
+ And would be loyall to his King,
+ Had King Charles ne’er a rag on.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ John Lilburne {26} is a stirring blade,
+ And understands the matter;
+ He neither will king, bishops, lords,
+ Nor th’ House of Commons flatter:
+ John loves no power prerogative,
+ But that derived from Sion;
+ As for the mitre and the crown,
+ Those two he looks awry on.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ Tom Violet {27} swears his injuries
+ Are scarcely to be numbred;
+ He was close prisoner to the State
+ These score dayes and nine hundred;
+ For Tom does set down all the dayes,
+ And hopes he has good debters;
+ ’Twould be no treason (Jenkin sayes)
+ To bring them peaceful letters.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ Poore Hudson {28} of all was the last,
+ For it was his disaster,
+ He met a turncoat swore that he
+ Was once King Charles his master;
+ So he to London soon was brought,
+ But came in such a season,
+ Their martial court was then cry’d down,
+ They could not try his treason.
+ The king sent us, etc.
+
+ Else Hudson had gone to the pot,
+ Who is he can abide him?
+ For he was master to the King,
+ And (which is more) did guide him.
+ Had Hudson done (as Judas did),
+ Most loyally betray’d him,
+ The Houses are so noble, they
+ As bravely would have paid him.
+ The King sent us, etc.
+
+ We’ll then conclude with hearty healths
+ To King Charles and Queen Mary;
+ To the black lad in buff (the Prince),
+ So like his grandsire Harry;
+ To York, to Glo’ster; may we not
+ Send Turk and Pope defiance,
+ Since we such gallant seconds have
+ To strengthen our alliance?
+ Wee’l drink them o’re and o’re again,
+ Else we’re unthankfull creatures;
+ Since Charles, the wise, the valiant King,
+ Takes us for loyall traytors.
+
+ This if you will rhyme dogrell call,
+ (That you please you may name it,)
+ One of the loyal traytors here
+ Did for a ballad frame it:
+ Old Chevy Chace was in his minde;
+ If any suit it better,
+ All those concerned in the song
+ Will kindly thank the setter.
+
+
+
+UPON HIS MAJESTY’S COMING TO HOLMBY.
+
+
+Charles I., after his surrender to the English Commissioners by the
+Scotch, was conveyed to Holmby House, Northamptonshire, 16th February,
+1647.
+
+ HOLD out, brave Charles, and thou shaft win the field;
+ Thou canst not lose thyself, unless thou yield
+ On such conditions as will force thy hand
+ To give away thy sceptre, crown, and land.
+ And what is worse, to hazard by thy fall,
+ To lose a greater crown, more worth than all.
+
+ Thy poor distressed Cavaliers rejoyced
+ To hear thy royal resolution voiced,
+ And are content far more poor to be
+ Than yet they are, so it reflects from thee.
+ Thou art our sovereign still, in spite of hate;
+ Our zeal is to thy _person_, not thy _state_.
+
+ We are not so ambitious to desire
+ Our drooping fortunes to be mounted higher,
+ And thou so great a monarch, to our grief,
+ Must sue unto thy subjects for relief:
+ And when they sit and long debate about it,
+ Must either stay their time, or go without it.
+
+ No, sacred prince, thy friends esteem thee more
+ In thy distresses than ere they did before;
+ And though their wings be clipt, their wishes fly
+ To heaven by millions, for a fresh supply.
+ That as thy cause was so betray’d by _men_,
+ It may by _angels_ be restored agen.
+
+
+
+I THANK YOU TWICE;
+
+
+ OR
+
+ The city courting their own ruin,
+ Thank the Parliament twice for their treble undoing.
+
+ A street ballad. From a broadside, 1647.
+
+ THE hierarchy is out of date,
+ Our monarchy was sick of late,
+ But now ’tis grown an excellent state:
+ Oh, God a-mercy, Parliament!
+
+ The teachers knew not what to say,
+ The ’prentices have leave to play,
+ The people have all forgotten to pray;
+ Still, God a-mercy, Parliament!
+
+ The Roundhead and the Cavalier
+ Have fought it out almost seven year,
+ And yet, methinks, they are never the near:
+ Oh, God, etc.
+
+ The gentry are sequester’d all;
+ Our wives you find at Goldsmith Hall,
+ For there they meet with the devil and all;
+ Still, God, etc.
+
+ The Parliament are grown to that height
+ They care not a pin what his Majesty saith;
+ And they pay all their debts with the public faith.
+ Oh, God, etc.
+
+ Though all we have here is brought to nought,
+ In Ireland we have whole lordships bought,
+ There we shall one day be rich, ’tis thought:
+ Still, God, etc.
+
+ We must forsake our father and mother,
+ And for the State undo our own brother
+ And never leave murthering one another:
+ Oh, God, etc.
+
+ Now the King is caught and the devil is dead;
+ Fairfax must be disbanded,
+ Or else he may chance be Hotham-ed.
+ Still, God, etc.
+
+ They have made King Charles a glorious king,
+ He was told, long ago, of such a thing;
+ Now he and his subjects have reason to sing,
+ Oh, God, etc.
+
+
+
+THE CITIES LOYALTIE TO THE KING.
+
+
+ (Aug. 13th, 1647.)
+
+The city of London made several demonstrations this year to support the
+Presbyterian party in the Parliament against the Independents and the
+army. In the latter end of September, after the army had marched to
+London, and the Parliament acted under its influence, the lord mayor and
+a large part of the aldermen were committed to the Tower on the charge of
+high treason; and a new mayor for the rest of the year was appointed by
+the Parliament.
+
+ To the tune of “London is a fine town and a gallant city.”
+
+ WHY kept your train-bands such a stirre?
+ Why sent you them by clusters?
+ Then went into Saint James’s Parke?
+ Why took you then their musters?
+ Why rode my Lord up Fleet-street
+ With coaches at least twenty,
+ And fill’d they say with aldermen,
+ As good they had been empty?
+ London is a brave towne,
+ Yet I their cases pitty;
+ Their mayor and some few aldermen
+ Have cleane undone the city.
+
+ The ’prentices are gallant blades,
+ And to the king are clifty;
+ But the lord mayor and aldermen
+ Are scarce so wise as thrifty.
+ I’le pay for the apprentices,
+ They to the King were hearty;
+ For they have done all that they can
+ To advance their soveraignes party.
+ London, etc.
+
+ What’s now become of your brave Poyntz?
+ And of your Generall Massey? {29}
+ If you petition for a peace,
+ These gallants they will slash yee.
+ Where now are your reformadoes?
+ To Scotland gone together:
+ ’Twere better they were fairly trusst
+ Then they should bring them thither.
+ London, etc.
+
+ But if your aldermen were false,
+ Or Glyn, that’s your recorder! {30}
+ Let them never betray you more,
+ But hang them up in order.
+ All these men may be coach’t as well
+ As any other sinner
+ Up Holborne, and ride forwarde still,
+ To Tyburne to their dinner.
+ London, &c.
+
+ God send the valiant General may
+ Restore the King to glory! {31}
+ Then that name I have honour’d so
+ Will famous be in story;
+ While if he doe not, I much feare
+ The ruine of the nation,
+ And (that I should be loth to see)
+ His house’s desolation.
+ London, etc.
+
+
+
+THE LAWYERS’ LAMENTATION FOR THE LOSS OF CHARING-CROSS.
+
+
+ From a Collection of Loyal Songs, 1610 to 1660.
+
+ UNDONE! undone! the lawyers cry,
+ They ramble up and down;
+ We know not the way to _Westminster_
+ Now _Charing-Cross_ is down.
+ Now fare thee well, old Charing-Cross,
+ Then fare thee well, old stump;
+ It was a thing set up by a King,
+ And so pull’d down by the _Rump_.
+
+ And when they came to the bottom of the Strand
+ They were all at a loss:
+ This is not the way to _Westminster_,
+ We must go by _Charing-Cross_.
+ Then fare thee well, etc.
+
+ The Parliament did vote it down
+ As a thing they thought most fitting,
+ For fear it should fall, and so kill ’em all
+ In the House as they were sitting.
+ Then fare thee well, etc.
+
+ Some letters about this _Cross_ were found,
+ Or else it might been freed;
+ But I dare say, and safely swear,
+ It could neither write nor read.
+ Then fare thee well, etc.
+
+ The _Whigs_ they do affirm and say
+ To _Popery_ it was bent;
+ For what I know it might be so,
+ For to church it never went,
+ Then fare thee well, etc.
+
+ This cursed _Rump-Rebellious Crew_,
+ They were so damn’d hard-hearted;
+ They pass’d a vote that _Charing-Cross_
+ Should be taken down and carted:
+ Then fare thee well, etc.
+
+ Now, _Whigs_, I would advise you all,
+ ’Tis what I’d have you do;
+ For fear the King should come again,
+ Pray pull down _Tyburn_ too.
+ Then fare thee well, etc.
+
+
+
+THE DOWNFAL OF CHARING-CROSS.
+
+
+Charing-Cross, as it stood before the civil wars, was one of those
+beautiful Gothic obelisks, erected to conjugal affection by Edward I.,
+who built such a one wherever the hearse of his beloved Eleanor rested in
+its way from Lincolnshire to Westminster. But neither its ornamental
+situation, the beauty of its structure, nor the noble design of its
+erection (which did honour to humanity), could preserve it from the
+merciless zeal of the times; for in 1647 it was demolished by order of
+the House of Commons, as Popish and superstitious. This occasioned the
+following not unhumorous sarcasm, which has been often printed among the
+popular sonnets of those times.
+
+The plot referred to in ver. 3 was that entered into by Mr Waller the
+poet, and others, with a view to reduce the city and Tower to the service
+of the King; for which two of them, Nath. Tomkins and Richard Chaloner,
+suffered death, July 5, 1643. Vid. Ath. Ox. 11. 24.—_Percy’s Reliques of
+Ancient English Poetry_.
+
+ UNDONE! undone! the lawyers are,
+ They wander about the towne,
+ Nor can find the way to Westminster
+ Now Charing-Cross is downe:
+ At the end of the Strand they make a stand,
+ Swearing they are at a loss,
+ And chaffing say, that’s not the way,
+ They must go by Charing-Cross.
+
+ The Parliament to vote it down
+ Conceived it very fitting,
+ For fear it should fall, and kill them all
+ In the House as they were sitting.
+ They were told god-wot, it had a plot,
+ Which made them so hard-hearted,
+ To give command it should not stand,
+ But be taken down and carted.
+
+ Men talk of plots, this might have been worse,
+ For anything I know,
+ Than that _Tomkins_ and _Chaloner_
+ Were hang’d for long agoe.
+ Our Parliament did that prevent,
+ And wisely them defended,
+ For plots they will discover still
+ Before they were intended.
+
+ But neither man, woman, nor child
+ Will say, I’m confident,
+ They ever heard it speak one word
+ Against the Parliament.
+ An informer swore it letters bore,
+ Or else it had been freed;
+ In troth I’ll take my Bible oath
+ It could neither write nor read.
+
+ The Committee said that verify
+ To Popery it was bent:
+ For ought I know, it might be so,
+ For to church it never went.
+ What with excise, and such device,
+ The kingdom doth begin
+ To think you’ll leave them ne’er a cross
+ Without doors nor within.
+
+ Methinks the Common-council should
+ Of it have taken pity,
+ ’Cause, good old cross, it always stood
+ So firmly to the city.
+ Since crosses you so much disdain,
+ Faith, if I were as you,
+ For fear the King should rule again
+ I’d pull down Tiburn too.
+
+Whitlocke says, “May 3rd, 1643, Cheapside Cross and other crosses were
+voted down,” &c. When this vote was put in execution does not appear;
+probably not till many mouths after Tomkins and Chaloner had suffered.
+
+We had a very curious account of the pulling down of Cheapside Cross
+lately published in one of the Numbers of the _Gentlemen’s Magazine_,
+1766.—_Percy’s Reliques_.
+
+
+
+THE LONG PARLIAMENT.
+
+
+ By John Cleveland.
+
+ MOST gracious and omnipotent,
+ And everlasting Parliament,
+ Whose power and majesty
+ Are greater than all kings by odds;
+ And to account you less than gods
+ Must needs be blasphemy.
+
+ Mosses and Aaron ne’er did do
+ More wonder than is wrought by you
+ For England’s Israel;
+ But though the Red Sea we have past,
+ If you to Canaan bring’s at last,
+ Is’t not a miracle—?
+
+ In six years’ space you have done more
+ Than all the parliaments before;
+ You have quite done the work.
+ The King, the Cavalier, and Pope,
+ You have o’erthrown, and next we hope
+ You will confound the Turk.
+
+ By you we have deliverance
+ From the design of Spain and France,
+ Ormond, Montrose, the Danes;
+ You, aided by our brethren Scots,
+ Defeated have malignant plots,
+ And brought your sword to Cain’s.
+
+ What wholesome laws you have ordain’d,
+ Whereby our property’s maintain’d,
+ ’Gainst those would us undo;
+ So that our fortunes and our lives,
+ Nay, what is dearer, our own wives,
+ Are wholly kept by you.
+
+ Oh! what a flourishing Church and State
+ Have we enjoy’d e’er since you sate,
+ With a glorious King (God save him!):
+ Have you not made his Majesty,
+ Had he the grace but to comply,
+ And do as you would have him!
+
+ Your _Directory_ how to pray
+ By the spirit shows the perfect way;
+ In real you have abolisht
+ The Dagon of the _Common Prayer_,
+ And next we see you will take care
+ That churches be demolisht.
+
+ A multitude in every trade
+ Of painful preachers you have made,
+ Learned by revelation;
+ Cambridge and Oxford made poor preachers,
+ Each shop affordeth better teachers,—
+ O blessed reformation!
+
+ Your godly wisdom hath found out
+ The true religion, without doubt;
+ For sure among so many
+ We have five hundred at the least;
+ Is not the gospel much increast?
+ All must be pure, if any.
+
+ Could you have done more piously
+ Than sell church lands the King to buy,
+ And stop the city’s plaints?
+ Paying the Scots church-militant,
+ That the new gospel helpt to plant;
+ God knows they are poor saints!
+
+ Because th’ Apostles’ Creed is lame,
+ Th’ Assembly doth a better frame,
+ Which saves us all with ease;
+ Provided still we have the grace
+ To believe th’ House in the first place,
+ Our works be what they please.
+
+ ’Tis strange your power and holiness
+ Can’t the Irish devils dispossess,
+ His end is very stout:
+ But tho’ you do so often pray,
+ And ev’ry month keep fasting-day,
+ You cannot cast them out.
+
+
+
+THE PURITAN.
+
+
+ By John Cleveland.
+ To the tune of “An old Courtier of the Queen’s.”
+
+ WITH face and fashion to be known,
+ For one of sure election;
+ With eyes all white, and many a groan,
+ With neck aside to draw in tone,
+ With harp in’s nose, or he is none:
+ See a new teacher of the town,
+ Oh the town, oh the town’s new teacher!
+
+ With pate cut shorter than the brow,
+ With little ruff starch’d, you know how,
+ With cloak like Paul, no cape I trow,
+ With surplice none; but lately now
+ With hands to thump, no knees to bow:
+ See a new teacher, etc.
+
+ With coz’ning cough, and hollow cheek,
+ To get new gatherings every week,
+ With paltry change of _and_ to _eke_,
+ With some small Hebrew, and no Greek,
+ To find out words, when stuff’s to seek:
+ See a new teacher, etc.
+
+ With shop-board breeding and intrusion,
+ With some outlandish institution,
+ With Ursine’s catechism to muse on,
+ With system’s method for confusion,
+ With grounds strong laid of mere illusion:
+ See a new teacher, etc.
+
+ With rites indifferent all damned,
+ And made unlawful, if commanded;
+ Good works of Popery down banded,
+ And moral laws from him estranged,
+ Except the sabbath still unchanged:
+ See a new teacher, etc.
+
+ With speech unthought, quick revelation,
+ With boldness in predestination,
+ With threats of absolute damnation
+ Yet _yea_ and _nay_ hath some salvation
+ For his own tribe, not every nation:
+ See a new teacher, etc.
+
+ With after license cast a crown,
+ When Bishop new had put him down;
+ With tricks call’d repetition,
+ And doctrine newly brought to town
+ Of teaching men to hang and drown:
+ See a new teacher, etc.
+
+ With flesh-provision to keep Lent,
+ With shelves of sweetmeats often spent,
+ Which new maid bought, old lady sent,
+ Though, to be saved, a poor present,
+ Yet legacies assure to event:
+ See a new teacher, etc.
+
+ With troops expecting him at th’ door,
+ That would hear sermons, and no more;
+ With noting tools, and sighs great store,
+ With Bibles great to turn them o’er,
+ While he wrests places by the score:
+ See a new teacher, etc.
+
+ With running text, the named forsaken,
+ With _for_ and _but_, both by sense shaken,
+ Cheap doctrines forced, wild uses taken,
+ Both sometimes one by mark mistaken;
+ With anything to any shapen:
+ See a new teacher, etc.
+
+ With new-wrought caps, against the canon,
+ For taking cold, tho’ sure he have none;
+ A sermon’s end, where he began one,
+ A new hour long, when’s glass had run one,
+ New use, new points, new notes to stand on:
+ See a new teacher, etc.
+
+
+
+THE ROUNDHEAD.
+
+
+ From Samuel Butler’s Posthumous Works.
+
+ WHAT creature’s that, with his short hairs,
+ His little band, and huge long ears,
+ That this new faith hath founded?
+ The saints themselves were never such,
+ The prelates ne’er ruled half so much;
+ Oh! such a rogue’s a Roundhead.
+
+ What’s he that doth the bishops hate,
+ And counts their calling reprobate,
+ ’Cause by the Pope propounded;
+ And thinks a zealous cobbler better
+ Than learned Usher in ev’ry letter?
+ Oh! such a rogue’s a Roundhead.
+
+ What’s he that doth _high treason_ say,
+ As often as his _yea_ and _nay_,
+ And wish the King confounded;
+ And dares maintain that Mr Pim
+ Is fitter for a crown than him?
+ Oh! such a rogue’s a Roundhead.
+
+ What’s he that if he chance to hear
+ A little piece of _Common Prayer_,
+ Doth think his conscience wounded;
+ Will go five miles to preach and pray,
+ And meet a sister by the way?
+ Oh! such a rogue’s a Roundhead.
+
+ What’s he that met a holy sister
+ And in a haycock gently kiss’d her?
+ Oh! then his zeal abounded:
+ ’Twas underneath a shady willow,
+ Her Bible served her for a pillow,
+ And there he got a Roundhead.
+
+
+
+PRATTLE YOUR PLEASURE UNDER THE ROSE.
+
+
+ From the King’s Pamphlets, British Museum.
+
+ THERE is an old proverb which all the world knows,
+ Anything may be spoke, if ’t be under the rose:
+ Then now let us speak, whilst we are in the hint,
+ Of the state of the land, and th’ enormities in’t.
+
+ Under the rose be it spoke, there is a number of knaves,
+ More than ever were known in a State before;
+ But I hope that their mischiefs have digg’d their own graves,
+ And we’ll never trust knaves for their sakes any more.
+
+ Under the rose be it spoken, the city’s an ass
+ So long to the public to let their gold run,
+ To keep the King out; but ’tis now come to pass,
+ I am sure they will lose, whosoever has won.
+
+ Under the rose be it spoken, there’s a company of men,
+ Trainbands they are called—a plague confound ’em:—
+ And when they are waiting at Westminster Hall,
+ May their wives be beguiled and begat with child all!
+
+ Under the rose be it spoken, there’s a damn’d committee
+ Sits in hell (Goldsmiths’ Hall), in the midst of the city,
+ Only to sequester the poor Cavaliers—
+ The devil take their souls, and the hangman their ears.
+
+ Under the rose be it spoken, if you do not repent
+ Of that horrible sin, your pure Parliament,
+ Pray stay till Sir Thomas doth bring in the King,
+ Then Derrick {32} may chance have ’em all in a string.
+
+ Under the rose be it spoken, let the synod now leave
+ To wrest the whole Scripture, how souls to deceive;
+ For all they have spoken or taught will ne’er save ’em,
+ Unless they will leave that fault, hell’s sure to have ’em!
+
+
+
+THE DOMINION OF THE SWORD.
+
+
+ A song made in the Rebellion.
+
+ From the Loyal Garland, 1686.
+ To the tune of “Love lies a bleeding.”
+
+ LAY by your pleading,
+ Law lies a bleeding;
+ Burn all your studies down, and
+ Throw away your reading.
+
+ Small pow’r the word has,
+ And can afford us
+ Not half so much privilege as
+ The sword does.
+
+ It fosters your masters,
+ It plaisters disasters,
+ It makes the servants quickly greater
+ Than their masters.
+
+ It venters, it enters,
+ It seeks and it centers,
+ It makes a’prentice free in spite
+ Of his indentures.
+
+ It talks of small things,
+ But it sets up all things;
+ This masters money, though money
+ Masters all things.
+
+ It is not season
+ To talk of reason,
+ Nor call it loyalty, when the sword
+ Will have it treason.
+
+ It conquers the crown, too,
+ The grave and the gown, too,
+ First it sets up a presbyter, and
+ Then it pulls him down too.
+
+ This subtle disaster
+ Turns bonnet to beaver;
+ Down goes a bishop, sirs, and up
+ Starts a weaver.
+
+ This makes a layman
+ To preach and to pray, man;
+ And makes a lord of him that
+ Was but a drayman.
+
+ Far from the gulpit
+ Of Saxby’s pulpit,
+ This brought an Hebrew ironmonger
+ To the pulpit.
+
+ Such pitiful things be
+ More happy than kings be;
+ They get the upper hand of Thimblebee
+ And Slingsbee.
+
+ No gospel can guide it,
+ No law can decide it,
+ In Church or State, till the sword
+ Has sanctified it.
+
+ Down goes your law-tricks,
+ Far from the matricks,
+ Sprung up holy Hewson’s power,
+ And pull’d down St Patrick’s.
+
+ This sword it prevails, too,
+ So highly in Wales, too,
+ Shenkin ap Powel swears
+ “Cots-splutterer nails, too.”
+
+ In Scotland this faster
+ Did make such disaster,
+ That they sent their money back
+ For which they sold their master.
+
+ It batter’d their Gunkirk,
+ And so it did their Spainkirk,
+ That he is fled, and swears the devil
+ Is in Dunkirk.
+
+ He that can tower,
+ Or he that is lower,
+ Would be judged a fool to put
+ Away his power.
+
+ Take books and rent ’em,
+ Who can invent ’em,
+ When that the sword replies,
+ _Negatur argumentum_.
+
+ Your brave college-butlers
+ Must stoop to the sutlers;
+ There’s ne’er a library
+ Like to the cutlers’.
+
+ The blood that was spilt, sir,
+ Hath gain’d all the gilt, sir;
+ Thus have you seen me run my
+ Sword up to the hilt, sir.
+
+
+
+THE STATE’S NEW COIN.
+
+
+The coinage issued during the Protectorate of Cromwell, consisted of
+pieces having on the obverse side a shield with St George’s cross,
+encircled by a laurel and palm branch, and the words, “The Commonwealth
+of England.” On the reverse side was the legend, “God with us,” and two
+shields, bearing the arms of England and Ireland.
+
+ SAW you the State’s money new come from the Mint?
+ Some people do say it is wonderous fine;
+ And that you may read a great mystery in’t,
+ Of mighty King Nol, the lord of the coin.
+
+ They have quite omitted his politic head,
+ His worshipful face, and his excellent nose;
+ But the better to show the life he had led,
+ They have fix’d upon it the print of his hose.
+
+ For, if they had set up his picture there,
+ They needs must ha’ crown’d him in Charles’s stead;
+ But ’twas cunningly done, that they did forbear,
+ And rather would set up aught else than his head.
+
+ ’Tis monstrous strange, and yet it is true,
+ In this reformation we should have such luck;
+ That crosses were always disdain’d by you,
+ Who before pull’d them down, should now set them up.
+
+ On this side they have circumscribed “God with us,”
+ And in this stamp and coin they confide;
+ _Common-Wealth_ on the other, by which we may guess
+ That God and the States were not both of a side.
+
+ On this side they have cross and harp,
+ And only a cross on the other set forth;
+ By which we may learn, it falls to our part
+ Two crosses to have for one fit of mirth!
+
+
+
+THE ANARCHIE, OR THE BLEST REFORMATION SINCE 1640.
+
+
+Being a new song, wherein the people expresse their thankes and pray for
+the reformers.
+
+To be said or sung of all the well-affected of the kingdome of England,
+and dominion of Wales, before the breaking up of this unhappy Parliament.
+
+[From the King’s Pamphlets, British Museum. It is printed but
+incorrectly in the “Rump Songs,” ed. 1665, under the title of “The
+Rebellion.”]
+
+ To a rare new Tune.
+ (Oct. 24, 1648.)
+
+ NOW that, thankes to the powers below!
+ We have e’ne done out our doe,
+ The mitre is downe, and so is the crowne,
+ And with them the coronet too;
+ Come clownes, and come boyes, come hober-de-hoyes,
+ Come females of each degree;
+ Stretch your throats, bring in your votes,
+ And make good the anarchy.
+ And “thus it shall goe,” sayes Alice;
+ “Nay, thus it shall goe,” sayes Amy;
+ “Nay, thus it shall goe,” sayes Taffie, “I trow;”
+ “Nay, thus it shall goe,” sayes Jamy.
+
+ Ah! but the truth, good people all,
+ The truth is such a thing;
+ For it wou’d undoe both Church and State too,
+ And cut the throat of our King.
+ Yet not the spirit, nor the new light,
+ Can make this point so cleare,
+ But thou must bring out, thou deified rout,
+ What thing this truth is, and where.
+ Speak Abraham, speak Kester, speak Judith, speak Hester,
+ Speak tag and rag, short coat and long;
+ Truth’s the spell made us rebell,
+ And murther and plunder, ding-dong.
+ “Sure I have the truth,” sayes Numph;
+ “Nay, I ha’ the truth,” sayes Clemme;
+ “Nay, I ha’ the truth,” sayes Reverend Ruth;
+ “Nay, I ha’ the truth,” sayes Nem.
+
+ Well, let the truth be where it will,
+ We’re sure all else is ours;
+ Yet these divisions in our religions
+ May chance abate our powers.
+ Then let’s agree on some one way,
+ It skills not much how true;
+ Take Pryn and his clubs; or Say and his tubs, {33}
+ Or any sect old or new;
+ The devil’s i’ th’ pack, if choyce you can lack,
+ We’re fourscore religions strong;
+ Take your choyce, the major voyce
+ Shall carry it, right or wrong.
+ “Then wee’le be of this,” sayes Megg;
+ “Nay, wee’le be of that,” sayes Tibb;
+ “Nay, wee’le be of all,” sayes pitifull Paul;
+ “Nay, wee’le be of none,” sayes Gibb.
+
+ Neighbours and friends, pray one word more,
+ There’s something yet behinde;
+ And wise though you be, you doe not well see
+ In which doore sits the winde.
+ As for religion to speake right,
+ And in the Houses sence,
+ The matter’s all one to have any or none,
+ If ’twere not for the pretence.
+ But herein doth lurke the key of the worke,
+ Even to dispose of the crowne,
+ Dexteriously, and as may be,
+ For your behoofe and your owne.
+ “Then let’s ha’ King Charles,” sayes George;
+ “Nay, let’s have his son,” sayes Hugh;
+ “Nay, let’s have none,” sayes Jabbering Jone;
+ “Nay, let’s be all kings,” sayes Prue.
+
+ Oh we shall have (if we go on
+ In plunder, excise, and blood)
+ But few folke and poore to domineere ore,
+ And that will not be so good;
+ Then let’s resolve on some new way,
+ Some new and happy course,
+ The country’s growne sad, the city horne-mad,
+ And both the Houses are worse.
+ The synod hath writ, the generall hath spit,
+ And both to like purposes too;
+ Religion, lawes, the truth, the cause,
+ Are talk’t of, but nothing we doe.
+ “Come, come, shal’s ha’ peace?” sayes Nell;
+ “No, no, but we won’t,” sayes Madge;
+ “But I say we will,” sayes firy-faced Phill;
+ “We will and we won’t,” sayes Hodge.
+
+ Thus from the rout who can expect
+ Ought but division?
+ Since unity doth with monarchy
+ Begin and end in one.
+ If then when all is thought their owne,
+ And lyes at their behest,
+ These popular pates reap nought but debates,
+ From that many round-headed beast;
+ Come, Royalists, then, doe you play the men,
+ And Cavaliers give the word;
+ Now let us see at what you would be,
+ And whether you can accord.
+ “A health to King Charles!” sayes Tom;
+ “Up with it,” sayes Ralph, like a man;
+ “God blesse him,” sayes Doll; “and raise him,” sayes Moll;
+ “And send him his owne!” sayes Nan.
+
+ Now for these prudent things that sit
+ Without end and to none,
+ And their committees, that townes and cities
+ Fill with confusion;
+ For the bold troopes of sectaries,
+ The Scots and their partakers,
+ Our new British states, Col. Burges and his mates,
+ The covenant and its makers;
+ For all these wee’le pray, and in such a way,
+ As if it might granted be,
+ Jack and Gill, Mat and Will,
+ And all the world would agree.
+ “A plague take them all!” sayes Besse;
+ “And a pestilence too!” sayes Margery,
+ “The devill!” sayes Dick; “And his dam, {34} too!” sayes Nick;
+ “Amen! and Amen!” say I.
+
+It is desired that the knights and burgesses would take especial care to
+send down full numbers hereof to their respective counties and burroughs,
+for which they have served apprenticeship, that all the people may
+rejoyce as one man for their freedom.
+
+
+
+A COFFIN FOR KING CHARLES,
+A CROWN FOR CROMWELL,
+AND A PIT FOR THE PEOPLE.
+
+
+From a broadside in the King’s Pamphlets, vol. viii. in the British
+Museum, with the direction, “You may sing this to the tune of ‘Faine I
+would.’” The tune sometimes called “Parthenia,” and “The King’s
+Complaint,” is to be found in Mr Chappell’s Popular Music of the Olden
+Time. The King was beheaded in January, 1649. This Ballad is dated the
+23rd of April in the same year.
+
+ CROMWELL ON THE THRONE.
+
+ SO, so, the deed is done,
+ The royal head is sever’d,
+ As I meant when I first begun,
+ And strongly have endeavour’d.
+ Now Charles the First is tumbled down,
+ The Second I do not fear;
+ I grasp the sceptre, wear the crown,
+ Nor for Jehovah care.
+
+ KING CHARLES IN HIS COFFIN.
+
+ Think’st thou, base slave, though in my grave
+ Like other men I lie,
+ My sparkling fame and royal name
+ Can (as thou wishest) die?
+ Know, caitif, in my son I live
+ (The Black Prince call’d by some),
+ And he shall ample vengeance give
+ To those that did my doom.
+
+ THE PEOPLE IN THE PIT.
+
+ Supprest, deprest, involved in woes,
+ Great Charles, thy people be
+ Basely deceived with specious shows
+ By those that murther’d thee.
+ We are enslaved to tyrants’ hests,
+ Who have our freedom won:
+ Our fainting hope now only rests
+ On thy succeeding son.
+
+ CROMWELL ON THE THRONE.
+
+ Base vulgar! know, the more you stir,
+ The more your woes increase,
+ Your rashness will your hopes deter,
+ ’Tis we must give you peace.
+ Black Charles a traitor is proclaim’d
+ Unto our dignity;
+ He dies (if e’er by us he’s gain’d)
+ Without all remedy.
+
+ KING CHARLES IN HIS COFFIN.
+
+ Thrice perjured villain! didst not thou
+ And thy degenerate train,
+ By mankind’s Saviour’s body vow
+ To me thy sovereign,
+ To make me the most glorious king
+ That e’er o’er England reign’d;
+ That me and mine in everything
+ By you should be maintain’d?
+
+ THE PEOPLE IN THE PIT.
+
+ Sweet prince! O let us pardon crave
+ Of thy beloved shade;
+ ’Tis we that brought thee to the grave,
+ Thou wert by us betray’d.
+ We did believe ’twas reformation
+ These monsters did desire;
+ Not knowing that thy degradation
+ And death should be our hire.
+
+ CROMWELL ON THE THRONE.
+
+ Ye sick-brain’d fools! whose wit does lie
+ In your small guts; could you
+ Imagine our conspiracy
+ Did claim no other due,
+ But for to spend our dearest bloods
+ To make rascallions flee?
+ No, we sought for your lives and goods,
+ And for a monarchy.
+
+ KING CHARLES IN HIS COFFIN.
+
+ But there’s a Thunderer above,
+ Who, though he winks awhile,
+ Is not with your black deeds in love,
+ He hates your damned guile.
+ And though a time you perch upon
+ The top of Fortune’s wheel,
+ You shortly unto Acharon
+ (Drunk with your crimes) shall reel.
+
+ THE PEOPLE IN THE PIT.
+
+ Meanwhile (thou glory of the earth)
+ We languishing do die:
+ _Excise_ doth give free-quarters birth,
+ While soldiers multiply.
+ Our lives we forfeit every day,
+ Our money cuts our throats;
+ The laws are taken clean away,
+ Or shrunk to traitor’s votes.
+
+ CROMWELL ON THE THRONE.
+
+ Like patient mules resolve to bear
+ Whate’er we shall impose;
+ Your lives and goods you need not fear,
+ We’ll prove your friends, not foes.
+ We (the _elected_ ones) must guide
+ A thousand years this land;
+ You must be props unto our pride,
+ And slaves to our command.
+
+ KING CHARLES IN HIS COFFIN.
+
+ But you may fail of your fair hopes,
+ If fates propitious be;
+ And yield your loathed lives in ropes
+ To vengeance and to me.
+ When as the Swedes and Irish join,
+ The Cumbrian and the Scot
+ Do with the Danes and French combine,
+ Then look unto your lot.
+
+ THE PEOPLE IN THE PIT.
+
+ Our wrongs have arm’d us with such strength,
+ So sad is our condition,
+ That could we hope that now at length
+ We might find intermission,
+ And had but half we had before,
+ Ere these mechanics sway’d;
+ To our revenge, knee-deep in gore,
+ We would not fear to wade.
+
+ CROMWELL ON THE THRONE.
+
+ In vain (fond people) do you grutch
+ And tacitly repine.
+ For why? my skill and strength are such
+ Both poles of heaven are mine.
+ Your hands and purses both cohered
+ To raise us to this height:
+ You must protect those you have rear’d,
+ Or sink beneath their weight.
+
+ KING CHARLES IN HIS COFFIN.
+
+ Singing with angels near the throne
+ Of the Almighty Three
+ I sit, and know perdition
+ (Base Cromwell) waits on thee,
+ And on thy vile associates:
+ Twelve months {35} shall full conclude
+ Your power—thus speak the powerful fates,
+ Then _vades_ your interlude.
+
+ THE PEOPLE IN THE PIT.
+
+ Yea, powerful fates, haste, haste the time,
+ The most auspicious day,
+ On which these monsters of our time
+ To hell must post away.
+ Meanwhile, so pare their sharpen’d claws,
+ And so impair their stings,
+ We may no more fight for the Cause
+ Or other _novel_ things!
+
+
+
+A SHORT LITANY FOR THE YEAR 1649.
+
+
+ By Samuel Butler. (From his Posthumous Works.)
+
+ FROM all the mischiefs that I mention here,
+ Preserve us, Heaven, in this approaching year:
+ From civil wars and those uncivil things
+ That hate the race of all our queens and kings;
+ From those who for self-ends would all betray,
+ From saints that curse and flatter when they pray;
+ From those that hold it merit to rebel,
+ In treason, murthers, and in theft excel;
+ From those new teachers have destroy’d the old,
+ And those that turn the gospel into gold;
+ From a High-Court, and that rebellious crew
+ That did their hands in royal blood imbrue,—
+ Defend us, Heaven, and to the throne restore
+ The rightful heir, and we will ask no more.
+
+
+
+THE SALE OF REBELLION’S HOUSE-HOLD STUFF.
+
+
+Printed in “Percy’s Reliques,” from an old black-letter copy in Mr Pepys’
+collection, corrected by two others, one of which is preserved in a
+Choice Collection of 120 Loyal Songs—1684
+
+ To the tune of “Old Sir Simon the King.”
+
+ REBELLION hath broken up house,
+ And hath left me old lumber to sell;
+ Come hither and take your choice,
+ I’ll promise to use you well.
+ Will you buy the old Speaker’s chair?
+ Which was warm and easy to sit in,
+ And oft has been clean’d, I declare,
+ Whereas it was fouler than fitting.
+ Says old Simon the King,
+ Says old Simon the King,
+ With his ale-dropt hose, and his Malmsey nose,
+ Sing, hey ding, ding-a-ding, ding.
+
+ Will you buy any bacon flitches,
+ The fattest that ever were spent?
+ They’re the sides of the old committees
+ Fed up in the Long Parliament.
+ Here’s a pair of bellows and tongs,
+ And for a small matter I’ll sell ye ’um,
+ They are made of the presbyter’s lungs,
+ To blow up the coals of rebellion.
+ Says old Simon, etc.
+
+ I had thought to have given them once
+ To some blacksmith for his forge;
+ But now I have consider’d on’t,
+ They are consecrate to the Church:
+ So I’ll give them unto some quire,
+ They will make the big organs roar,
+ And the little pipes to squeak higher
+ Than ever they could before.
+ Says old Simon, etc.
+
+ Here’s a couple of stools for sale,
+ One’s square, and t’other is round;
+ Betwixt them both, the tail
+ Of the Rump fell down to the ground.
+ Will you buy the State’s council-table,
+ Which was made of the good wain-Scot?
+ The frame was a tottering Babel,
+ To uphold th’ Independent plot.
+ Says old Simon, etc.
+
+ Here’s the besom of Reformation,
+ Which should have made clean the floor;
+ But it swept the wealth out of the nation,
+ And left us dirt good store.
+ Will you buy the state’s spinning-wheel,
+ Which spun for the roper’s trade?
+ But better it had stood still,
+ For now it has spun a fair thread.
+ Says old Simon, etc.
+
+ Here’s a glyster-pipe well tried,
+ Which was made of a butcher’s stump,
+ And has been safely applied
+ To cure the colds of the Rump.
+ Here’s a lump of pilgrim’s-salve,
+ Which once was a justice of peace,
+ Who Noll and the devil did serve,
+ But now it is come to this,
+ Says old Simon, etc.
+
+ Here’s a roll of the State’s tobacco,
+ If any good fellow will take it;
+ No Virginia had e’er such a Smack-o,
+ And I’ll tell you how they did make it:
+ ’Tis th’ Engagement and Covenant cook’t
+ Up with the abjuration oath,
+ And many of them that have took’t
+ Complain it was foul in the mouth.
+ Says old Simon, etc.
+
+ Yet the ashes may happily serve
+ To cure the scab of the nation,
+ Whene’er’t has an itch to swerve
+ To rebellion by innovation.
+ A lanthorn here is to be bought,
+ The like was scarce ever gotten,
+ For many plots it has found out
+ Before they ever were thought on.
+ Says old Simon, etc.
+
+ Will you buy the Rump’s great saddle,
+ With which it jockey’d the nation?
+ And here is the bit and the bridle,
+ And curb of dissimulation;
+ And here’s the trunk-hose of the Rump,
+ And their fair dissembling cloak;
+ And a Presbyterian jump,
+ With an Independent smock.
+ Says old Simon, etc.
+
+ Will you buy a conscience oft turn’d,
+ Which served the High-Court of justice,
+ And stretch’d until England it mourn’d,
+ But hell will buy that if the worst is.
+ Here’s Joan Cromwell’s kitchen-stuff tub,
+ Wherein is the fat of the Rumpers,
+ With which old Noll’s horns she did rub,
+ When he was got drunk with false bumbers.
+ Says old Simon, etc.
+
+ Here’s the purse of the public faith;
+ Here’s the model of the Sequestration,
+ When the old wives upon their good troth
+ Lent thimbles to ruin the nation.
+ Here’s Dick Cromwell’s Protectorship,
+ And here are Lambert’s commissions,
+ And here is Hugh Peters his scrip,
+ Cramm’d with tumultuous petitions.
+ Says old Simon, etc.
+
+ And here are old Noll’s brewing vessels,
+ And here are his dray and his flings;
+ Here are Hewson’s {36} awl and his bristles,
+ With diverse other odd things:
+ And what is the price doth belong
+ To all these matters before ye?
+ I’ll sell them all for an old song,
+ And so I do end my story.
+ Says old Simon, etc.
+
+
+
+THE CAVALIER’S FAREWELL TO HIS MISTRESS, BEING CALLED TO THE WARRS.
+
+
+The following song was extracted from the MS. Diary of the Rev. John
+Adamson (afterwards Rector of Burton Coggles, Lincolnshire), commencing
+in 1658; by a correspondent of Notes and Queries, First Series, Jan. 18,
+1851.
+
+ FAIR Fidelia, tempt no more,
+ I may no more thy deity adore
+ Nor offer to thy shrine,
+ I serve one more divine
+ And farr more great than you:
+ I must goe,
+ Lest the foe
+ Gaine the cause and win the day.
+ Let’s march bravely on,
+ Charge ym in the van,
+ Our cause God’s is,
+ Though their odds is
+ Ten to one.
+
+ Tempt no more, I may not yeeld
+ Altho’ thine eyes
+ A kingdome may surprize:
+ Leave off thy wanton toiles,
+ The high-borne Prince of Wales
+ Is mounted in the field,
+ Where the royall gentry flocke.
+ Though alone
+ Nobly borne
+ Of a ne’re decaying stocke.
+ Cavaliers, be bold,
+ Bravely keep your hold,
+ He that loyters
+ Is by traytors
+ Bought and sold.
+
+ One kisse more, and then farewell;
+ Oh no, no more,
+ I prithee give me o’er,—
+ Why cloudest thou thy beames?
+ I see by these extreames
+ A woman’s heaven or hell.
+ Pray the King may have his owne,
+ And the Queen
+ May be seen
+ With her babes on England’s throne.
+ Rally up your men,
+ One shall vanquish ten,
+ Victory, we
+ Come to try thee
+ Once agen.
+
+
+
+THE LAST NEWS FROM FRANCE.
+
+
+ [From vol. iii. of the Roxburgh Ballads, in the British Museum.]
+
+The last news from France, being a true relation of the escape of the
+King of Scots from Worcester to London and from London to France,—who was
+conveyed away by a young gentleman in woman’s apparel; the King of Scots
+attending on this supposed gentlewoman in manner of a serving-man.
+
+ Tune, “When the King enjoys his own again.”
+
+ ALL you that do desire to know
+ What is become of the King o’ Scots,
+ I unto you will truly show
+ After the fight of Northern Rats.
+ ’Twas I did convey
+ His Highness away,
+ And from all dangers set him free;—
+ In woman attire,
+ As reason did require,
+ And the King himself did wait on me.
+
+ He of me a service did crave,
+ And oftentimes to me stood bare;
+ In woman’s apparel he was most brave,
+ And on his chin he had no hare;
+ Wherever I came
+ My speeches did frame
+ So well my waiting-man to free,
+ The like was never known
+ I think by any I one,
+ For the King himself did wait on me.
+
+ My waiting-man a jewel had,
+ Which I for want of money sold;
+ Because my fortune was so bad
+ We turn’d our jewel into gold.
+ A good shift indeed,
+ In time of our need,
+ Then glad was I and glad was he;
+ Our cause it did advance
+ Until we came to France,
+ And the King himself did wait on me.
+
+ We walked through Westminster Hall,
+ Where law and justice doth take place
+ Our grief was great, our comfort small,
+ We lookt grim death all in the face.
+ I lookt round about,
+ And made no other doubt
+ But I and my man should taken be;
+ The people little knew,
+ As I may tell to you,
+ The King himself did wait on me.
+
+ From thence we went to the fatal place
+ Where his father lost his life;
+ And then my man did weep apace,
+ And sorrow with him then was rife.
+ I bid him peace,
+ Let sorrow cease,
+ For fear that we should taken be.
+ The gallants in Whitehall
+ Did little know at all
+ That the King himself did wait on me.
+
+ The King he was my serving-man,
+ And thus the plot we did contrive:
+ I went by the name of Mistress Anne
+ When we took water at Queenhythe.
+ A boat there we took,
+ And London forsook,
+ And now in France arrived are we.
+ We got away by stealth,
+ And the King is in good health,
+ And he shall no longer wait on me.
+
+ The King of Denmark’s dead, they say,
+ Then Charles is like to rule the land;
+ In France he will no longer stay,
+ As I do rightly understand.
+ That land is his due,
+ If they be but true,
+ And he with them do well agree:
+ I heard a bird sing
+ If he once be their king,
+ My man will then my master be.
+
+ Now Heaven grant them better success
+ With their young king than England had;
+ Free from war and from distress,
+ Their fortune may not be so bad;
+ Since the case thus stands,
+ Let neighbouring lands
+ Lay down their arms and at quiet be;
+ But as for my part,
+ I am glad with all my heart
+ That my King must now my master be.
+
+ And thus I have declared to you
+ By what means we escaped away;
+ Now we bid our cares adieu,
+ Though the King did lose the day.
+ To him I was true,
+ And that he well knew;
+ ’Tis God that must his comfort be,
+ Else all our policy
+ Had been but foolery,
+ For the King no longer waits on me.
+
+
+
+SONG TO THE FIGURE TWO.
+
+
+ From vol. ii. of the Roxburgh Ballads, in the British Museum.
+
+ A merry new song wherein you may view
+ The drinking healths of a joviall crew,
+ To t’ happie return of the figure of TWO.
+
+ The figure of TWO is a palpable allusion to Charles II. Tune, “Ragged,
+ and torn, and true.”
+
+ I HAVE been a traveller long,
+ And seen the conditions of all;
+ I see how each other they wrong,
+ And the weakest still goes to the wall.
+ And here I’ll begin to relate
+ The crosse condition of those
+ That hinder our happy fate,
+ And now are turned our foes.
+ Here’s a health to the figure of TWO,
+ To the rest of the issue renown’d;
+ We’ll bid all our sorrows adieu,
+ When the figure of TWO shall be crown’d.
+
+ I crossed the ocean of late,
+ And there I did meet with a crosse,
+ But having a pretty estate,
+ I never lamented my losse:
+ I never lamented my harmes,
+ And yet I was wondrous sad;
+ I found all the land up in arms,
+ And I thought all the folke had bin mad.
+ Here’s a health, etc.
+
+ Kind countrymen, how fell ye out?
+ I left you all quiet and still;
+ But things are now brought so about,
+ You nothing but plunder and kill;
+ Some doe seem seemingly holy,
+ And would be reformers of men,
+ But wisdom doth laugh at their folly,
+ And sayes they’ll be children agen,
+ Here’s a health, etc.
+
+ But woe to the figure of One!
+ King Solomon telleth us so;
+ But he shall be wronged by none
+ That hath two strings to his bow.
+ How I love this figure of TWO
+ Among all the figures that be,
+ I’ll make it appear unto you
+ If that you will listen to me.
+ Here’s a health, etc.
+
+ Observe when the weather is cold
+ I wear a cap on my head,
+ But wish, if I may be so bold,
+ The figure of TWO in my bed.
+ TWO in my bed I do crave,
+ And that is myself and my mate;
+ But pray do not think I would have
+ TWO large great hornes on my pate.
+ Here’s a health, etc.
+
+ Since Nature hath given two hands,
+ But when they are foul I might scorn them;
+ Yet people thus much understands,
+ TWO fine white gloves will adorn them.
+ TWO feet for to bear up my body,
+ No more had the knight of the sun;
+ But people would think me a noddy
+ If two shoes I would not put on.
+ Here’s a health, etc.
+
+ The figure of TWO is a thing
+ That we cannot well live without,
+ No more than without a good king,
+ Though we be never so stout;
+ And thus we may well understand,
+ If ever our troubles should cease,
+ Two needful things in a land
+ Is a king and a justice of peace.
+ Here’s a health, etc.
+
+ And now for to draw to an end,
+ I wish a good happy conclusion,
+ The State would so much stand our friend,
+ To end this unhappy confusion;
+ The which might be done in a trice,
+ In giving of Cæsar his due;
+ If we were so honest and wise
+ As to think of the figure of TWO.
+ Here’s a health, etc.
+
+ If any desire to know,
+ This riddle I now will unfold,
+ It is a man wrapped in woe,
+ Whose father is wrapped in mould:
+ So now to conclude my song,
+ I mention him so much the rather
+ Because he hath suffer’d some wrong,
+ And bears up the name of his father.
+ Here’s a health, etc.
+
+
+
+THE REFORMATION.
+
+
+ Written in the year 1652, by Samuel Butler. From his Posthumous Works.
+
+ TELL me not of Lords and laws,
+ Rules or reformation;
+ All that’s done not worth two straws
+ To the welfare of the nation;
+ If men in power do rant it still,
+ And give no reason but their will
+ For all their domination;
+ Or if they do an act that’s just,
+ ’Tis not because they would, but must,
+ To gratify some party’s lust.
+
+ All our expense of blood and purse
+ Has yet produced no profit;
+ Men are still as bad or worse,
+ And will whate’er comes of it.
+ We’ve shuffled out and shuffled in
+ The person, but retain the sin,
+ To make our game the surer;
+ Yet spight of all our pains and skill,
+ The knaves all in the pack are still,
+ And ever were, and ever will,
+ Though something now demurer.
+
+ And it can never be so,
+ Since knaves are still in fashion;
+ Men of souls so base and low,
+ Meer bigots of the nation;
+ Whose designs are power and wealth,
+ At which by rapine, power, and stealth,
+ Audaciously they vent’re ye;
+ They lay their consciences aside,
+ And turn with every wind and tide,
+ Puff’d on by ignorance and pride,
+ And all to look like gentry.
+
+ Crimes are not punish’d ’cause they’re crimes,
+ But cause they’re low and little:
+ Mean men for mean faults in these times
+ Make satisfaction to tittle;
+ While those in office and in power
+ Boldly the underlings devour,
+ Our cobweb laws can’t hold ’em;
+ They sell for many a thousand crown
+ Things which were never yet their own,
+ And this is law and custom grown,
+ ’Cause those do judge who sold ’em.
+
+ Brothers still with brothers brawl,
+ And for trifles sue ’em;
+ For two pronouns that spoil all
+ Contentious _meum_ and _tuum_.
+ The wary lawyer buys and builds
+ While the client sells his fields
+ To sacrifice his fury;
+ And when he thinks t’ obtain his right,
+ He’s baffled off or beaten quite
+ By the judge’s will, or lawyer’s slight,
+ Or ignorance of the jury.
+
+ See the tradesman how he thrives
+ With perpetual trouble:
+ How he cheats and how he strives,
+ His estate t’ enlarge and double;
+ Extort, oppress, grind and encroach,
+ To be a squire and keep a coach,
+ And to be one o’ th’ quorum;
+ Who may with’s brother-worships sit,
+ And judge without law, fear, or wit,
+ Poor petty thieves, that nothing get,
+ And yet are brought before ’em.
+
+ And his way to get all this
+ Is mere dissimulation;
+ No factious lecture does he miss,
+ And ’scape no schism that’s in fashion:
+ But with short hair and shining shoes,
+ He with two pens and note-book goes,
+ And winks and writes at random;
+ Thence with short meal and tedious grace,
+ In a loud tone and public place,
+ Sings wisdom’s hymns, that trot and pace
+ As if Goliah scann’d ’em.
+
+ But when Death begins his threats,
+ And his conscience struggles
+ To call to mind his former cheats,
+ Then at Heaven he turns and juggles:
+ And out of all’s ill-gotten store
+ He gives a dribbling to the poor;
+ An hospital or school-house;
+ And the suborn’d priest for his hire
+ Quite frees him from th’ infernal fire,
+ And places him in th’ angel’s quire:
+ Thus these Jack-puddings fool us!
+
+ All he gets by’s pains i’ th’ close,
+ Is, that he dy’d worth so much;
+ Which he on’s doubtful seed bestows,
+ That neither care nor know much:
+ Then fortune’s favourite, his heir,
+ Bred base and ignorant and bare,
+ Is blown up like a bubble:
+ Who wondering at’s own sudden rise,
+ By pride, simplicity, and vice,
+ Falls to his sports, drink, drabs, and dice,
+ And make all fly like stubble.
+
+ And the Church, the other twin,
+ Whose mad zeal enraged us,
+ Is not purified a pin
+ By all those broils in which th’ engaged us:
+ We our wives turn’d out of doors,
+ And took in concubines and whores,
+ To make an alteration;
+ Our pulpitors are proud and bold,
+ They their own wills and factions hold,
+ And sell salvation still for gold,
+ And here’s our _reformation_!
+
+ ’Tis a madness then to make
+ Thriving our employment,
+ And lucre love for lucre’s sake,
+ Since we’ve possession, not enjoyment:
+ Let the times run on their course,
+ For oppression makes them worse,
+ We ne’er shall better find ’em;
+ Let grandees wealth and power engross,
+ And honour, too, while we sit close,
+ And laugh and take our plenteous dose
+ Of sack, and never mind ’em.
+
+
+
+UPON THE GENERAL PARDON PASSED BY THE RUMP.
+
+
+From a broadside in the King’s Pamphlets, British Museum. After
+Cromwell’s victory at Worcester, he prevailed on the Parliament to pass a
+general, or quasi-general, amnesty for all political offences committed
+prior to that time.
+
+ REJOICE, rejoice, ye Cavaliers,
+ For here comes that dispels your fears;
+ A general pardon is now past,
+ What was long look’d for, comes at last.
+
+ It pardons all that are undone;
+ The Pope ne’er granted such a one:
+ So long, so large, so full, so free,
+ Oh what a glorious State have we!
+
+ Yet do not joy too much, my friends,
+ First see how well this pardon ends;
+ For though it hath a glorious face,
+ I fear there’s in’t but little grace.
+
+ ’Tis said the mountains once brought forth,—
+ And what brought they? a mouse, in troth;
+ Our States have done the like, I doubt,
+ In this their pardon now set out.
+
+ We’ll look it o’er, then, if you please,
+ And see wherein it brings us ease:
+ And first, it pardons words, I find,
+ Against our State—words are but wind.
+
+ Hath any pray’d for th’ King of late,
+ And wish’d confusion to our State?
+ And call’d them rebels? He may come in
+ And plead this pardon for that sin.
+
+ Has any call’d King Charles that’s dead
+ A martyr—he that lost his head?
+ And villains those that did the fact?
+ That man is pardon’d by this Act.
+
+ Hath any said our Parliament
+ I such a one as God ne’er sent?
+ Or hath he writ, and put in print,
+ That he believes the devil’s in’t?
+
+ Or hath he said there never were
+ Such tyrants anywhere as here?
+ Though this offence of his be high,
+ He’s pardon’d for his blasphemy.
+
+ You see how large this pardon is,
+ It pardons all our _Mercuries_, {37}
+ And poets too, for you know they
+ Are poor, and have not aught to pay.
+
+ For where there’s money to be got,
+ I find this pardon pardons not;
+ Malignants that were rich before,
+ Shall not be pardon’d till they’re poor.
+
+ Hath any one been true to th’ Crown,
+ And for that paid his money down,
+ By this new Act he shall be free,
+ And pardon’d for his loyalty.
+
+ Who have their lands confiscate quite,
+ For not compounding when they might;
+ If that they know not how to dig,
+ This pardon gives them leave to beg.
+
+ Before this Act came out in print,
+ We thought there had been comfort in’t;
+ We drank some healths to the higher powers,
+ But now we’ve seen’t they’d need drink ours.
+
+ For by this Act it is thought fit
+ That no man shall have benefit,
+ Unless he first engage to be
+ A rebel to eternity.
+
+ Thus, in this pardon it is clear
+ That nothing’s here and nothing’s there:
+ I think our States do mean to choke us
+ With this new Act of _hocus pocus_.
+
+ Well, since this Act’s not worth a pin,
+ We’ll pray our States to call it in,
+ For most men think it ought to be
+ Burnt by the hand of Gregory.
+
+ Then, to conclude, here’s little joy
+ For those that pray _Vive le Roy_!
+ But since they’ll not forget our crimes,
+ We’ll keep our mirth till better times.
+
+
+
+AN OLD SONG ON OLIVER’S COURT.
+
+
+ Written in the year 1654, by Samuel Butler.
+
+ HE that would a new courtier be
+ And of the late coyn’d gentry;
+ A brother of the prick-eared crew,
+ Half a presbyter, half a Jew,
+ When he is dipp’d in Jordan’s flood,
+ And wash’d his hands in royal blood,
+ Let him to our court repair,
+ Where all trades and religions are.
+
+ If he can devoutly pray,
+ Feast upon a fasting day,
+ Be longer blessing a warm bit
+ Than the cook was dressing it;
+ With covenants and oaths dispense,
+ Betray his lord for forty pence,
+ Let him, etc.
+
+ If he be one of the eating tribe,
+ Both a Pharisee and a Scribe,
+ And hath learn’d the snivelling tone
+ Of a flux’d devotion;
+ Cursing from his sweating tub
+ The Cavaliers to Beelzebub,
+ Let him, etc.
+
+ Who sickler than the city ruff,
+ Can change his brewer’s coat to buff,
+ His dray-cart to a coach, the beast
+ Into Flanders mares at least;
+ Nay, hath the art to murder kings,
+ Like David, only with his slings,
+ Let him, etc.
+
+ If he can invert the word,
+ Turning his ploughshare to a sword,
+ His cassock to a coat of mail;
+ ’Gainst bishops and the clergy rail;
+ Convert Paul’s church into the mews;
+ Make a new colonel of old shoes,
+ Let him, etc.
+
+ Who hath commission to convey
+ Both sexes to _Jamaica_,
+ There to beget new babes of grace
+ On wenches hotter than the place,
+ Who carry in their tails a fire
+ Will rather scorch than quench desire,
+ Let him, etc.
+
+
+
+THE PARLIAMENT ROUTED,
+OR
+HERE’S A HOUSE TO BE LET.
+
+
+ I hope that England, after many jarres,
+ Shall be at peace, and give no way to warres:
+ O Lord, protect the generall, that he
+ May be the agent of our unitie.
+
+Written upon the dissolution of the Long Parliament by Cromwell, on the
+20th April, 1653, and extracted from the King’s Pamphlets, British
+Museum. June 3rd, 1653.
+
+ To the tune of “Lucina, or, Merrily and Cherrily.”
+
+ CHEARE up, kind countrymen, be not dismay’d,
+ True news I can tell ye concerning the nation;
+ Hot spirits are quench’d, the tempest is layd,
+ (And now we may hope for a good reformation).
+ The Parliament bold and the counsell of state
+ Doe wish them beyond sea, or else at Virginie;
+ For now all their orders are quite out of date,
+ Twelve Parliament men shall be sold for peny.
+
+ Full twelve years and more these rooks they have sat,
+ To gull and to cozen all true-hearted people;
+ Our gold and our silver has made them so fat,
+ That they lookt more big and mighty than Paul’s steeple.
+ The freedome of subject they much did pretend,
+ But since they bore sway we never had any;
+ For every member promoted self-end,
+ Twelve Parliament men are now sold for one peny.
+
+ Their acts and their orders which they have contrived,
+ Was still in conclusion to multiply riches:
+ The Common-wealth sweetly by these men have thrived,
+ As Lancashire did with the juncto of witches. {38}
+ Oh! our freedome was chain’d to the Egyptian yoak,
+ As it hath been felt and endured by many,
+ Still making religion their author and cloak,
+ Twelve Parliament men shall be sold for a peny.
+
+ Both citie and countrey are almost undone
+ By these caterpillars, which swarm’d in the nation;
+ Their imps and their goblins did up and downe run,
+ Excise-men, I meane, all knaves of a fashion:
+ For all the great treasure that dayly came in,
+ The souldier wants pay, ’tis well knowne by a many;
+ To cheat and to cozen they held it no sinne,
+ Twelve Parliament men shall be sold for a peny.
+
+ The land and the livings which these men have had,
+ ’Twould make one admire what use they’ve made of it,
+ With plate and with jewels they have bin well clad,
+ The souldier fared hard whilst they got the profit.
+ Our gold and our silver to Holland they sent,
+ But being found out, this is knowne by a many,
+ That no one would owne it for feare of a shent,
+ Twelve Parliament men are sold for a peny.
+
+ ’Tis judged by most people that they were the cause
+ Of England and Holland, their warring together, {39}
+ Both friends and dear lovers to break civill lawes,
+ And in cruell manner to kill one another.
+ What cared they how many did lose their dear lives,
+ So they by the bargain did get people’s money,
+ Sitting secure like bees in their hives?
+ But twelve Parliament men are now sold for a peny.
+
+
+THE SECOND PART
+
+
+ To the same tune.
+
+ THEY voted, unvoted, as fancy did guide,
+ To passe away time, but increasing their treasure
+ (When Jack is on cock-horse hee’l galloping ride,
+ But falling at last, hee’l repent it at leisure).
+ The widow, the fatherlesse, gentry and poore,
+ The tradesman and citizen, with a great many,
+ Have suffer’d full dearly to heap up their store;
+ But twelve Parliament men shall be sold for a peny.
+
+ These burdens and grievances England hath felt,
+ So long and so heavy, our hearts are e’en broken,
+ Our plate, gold and silver, to themselves they’ve dealt
+ (All this is too true, in good time be it spoken).
+ For a man to rise high and at last to fall low,
+ It is a discredit: this lot fals to many,
+ But ’tis no great matter these men to serve so,
+ Twelve Parliament men now are sold for a peny.
+
+ The generall {40} perceiving their lustfull desire
+ To covet more treasure, being puft with ambition,
+ By their acts and their orders to set all on fire,
+ Pretending religion to rout superstition:
+ He bravely commanded the souldiers to goe
+ In the Parliament-house, in defiance of any;
+ To which they consented, and now you doe know
+ That twelve Parliament men may be sold for a peny.
+
+ The souldiers undaunted laid hold on the mace,
+ And out of the chaire they removed the speaker:
+ The great ones was then in a pittifull case,
+ And Tavee cryd out, All her cold must forsake her. {41}
+ Thus they were routed, pluckt out by the eares,
+ The House was soone empty and rid of a many
+ Usurpers, that sate there this thirteen long yeares;
+ Twelve Parliament men may be sold for a peny.
+
+ To the Tower of London away they were sent,
+ As they have sent others by them captivated;
+ Oh what will become of this old Parliament
+ And all their compeers, that were royally stated.
+ What they have deserved I wish they may have,
+ And ’tis the desire I know of a many;
+ For us to have freedome, oh that will be brave!
+ But twelve Parliament men may be sold for a peny.
+
+ Let’s pray for the generall and all his brave traine,
+ He may be an instrument for England’s blessing,
+ Appointed in heaven to free us againe,—
+ For this is the way of our burdens redressing:
+ For England to be in glory once more,
+ It would satisfy, I know, a great many;
+ But ending I say, as I said before,
+ Twelve Parliament men now are sold for a peny.
+
+
+
+A CHRISTMAS SONG WHEN THE RUMP WAS FIRST DISSOLVED.
+
+
+From the King’s Pamphlets, British Museum. The Rump Parliament, in an
+excess of Puritanic acerbity, had abolished the observance of Christmas,
+and forbidden the eating of puddings and pies, as savouring of Popery.
+
+ Tune—“I tell thee, Dick.”
+
+ THIS Christmas time ’tis fit that we
+ Should feast, and sing, and merry be.
+ It is a time of mirth;
+ For never since the world began
+ More joyful news was brought to man
+ Than at our Saviour’s birth.
+
+ But such have been these times of late,
+ That holidays are out of date,
+ And holiness to boot;
+ For they that do despise and scorn
+ To keep the day that Christ was born,
+ Want holiness no doubt.
+
+ That Parliament that took away
+ The observation of that day,
+ We know it was not free;
+ For if it had, such acts as those
+ Had ne’er been seen in verse or prose,
+ You may conclude with me.
+
+ ’Twas that Assembly did maintain
+ ’Twas law to kill their sovereign,
+ Who by that law must die;
+ Though God’s anointed ones are such,
+ Which subjects should not dare to touch,
+ Much less to crucify.
+
+ ’Twas that which turn’d our bishops out
+ Of house and home, both branch and root,
+ And gave no reason why;
+ And all our clergy did expel,
+ That would not do like that rebel—
+ This no man can deny.
+
+ It was that Parliament that took
+ Out of our churches our _Service book_,
+ A book without compare;
+ And made God’s house (to all our griefs),
+ That house of prayer, a den of thiefs’
+ Both here and everywhere.
+
+ They had no head for many years,
+ Nor heart (I mean the House of Peers),
+ And yet it did not die;
+ Of these long since it was bereft,
+ And nothing but the tail was left,
+ You know as well as I.
+
+ And in this tail was a tongue,
+ Lenthal {42} I mean, whose fame hath rung
+ In country and in city;
+ Not for his worth or eloquence,
+ But for a rebel to his prince,
+ And neither wise nor witty.
+
+ This Speaker’s words must needs be wind,
+ Since they proceeded from behind;
+ Besides, you way remember,
+ From thence no act could be discreet,
+ Nor could the sense o’ the House be sweet
+ Where Atkins was a member.
+
+ This tale’s now done, the Speaker’s dumb,
+ Thanks to the trumpet and the drum;
+ And now I hope to see
+ A Parliament that will restore
+ All things that were undone before,
+ That we may Christians be.
+
+
+
+A FREE PARLIAMENT LITANY.
+
+
+ From the King’s Pamphlets, British Museum.—(A. D. 1655.)
+ To the tune of “An Old Courtier of the Queen’s.”
+
+ MORE ballads!—here’s a spick and span new supplication,
+ By order of a Committee for the Reformation,
+ To be read in all churches and chapels of this nation,
+ Upon pain of slavery and sequestration.
+ From fools and knaves in our Parliament free,
+ _Libera nos_, _Domine_.
+
+ From those that ha’ more religion and less conscience than their
+ fellows;
+ From a representative that’s fearful and zealous;
+ From a starting jadish people that is troubled with the yellows,
+ And a priest that blows the coal (a crack in his bellows);
+ From fools and knaves, etc.
+
+ From shepherds that lead their flocks into the briars,
+ And then fleece ’em; from vow-breakers and king-tryers;
+ Of Church and Crown lands, from both sellers and buyers;
+ From the children of him that is the father of liars;
+ From fools and knaves, etc.
+
+ From the doctrine and discipline of _now and anon_,
+ Preserve us and our wives from John T. and Saint John,
+ Like master like man, every way but one,—
+ The master has a large conscience, and the man has none;
+ From fools and knaves, etc.
+
+ From major-generals, army officers, and that phanatique crew;
+ From the parboil’d pimp Scot, and from Good-face the Jew;
+ From old Mildmay, that in Cheapside mistook his queu,
+ And from him that won’t pledge—Give the devil his due;
+ From fools and knaves, etc.
+
+ From long-winded speeches, and not a wise word;
+ From a gospel ministry settled by the sword;
+ From the act of a Rump, that stinks when ’tis stirr’d;
+ From a knight of the post, and a cobbling lord;
+ From fools and knaves, etc.
+
+ From all the rich people that ha’ made us poor;
+ From a Speaker that creeps to the House by a back-door;
+ From that badger, Robinson (that limps and bites sore);
+ And that dog in a doublet, Arthur—that will do so no more;
+ From fools and knaves, etc.
+
+ From a certain sly knave with a beastly name;
+ From a Parliament that’s wild, and a people that’s tame;
+ From Skippon, Titchbourne, Ireton,—and another of the same;
+ From a dung-hill cock, and a hen of the game;
+ From fools and knaves, etc.
+
+ From all those that sat in the High Court of Justice;
+ From usurpers that style themselves the people’s trustees;
+ From an old Rump, in which neither profit nor gust is,
+ And from the recovery of that which now in the dust is;
+ From fools and knaves, etc.
+
+ From a backsliding saint that pretend t’ acquiesce;
+ From crossing of proverbs (let ’um hang that confess);
+ From a sniveling cause, in a pontificall dress,
+ And two lawyers, with the devil and his dam in a mess;
+ From fools and knaves, etc.
+
+ From those that trouble the waters to mend the fishing,
+ And fight the Lord’s battles under the devil’s commission,
+ Such as eat up the nation, whilst the government’s a-dishing;
+ And from a people when it should be doing, stands wishing;
+ From fools and knaves, etc.
+
+ From an everlasting mock-parliament—and from _none_;
+ From Strafford’s old friends—Harry, Jack, and John;
+ From our solicitor’s wolf-law deliver our King’s son;
+ And from the resurrection of the Rump that is dead and gone;
+ From fools and knaves, etc.
+
+ From foreign invasion and commotions at home;
+ From our present distraction, and from work to come;
+ From the same hand again Smectymnus, or the bum,
+ And from taking Geneva in our way to Rome;
+ From fools and knaves, etc.
+
+ From a hundred thousand pound tax to keep knaves by the score
+ (But it is well given to these that turn’d those out of door);
+ From undoing ourselves in plaistering old sores;
+ He that set them a-work, let him pay their scores;
+ From fools and knaves, etc.
+
+ From saints and tender consciences in buff;
+ From Mounson in a foam, and Haslerig in a huff;
+ From both men and women that think they never have enough;
+ And from a fool’s head that looks through a chain and a duff;
+ From fools and knaves, etc.
+
+ From those that would divide the gen’ral and the city;
+ From Harry Martin’s girl, that was neither sweet nor pretty;
+ From a faction that has neither brain nor pity:
+ From the mercy of a phanatique committee;
+ From fools and knaves, etc.
+
+ Preserve us, good Heaven, from entrusting those
+ That ha’ much to get and little to lose;
+ That murther’d the father, and the son would depose
+ (Sure they can’t be our friends that are their country’s foes);
+ From fools and knaves, etc.
+
+ From Bradshaw’s presumption, and from Hoyle’s despairs;
+ From rotten members, blind guides, preaching aldermen, and false
+ may’rs;
+ From long knives, long ears, long parliaments, and long pray’rs;
+ In mercy to this nation—Deliver us and our heirs;
+ From fools and knaves, etc.
+
+
+
+THE MOCK SONG.
+
+
+ By T. J. With a reply by Alex. Brome.—(A.D. 1657.)
+
+ HOLD, hold, quaff no more,
+ But restore
+ If you can what you’ve lost by your drinking:
+ Three kingdoms and crowns,
+ With their cities and towns,
+ While the King and his progeny’s sinking.
+ The studs in your cheeks have obscured his star, boys,
+ Your drinking miscarriages in the late war, boys,
+ Have brought his prerogative now to the war, boys.
+
+ Throw, throw down the glass!
+ He’s an ass
+ That extracts all his worth from Canary;
+ That valour will shrink
+ That’s only good in drink;
+ ’Twas the cup made the camp to miscarry.
+ You thought in the world there’s no power could tame ye,
+ You tippled and whored till the foe overcame ye;
+ God’s nigs and Ne’er stir, sirs, has vanquish’d God damn me.
+
+ Fly, fly from the coast,
+ Or you’re lost,
+ And the water will run where the drink went;
+ From hence you must slink,
+ If you have no chink,
+ ’Tis the course of the royal delinquent;
+ You love to see beer-bowls turn’d over the thumb well,
+ You like three fair gamesters, four dice, and a drum well,
+ But you’d as lief see the devil as Fairfax or Cromwell.
+
+ Drink, drink not the round,
+ You’ll be drown’d
+ In the source of your sack and your sonnets;
+ Try once more your fate
+ For the King against the State,
+ And go barter your beavers for bonnets.
+ You see how they’re charm’d by the King’s enchanters,
+ And therefore pack hence to Virginia for planters,
+ For an act and two red-coats will rout all the ranters.
+
+
+
+THE ANSWER.
+
+
+ By Alex. Brome.
+
+ STAY, stay, prate no more,
+ Lest thy brain, like thy purse, run the score,
+ Though thou strain’st it;
+ Those are traitors in grain
+ That of sack do complain,
+ And rail by its own power against it.
+ Those kingdoms and crowns which your poetry pities,
+ Are fall’n by the pride and hypocrisy of cities,
+ And not by those brains that love sack and good ditties;
+ The K. and his progeny had kept them from sinking,
+ Had they had no worse foes than the lads that love drinking,
+ We that tipple ha’ no leisure for plotting or thinking.
+
+ He is an ass
+ That doth throw down himself with a glass
+ Of Canary;
+ He that’s quiet will think
+ Much the better of drink,
+ ’Cause the cups made the camp to miscarry.
+ You whore while we tipple, and there, my friend, you lie,
+ Your sports did determine in the month of July;
+ There’s less fraud in plain damme than your sly by my truly;
+ ’Tis sack makes our bloods both purer and warmer,
+ We need not your priest or the feminine charmer,
+ For a bowl of Canary’s a whole suit of armour.
+
+ Hold, hold, not so fast,
+ Tipple on, for there is no such haste
+ To be going;
+ We drowning may fear,
+ But your end will be there
+ Where there is neither swimming nor rowing.
+ We were gamesters alike, and our stakes were both down, boys,
+ But Fortune did favour you, being her own, boys;
+ And who would not venture a cast for a crown, boys?
+ Since we wear the right colours, he the worst of our foes is
+ That goes to traduce, and fondly supposes
+ That Cromwell’s an enemy to sack and red noses.
+
+ Then, then, quaff it round,
+ No deceit in a brimmer is found;
+ Here’s no swearing:
+ Beer and ale makes you prate
+ Of the Church and the State,
+ Wanting other discourse worth the hearing.
+ This strumpet your muse is, to ballad or flatter,
+ Or rail, and your betters with froth to bespatter,
+ And your talk’s all dismals and gunpowder matter;
+ But we, while old sack does divinely inspire us,
+ Are active to do what our rulers require us,
+ And attempt such exploits as the world shall admire us.
+
+
+
+AS CLOSE AS A GOOSE.
+
+
+By Samuel Butler.—(A.D. 1657.) This ballad ridicules the tender of the
+Crown of England to Oliver Cromwell by Alderman Pack, M.P. for London.
+
+ AS close as a goose
+ Sat the Parliament-house,
+ To hatch the royal gull;
+ After much fiddle-faddle
+ The egg proved addle,
+ And Oliver came forth _Noll_.
+
+ Yet old Queen Madge, {43}
+ Though things do not fadge,
+ Will serve to be queen of a May-pole;
+ Two Princes of Wales, {44}
+ For Whitsun-ales,
+ And her grace, Maid Marion Claypole. {45}
+
+ In a robe of cow hide
+ Sat yeasty Pride, {46}
+ With his dagger and his sling;
+ He was the pertinenst peer
+ Of all that were there,
+ T’ advise with such a king.
+
+ A great philosopher
+ Had a goose for his lover
+ That follow’d him day and night:
+ If it be a true story,
+ Or but an allegory,
+ It may be both ways right.
+
+ Strickland {47} and his son,
+ Both cast into one,
+ Were meant for a single baron;
+ But when they came to sit,
+ There was not wit
+ Enough in them both to serve for one.
+
+ Wherefore ’twas thought good
+ To add Honeywood,
+ But when they came to trial
+ Each one proved a fool,
+ Yet three knaves in the whole,
+ And that made up a _pair-royal_.
+
+
+
+THE PRISONERS.
+
+
+ Written when O. C. attempted to be King. By Alex. Brome.
+
+ COME, a brimmer (my bullies), drink whole ones or nothing,
+ Now healths have been voted down;
+ ’Tis sack that can heat us, we care not for clothing,
+ A gallon’s as warm as a gown;
+ ’Cause the Parliament sees
+ Nor the former nor these
+ Could engage us to drink their health,
+ They may vote that we shall
+ Drink no healths at all,
+ Not to King nor to Commonwealth,
+ So that now we must venture to drink ’em by stealth.
+
+ But we’ve found out a way that’s beyond all their thinking;
+ To keep up good fellowship still,
+ We’ll drink their destruction that would destroy drinking,—
+ Let ’um vote _that_ a health if they will.
+ Those men that did fight,
+ And did pray day and night
+ For the Parliament and its attendant,
+ Did make all that bustle
+ The King out to justle,
+ And bring in the Independent,
+ But now we all clearly see what was the end on’t.
+
+ Now their idols thrown down with their sooter-kin also,
+ About which they did make such a pother;
+ And tho’ their contrivance did make one thing to fall so,
+ We have drank ourselves into another;
+ And now (my lads) we
+ May still Cavaliers be,
+ In spite of the Committee’s frown;
+ We will drink and we’ll sing,
+ And each health to our King
+ Shall be loyally drunk in the ‘_Crown_,’
+ Which shall be the standard in every town.
+
+ Their politick would-be’s do but show themselves asses
+ That other men’s calling invade;
+ We only converse with pots and with glasses,
+ Let the rulers alone with their trade;
+ The Lyon of the Tower
+ There estates does devour,
+ Without showing law for’t or reason;
+ Into prison we get
+ For the crime called debt,
+ Where our bodies and brains we do season,
+ And that is ne’er taken for murder or treason.
+
+ Where our ditties still be, Give’s more drink, give’s more drink,
+ boys.
+ Let those that are frugal take care;
+ Our gaolers and we will live by our chink, boys,
+ While our creditors live by the air;
+ Here we live at our ease,
+ And get craft and grease,
+ ’Till we’ve merrily spent all our store;
+ Then, as drink brought us in,
+ ’Twill redeem us agen;
+ We got in because we were poor,
+ And swear ourselves out on the very same score.
+
+
+
+THE PROTECTING BREWER.
+
+
+This was apparently written as a parody on the Brewer, in Pills to purge
+Melancholy, 1682. The original was too complimentary to Oliver Cromwell,
+asserted by the Royalists to have been a brewer in early life, to suit
+the taste of the Cavaliers, and hence the alteration made in it. Such
+compliments as the following must have proceeded from a writer of the
+opposite party.
+
+ Some Christian kings began to quake,
+ And said With the brewer no quarrel we’ll make,
+ We’ll let him alone; as he brews let him bake;
+ Which nobody can deny.
+
+ He had a strong and a very stout heart,
+ And thought to be made an Emperor for’t,
+ * * * * *
+ Which nobody can deny.
+
+ A BREWER may be a burgess grave,
+ And carry the matter so fine and so brave,
+ That he the better may play the knave,
+ Which nobody can deny.
+
+ A brewer may put on a Nabal face,
+ And march to the wars with such a grace
+ That he may get a captain’s place;
+ Which nobody, etc.
+
+ A brewer may speak so wondrous well
+ That he may rise (strange things to tell),
+ And so be made a colonel;
+ Which nobody, etc.
+
+ A brewer may make his foes to flee,
+ And rise his fortunes, so that he
+ Lieutenant-general may be;
+ Which nobody, etc.
+
+ A brewer may be all in all,
+ And raise his powers, both great and small,
+ That he may be a lord general;
+ Which nobody, etc.
+
+ A brewer may be like a fox in a cub,
+ And teach a lecture out of a tub,
+ And give the wicked world a rub;
+ Which nobody, etc.
+
+ A brewer, by’s excise and rate,
+ Will promise his army he knows what,
+ And set upon the college-gate;
+ Which nobody, etc.
+
+ Methinks I hear one say to me,
+ Pray why may not a brewer be
+ Lord Chancellor o’ the University?
+ Which nobody, etc.
+
+ A brewer may be as bold as Hector,
+ When as he had drank his cup o’ Nectar,
+ And a brewer may be a Lord Protector;
+ Which nobody, etc.
+
+ Now here remains the strangest thing,
+ How this brewer about his liquor did bring
+ To be an emperor or a king;
+ Which nobody, etc.
+
+ A brewer may do what he will,
+ And rob the Church and State, to sell
+ His soul unto the devil in hell;
+ Which nobody, etc.
+
+
+
+THE ARRAIGNMENT OF THE DEVIL FOR STEALING AWAY PRESIDENT BRADSHAW.
+
+
+John Bradshaw, who had presided over the court of justice which condemned
+Charles I. to the scaffold, and who by his extreme republican principles
+had rendered himself obnoxious to Cromwell, began again to be
+distinguished in public affairs after the Protector’s death, and was
+elected President of the Council of State. He did not live long to enjoy
+this honour, but died, according to some authorities, on the 31st
+October, 1659. Chalmers places his death on the 22nd of November in that
+year.
+
+ To the tune of “Well-a-day, well-a-day.”
+
+ IF you’ll hear news that’s ill,
+ Gentlemen, gentlemen,
+ Against the devil, I will
+ Be the relator;
+ Arraigned he must be,
+ For that feloniously,
+ ’Thout due solemnity,
+ He took a traitor.
+
+ John Bradshaw was his name,
+ How it stinks! how it stinks!
+ Who’ll make with blacker fame
+ Pilate unknown.
+ This worse than worse of things
+ Condemn’d the best of kings,
+ And, what more guilt yet brings,
+ Knew ’twas his own.
+
+ Virtue in Charles did seem
+ Eagerly, eagerly,
+ And villainy in him
+ To vye for glory.
+ Majesty so compleat
+ And impudence so great
+ Till that time never met:—
+ But to my story.
+
+ Accusers there will be,
+ Bitter ones, bitter ones,
+ More than one, two, or three,
+ All full of spight;
+ Hangman and tree so tall,
+ Bridge, tower, and city-wall,
+ Kite and crow, which were all
+ Robb’d of their right.
+
+ But judges none are fit,
+ Shame it is, shame it is,
+ That twice seven years did sit
+ To give hemp-string dome;
+ The friend they would befriend,
+ That he might in the end
+ To them like favour lend,
+ In his own kingdome.
+
+ Sword-men, it must be you,
+ Boldly to’t, boldly to’t,
+ Must give the diver his due;
+ Do it not faintly,
+ But as you raised by spell
+ Last Parliament from hell,
+ And it again did quell
+ Omnipotently.
+
+ The charge they wisely frame
+ (On with it, on with it)
+ In that yet unknown name
+ Of supream power;
+ While six weeks hence by vote
+ Shall be or it shall not,
+ When Monk’s to London got {48}
+ In a good hour.
+
+ But twelve good men and true,
+ Caveliers, Caveliers,
+ He excepts against you;
+ Justice he fears.
+ From bar and pulpit hee
+ Craves such as do for fee
+ Serve all turns, for he’l be
+ Try’d by his peers.
+
+ Satan, y’ are guilty found
+ By your peers, by your peers,
+ And must die above ground!
+ Look for no pity;
+ Some of our ministry,
+ Whose spir’ts with yours comply,
+ As Owen, Caryl, Nye, {49}
+ For death shall fit ’ee.
+
+ Dread judges, mine own limb
+ I but took, I but took,
+ I was forced without him
+ To use a crutch;
+ Some of the robe can tell
+ How to supply full well
+ His place here, but in hell
+ I had none such.
+
+ Divel, you are an asse,
+ Plain it is, plain it is,
+ And weakly plead the case;
+ Your wits are lost.
+ Some lawyers will outdo’t,
+ When shortly they come to’t;
+ Your craft, our gold to boot,
+ They have ingross’d.
+
+ Should all men take their right,
+ Well-a-day, well-a-day,
+ We were in a sad plight,
+ O’ th’ holy party!
+ Such practise hath a scent
+ Of kingly government,
+ Against it we are bent,
+ Out of home char’ty.
+
+ But if I die, who am
+ King of hell, King of hell,
+ You will not quench its flame,
+ But find it worse:
+ Confused anarchy
+ Will a new torment be;
+ Ne’r did these kingdoms three
+ Feel such a curse.
+
+ To our promotion, sir,
+ There as here, there as here,
+ Through some confused stir
+ Doth the high-road lie;
+ In hell we need not fear
+ Nor King nor Cavalier,
+ Who then shall dominere
+ But we the godly?
+
+ Truth, then, sirs, which of old
+ Was my shame, was my shame,
+ Shall now to yours be told:
+ You caused his death;
+ The house being broken by
+ Yourselves (there’s burglary),
+ Wrath enter’d forcibly,
+ And stopt his breath.
+
+ Sir, as our president,
+ Taught by you, taught by you,
+ ’Gainst the King away went
+ Most strange and new;
+ Charging him with the guilt
+ Of all the blond we spilt,
+ With swords up to the hilt,
+ So we’le serve you.
+
+ For mercy then I call,
+ Good my lords, good my lords,
+ And traytors I’le leave all
+ Duly to end it;
+ Sir, sir, ’tis frivolous,
+ As well for you as us,
+ To beg for mercy thus,—
+ Our crimes transcend it.
+
+ You must die out of hand,
+ Satanas, Satanas:
+ This our decree shall stand
+ Without controll;
+ And we for you will pray,
+ Because the Scriptures say,
+ When some men curse you, they
+ Curse their own soul.
+
+ The fiend to Tiburn’s gone,
+ There to die, there to die;
+ Black is the north, anon
+ Great storms will be;
+ Therefore together now
+ I leave him and th’ gallow,—
+ So, newes-man, take ’em now,
+ Soon they’l take thee.
+
+ Finis, Fustis, Funis.
+
+
+
+A NEW BALLAD TO AN OLD TUNE,—TOM OF BEDLAM.
+
+
+ January 17th, 1659.—From the King’s Ballads, British Museum.
+
+ MAKE room for an honest red-coat
+ (And that you’ll say’s a wonder),
+ The gun and the blade
+ Are the tools, and his trade
+ Is, for _pay_, to _kill_ and _plunder_.
+ Then away with the laws,
+ And the “Good old Cause;”
+ Ne’er talk of the Rump or the Charter;
+ ’Tis the cash does the feat,
+ All the rest’s but a cheat,
+ Without _that_ there’s no faith nor quarter.
+
+ ’Tis the mark of our coin “_God with us_,”
+ And the grace of the Lord goes along with’t.
+ When the _Georges_ are flown
+ Then the Cause goes down,
+ For the Lord has departed from it.
+ Then away, etc.
+
+ For Rome, or for Geneva,
+ For the table or the altar,
+ This spawn of a vote,
+ He cares not a groat—
+ For the _pence_ he’s your dog in a halter,
+ Then away, etc.
+
+ Tho’ the name of King or Bishop
+ To nostrils pure may be loathsome,
+ Yet many there are
+ That agree with the May’r,
+ That their lands are wondrous toothsome.
+ Then away, etc.
+
+ When our masters are poor we leave ’em,
+ ’Tis the Golden Calf we bow to;
+ We kill and we slay
+ Not for conscience, but pay;
+ Give us _that_, we’ll fight for you too.
+ Then away, etc.
+
+ ’Twas _that_ first turn’d the King out;
+ The Lords next; then the Commons:
+ ’Twas that kept up Noll,
+ Till the Devil fetch’d his soul,
+ And then it set the _Rump_ on’s.
+ Then away, etc.
+
+ Drunken Dick was a lame Protector,
+ And Fleetwood a back-slider;
+ These we served as the rest,
+ But the City’s the beast
+ That will never cast her rider.
+ Then away, etc.
+
+ When the Mayor holds the stirrup
+ And the Shrieves cry, God save your honours;
+ Then ’tis but a jump
+ And up goes the Rump,
+ That will spur to the Devil upon us.
+ Then away, etc.
+
+ And now for fling at your thimbles,
+ Your bodkins, rings, and whistles;
+ In truck for your toys
+ We’ll fit you with boys
+ (’Tis the doctrine of Hugh’s _Epistles_).
+ Then away, etc.
+
+ When your plate is gone, and your jewels,
+ You must be next entreated
+ To part with your bags,
+ And to strip you to rags,
+ And yet not think you’re cheated.
+ Then away, etc.
+
+ The truth is, the town deserves it,
+ ’Tis a brainless, heartless monster:
+ At a club they may bawl,
+ Or declare at their hall,
+ And yet at a push not one stir.
+ Then away, etc.
+
+ Sir Arthur vow’d he’ll treat ’em
+ Far worse than the men of Chester;
+ He’s bold now they’re cow’d,
+ But he was nothing so loud
+ When he lay in the ditch at Lester.
+ Then away, etc.
+
+ The Lord has left John Lambert,
+ And the spirit, Feak’s anointed;
+ But why, O Lord,
+ Hast thou sheath’d thy sword?
+ Lo! thy saints are disappointed.
+ Then away, etc.
+
+ Though Sir Henry be departed,
+ Sir John makes good the place now;
+ And to help out the work
+ Of the glorious Kirk,
+ Our brethren march apace too.
+ Then away, etc.
+
+ Whilst divines and statesmen wrangle,
+ Let the Rump-ridden nation bite on’t;
+ There are none but we
+ That are sure to go free,
+ For the soldier’s still in the right on’t.
+ Then away, etc.
+
+ If our masters won’t supply us
+ With money, food, and clothing,
+ Let the State look to’t,
+ We’ll find one that will do’t,
+ Let him live—we will not damn.
+ Then away, etc.
+
+
+
+SAINT GEORGE AND THE DRAGON,
+ANGLICE MERCURIUS POETICUS.
+
+
+“The following ballad,” says Mr Wright in the Political Ballads of the
+Commonwealth, published for the Percy Society, “was written on the
+occasion of the overthrow of the Rump by Monck. He arrived in London on
+the third of February, and professed himself a determined supporter of
+the party then uppermost. On the ninth and tenth he executed their
+orders against the city; but suddenly on the eleventh he joined the city
+and the Presbyterian party, and demanded the readmission of the members
+who were secluded formerly from the Long Parliament. This measure put an
+end to the reign of the Rump, and immediately afterwards the Parliament
+dissolved itself, and a new one was called.—(February 28th, 1659.)”—All
+the notes to this Ballad are from the pen of Mr Wright.
+
+ To the tune of “The Old Courtier of the Queen’s,” etc.
+
+ NEWS! news! here’s the occurrences and a new Mercurius,
+ A dialogue betwixt Haselrigg the baffled and Arthur the furious;
+ With Ireton’s {50} readings upon legitimate and spurious,
+ Proving that a saint may be the son of a whore, for the satisfaction
+ of the curious.
+ From a Rump insatiate as the sea,
+ Libera nos, Domine.
+
+ Here’s the true reason of the citie’s infatuation,
+ Ireton has made it drunk with the cup of abomination;
+ That is, the cup of the whore, after the Geneva Interpretation,
+ Which with the juyce of Titchburn’s grapes {51} must needs cause
+ intoxication.
+ From a Rump, etc.
+
+ Here’s the Whipper whipt by a friend to George, that whipp’d Jack,
+ {52} that whipp’d the breech,
+ That whipp’d the nation as long as it could stand over it—after which
+ It was itself re-jerk’d by the sage author of this speech:
+ “Methinks a Rump should go as well with a Scotch spur as with a
+ switch.”
+ From a Rump, etc.
+
+ This Rump hath many a rotten and unruly member;
+ “Give the generall the oath!” cries one (but his conscience being a
+ little tender);
+ “I’ll abjure you with a pestilence!” quoth George, “and make you
+ remember
+ The ’leaventh of February {53} longer than the fifth of November!”
+ From a Rump, etc.
+
+ With that, Monk leaves (in Rump assembled) the three estates,
+ But oh! how the citizens hugg’d him for breaking down their gates,
+ For tearing up their posts and chaynes, and for clapping up their
+ mates {54}
+ (When they saw that he brought them plasters for their broken pates).
+ From a Rump, etc.
+
+ In truth this ruffle put the town in great disorder,
+ Some knaves (in office) smiled, expecting ’twould go furder;
+ But at the last, “My life on’t! George is no Rumper,” said the
+ Recorder,
+ “For there never was either honest man or monk of that order.”
+ From a Rump, etc.
+
+ And so it proved; for, “Gentlemen,” says the general, “I’ll make you
+ amends;
+ Our greeting was a little untoward, but we’ll part friends;
+ A little time shall show you which way my design tends,
+ And that, besides the good of Church and State, I have no other ends.”
+ From a Rump, etc.
+
+ His Excellence had no sooner pass’d this declaration and promise,
+ But in steps Secretary Scot, the Rump’s man Thomas,
+ With Luke, their lame evangelist (the Devil keep ’um from us!) {55}
+ To shew Monk what precious members of Church and State the Bumm has.
+ From a Rump, etc.
+
+ And now comes the supplication of the members under the rod:
+ “Nay, my Lord!” cryes the brewer’s clerk; “good, my Lord, for the love
+ of God!
+ Consider yourself, us, and this poor nation, and that tyrant abroad;
+ Don’t leave us:”—but George gave him a shrugg instead of a nodd.
+ From a Rump, etc.
+
+ This mortal silence was followed with a most hideous noyse,
+ Of free Parliament bells and Rump-confounding boyes,
+ Crying, “Cut the rogues! singe their tayles!” when, with a low voyce,
+ “Fire and sword! by this light,” cryes Tom, “Lets look to our toyes!”
+ From a Rump, etc.
+
+ Never were wretched members in so sad a plight;
+ Some were broyl’d, some toasted, others burnt outright; {56}
+ Nay against Rumps so pittylesse was their rage and spite,
+ That not a citizen would kisse his wife that night.
+ From a Rump, etc.
+
+ By this time death and hell appear’d in the ghastly looks
+ Of Scot and Robinson (those legislative rooks);
+ And it must needs put the Rump most damnably off the hooks
+ To see that when God has sent meat the Devil should send cooks.
+ From a Rump, etc.
+
+ But Providence, their old friend, brought these saints off at last,
+ And through the pikes and the flames undismember’d they past,
+ Although (God wet) with many struglings and much hast,—
+ For, members, or no members, was but a measuring cast.
+ From a Rump, etc.
+
+ Being come to Whitehall, there’s the dismal mone,
+ “Let Monk be damn’d!” cries Arthur in a terrible tone {57}—
+ “That traytor, and those cuckoldy rogues that set him on!”
+ (But tho’ the knight spits blood, ’tis observed that he draws none.)
+ From a Rump, etc.
+
+ “The plague bawle you!” cries Harry Martin, “you have brought us to
+ this condition, {58}
+ You must be canting and be plagued, with your Barebones petition, {59}
+ And take in that bull-headed, splay-footed member of the circumcision,
+ That bacon-faced Jew, Corbet, {60} that son of perdition!”
+ From a Rump, etc.
+
+ Then in steps driv’ling Mounson to take up the squabble,
+ That lord which first taught the use of the woodden dagger and ladle:
+ {61}
+ He that out-does Jack Pudding {62} at a custard or a caudle,
+ And were the best foole in Europe but that he wants a bauble.
+ From a Rump, etc.
+
+ More was said to little purpose,—the next news is, a declaration
+ From the Rump, for a free state according to the covenant of the
+ nation,
+ And a free Parliament under oath and qualification,
+ Where none shall be elect but members of reprobation.
+ From a Rump, &c.
+
+ Here’s the tail firk’d, a piece acted lately with great applause,
+ With a plea for the prerogative breech and the Good old Cause,
+ Proving that Rumps and members are antienter than laws,
+ And that a bumme divided is never the worse for the flawes.
+ From a Rump, etc.
+
+ But all things have their period and fate,
+ An Act of Parliament dissolves a Rump of state,
+ Members grow weak, and tayles themselves run out of date,
+ And yet thou shalt not dye (dear breech), thy fame I’ll celebrate.
+ From a Rump, etc.
+
+ Here lies a pack of saints that did their souls and country sell
+ For dirt, the Devil was their good lord, him they served well;
+ By his advice they stood and acted, and by his president they fell
+ (Like Lucifer), making but one step betwixt heaven and hell.
+ From a Rump insatiate as the sea
+ Liberasti nos, Domine.
+
+
+
+THE SECOND PART OF ST GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.
+
+
+ To the tune of “To drive the cold winter away.”
+ (March 7, 1659.)
+
+ NOW the Rump is confounded
+ There’s an end of the Roundhead,
+ Who hath been such a bane to our nation;
+ He hath now play’d his part,
+ And’s gone out like a f—,
+ Together with his reformation;
+ For by his good favour
+ He hath left a bad savour;
+ But’s no matter, we’ll trust him no more.
+ Kings and queens may appear
+ Once again in our sphere,
+ Now the knaves are turn’d out of door,
+ And drive the cold winter away.
+
+ Scot, Nevil, and Vane,
+ With the rest of that train,
+ Are into Oceana {63} fled;
+ Sir Arthur the brave,
+ That’s as arrant a knave,
+ Has Harrington’s Rota in’s head; {64}
+ But hee’s now full of cares
+ For his foals and his mares,
+ As when he was routed before;
+ But I think he despairs,
+ By his arms or his prayers,
+ To set up the Rump any more,
+ And drive the cold winter away.
+
+ I should never have thought
+ That a monk could have wrought
+ Such a reformation so soon;
+ That House which of late
+ Was the jakes of our state
+ Will ere long be a house of renown.
+ How good wits did jump
+ In abusing the Rump,
+ Whilst the House was prest by the rabble;
+ But our Hercules, Monk,
+ Though it grievously stunk,
+ Now hath cleansed that Augean stable,
+ And drive the cold winter away.
+
+ And now Mr Prynne {65}
+ With the rest may come in,
+ And take their places again;
+ For the House is made sweet
+ For those members to meet,
+ Though part of the Rump yet remain;
+ Nor need they to fear,
+ Though his breeches be there,
+ Which were wrong’d both behind and before;
+ For he saith ’twas a chance,
+ And forgive him this once,
+ And he swears he will do so no more,
+ And drive the cold winter away.
+
+ ’Tis true there are some
+ Who are still for the Bum;
+ Such tares will grow up with the wheat;
+ And there they will be, till a Parliament come
+ That can give them a total defeat.
+ But yet I am told
+ That the Rumpers do hold
+ That the saints may swim with the tyde;
+ Nor can it be treason,
+ But Scripture and reason,
+ Still to close with the stronger side,
+ And drive the cold winter away.
+
+ Those lawyers o’ th’ House—
+ As Baron Wild-goose, {66}
+ With Treason Hill, Whitlock, and Say—
+ Were the bane of our laws
+ And our Good old Cause,
+ And ’twere well if such were away.
+ Some more there are to blame,
+ Whom I care not to name,
+ That are men of the very same ranks;
+ ’Mongst whom there is one,
+ That to Devil Barebone
+ For his ugly petition gave thanks,
+ And drive the cold winter away.
+
+ But I hope by this time
+ He’ll confess ’twas a crime
+ To abet such a damnable crew;
+ Whose petition was drawn
+ By Alcoran Vane,
+ Or else by Corbet the Jew. {67}
+ By it you may know
+ What the Rump meant to do,
+ And what a religion to frame;
+ So ’twas time for St George
+ That Rump to disgorge,
+ And to send it from whence it first came;
+ Then drive the cold winter away.
+
+
+
+A NEW-YEAR’S GIFT FOR THE RUMP.
+
+
+ (January 1659–60.)—From a broadside, vol. xv. in the King’s Pamphlets.
+
+ “The condition of the State was thus: viz. the Rump, after being
+ disturbed by my Lord Lambert, was lately returned to sit again. The
+ officers of the army all forced to yield. Lawson lies still in the
+ river, and Monk is with his army in Scotland. Only my Lord Lambert
+ is not yet come in to the Parliament, nor is it expected that he will
+ without being forced to it. The new Common Council of the city do
+ speak very high; and had sent to Monk their sword-bearer to acquaint
+ him with their desires for a free and full Parliament, which is at
+ present the desires, and the hopes, and the expectations of all.
+ Twenty-two of the old secluded members having been at the House-door
+ the last week to demand entrance, but it was denied them; and it is
+ believed that neither they nor the people will be satisfied till the
+ House be filled.” Pepys’ Diary, January, 1660.
+
+ YOU may have heard of the politique snout,
+ Or a tale of a tub with the bottom out,
+ But scarce of a Parliament in a dirty clout,
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+ ’Twas Atkins {68} first served this Rump in with mustard—
+ The sauce was a compound of courage and custard;
+ Sir Vane bless’d the creature, Noll snuffled and bluster’d,
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+ The right was as then in old Oliver’s nose;
+ But when the Devil of that did dispose,
+ It descended from thence to the Rump in the close,
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+ Nor is it likely there to stay long,
+ The retentive faculties being gone,
+ The juggle is stale, and money there’s none,
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+ The secluded members made a trial
+ To enter, but them the Rump did defy all
+ By the ordinance of self-denial,
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+ Our politique doctors do us teach
+ That a blood-sucking red-coat’s as good as a leech
+ To relieve the head, if applied to the breech,
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+ But never was such a worm as Vane;
+ When the State scour’d last, it voided him then,
+ Yet now he’s crept into the Rump again,
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+ Ludlow’s f— was a prophetique trump {69}
+ (There never was anything so jump),
+ ’Twas the very type of a vote of this Rump,
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+ They say ’tis good luck when a body rises
+ With the rump upward, but he that advises
+ To live in that posture is none of the wisest,
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+ The reason is worse, though the rime be untoward,
+ When things proceed with the wrong end forward;
+ But they say there’s sad news to the Rump from the Nor’ward; {70}
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+ ’Tis a wonderfull thing, the strength of that part;
+ At a blast it will take you a team from a cart,
+ And blow a man’s head away with a f—,
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+ When our brains are sunck below the middle,
+ And our consciences steer’d by the hey-down-diddle,
+ Then things will go round without a fiddle,
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+ You may order the city with hand-granado,
+ Or the generall with a bastonado,—
+ But no way for a Rump like a carbonado,
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+ To make us as famous in council as wars,
+ Here’s Lenthal a speaker for mine—
+ And Fleetwood is a man of Mars,
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+ ’Tis pitty that Nedham’s {71} fall’n into disgrace,
+ For he orders a bum with a marvellous grace,
+ And ought to attend the Rump by his place,
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+ Yet this in spight of all disasters,
+ Although he hath broken the heads of his masters,
+ ’Tis still his profession to give ’em all plasters,
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+ The Rump’s an old story, if well understood;
+ ’Tis a thing dress’d up in a Parliament’s hood,
+ And like ’t, but the tayl stands where the head should,
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+ ’Twould make a man scratch where it does not itch,
+ To see forty fools’ heads in one politique breech,
+ And that, hugging the nation, as the devil did the witch;
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+ From rotten members preserve our wives!
+ From the mercy of a Rump, our estates and our lives!
+ For they must needs go whom the Devil drives,
+ Which no body can deny.
+
+
+
+A PROPER NEW BALLAD ON THE OLD PARLIAMENT;
+OR,
+THE SECOND PART OF KNAVE OUT OF DOORS.
+
+
+ To the tune of
+
+ “Hei ho, my honey, my heart shall never rue,
+ Four-and-twenty now for your mony, and yet a hard penny-worth too.”
+
+ (Dec. 11th, 1659.)—From the King’s Pamphlets, British Museum.
+
+ “The events which gave occasion to the following ballad,” says Mr T.
+ Wright in his Political Ballads, published for the Percy Society,
+ “may be summed up in a few words. After the death of Cromwell, his
+ son Richard was without opposition raised to the Protectorate; but
+ his weak and easy character gave an opening to the intrigues of the
+ Royalists, and the factious movement of the Republican party.
+ Fleetwood, who had been named commander-in-chief of the army under
+ the Protector, plotted to gain the chief power in the State, and was
+ joined by Lambert, Desborough, and others. The Republicans were
+ strengthened by the return of Vane, Ludlow, and Bradshaw, to the
+ Parliament called by the new Protector. Lambert, the Protector’s
+ brother-in-law, was the ostensible head of a party, and seems to have
+ aimed at obtaining the power which had been held by Oliver. They
+ formed a council of officers, who met at Wallingford House; and on
+ the 20th April, 1659, having gained the upper hand, and having
+ obtained the dissolution of the Parliament, they determined to
+ restore the old Long Parliament, which they said had only been
+ interrupted, and not legally dissolved, and to set aside the
+ Protector, who soon afterwards resigned. On the 21st April,
+ Lenthall, the old Speaker, with as many members of the Long
+ Parliament as could be brought together, met in the House, and opened
+ their session. The Parliament thus formed, as being the fag-end of
+ the old Long Parliament, obtained the name of the Rump Parliament.
+ Lambert’s hopes and aims were raised by his success against Sir
+ George Booth in the August following, and jealousies soon arose
+ between his party in the army and the Rump. The Parliament would
+ have dismissed him, and the chief officers in the cabal with him, but
+ Lambert with the army in October hindered their free meeting, and
+ took the management of the government into the hands of a council of
+ officers, whom they called the Committee of Safety. Towards the
+ latter end of the year, the tide began to be changed in favour of the
+ Parliament, by the declaration of Monk in Scotland, Henry Cromwell
+ with the army in Ireland, and Hazelrigge and the officers at
+ Portsmouth, in favour of the freedom of the Parliament. This ballad
+ was written at the period when Lambert’s party was uppermost.”
+
+The tune of “Hei ho, my honey,” may be found in Playford’s edition of
+“The English Dancing Master,” printed in 1686, but in no earlier edition
+of the same work.
+
+ GOOD-MORROW, my neighbours all, what news is this I heard tell
+ As I past through Westminster-hall by the House that’s neck to hell?
+ They told John Lambert {72} was there with his bears, and deeply he
+ swore
+ (As Cromwell had done before) those vermin should sit there no more.
+ Sing hi ho, Wil. Lenthall, {73} who shall our general be?
+ For the House to the Devil is sent all, and follow, good faith, mun
+ ye!
+ Sing hi ho, my honey, my heart shall never rue,
+ Here’s all pickt ware for the money, and yet a hard pennyworth too.
+
+ Then, Muse, strike up a sonnet, come, piper, and play us a spring,
+ For now I think upon it, these R’s turn’d out their King;
+ But now is come about, that once again they must turn out,
+ And not without justice and reason, that every one home to his prison.
+ Sing hi ho, Harry Martin, {74} a burgess of the bench,
+ There’s nothing here is certain, you must back and leave your
+ wench.
+ Sing, hi ho, etc.
+
+ He there with the buffle head is called lord and of the same House,
+ Who (as I have heard it said) was chastised by his ladye spouse;
+ Because he ran at sheep, she and her maid gave him the whip,
+ And beat his head so addle, you’d think he had a knock in the cradle.
+ Sing hi ho, Lord Munson, {75} you ha’ got a park of the King’s;
+ One day you’l hang like a hounson, for this and other things,
+ Sing hi, ho, etc.
+
+ It was by their master’s orders at first together they met,
+ Whom piously they did murder, and since by their own they did set.
+ The cause of this disaster is ’cause they were false to their master;
+ Nor can they their gens-d’armes blame for serving them the same.
+ Sing hi ho, Sir Arthur, {76} no more in the House you shall prate;
+ For all you kept such a quarter, {77} you are out of the councell
+ of state.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ Old Noll once gave them a purge (forgetting OCCIDISTI),
+ (The furies be his scourge!) so of the cure must he;
+ And yet the drug he well knew it, for he gave it to Dr Huit; {78}
+ Had he given it them, he had done it, and they had not turn’d out his
+ son yet;
+ Sing hi ho, brave Dick, Lenthall, and Lady Joane,
+ Who did against lovalty kick is now for a new-year’s gift gone.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ For had Old Noll been alive, he had pull’d them out by the ears,
+ Or else had fired their hive, and kickt them down the staires;
+ Because they were so bold to vex his righteous soul,
+ When he so deeply had swore that there they should never sit more.
+ But hi ho, Noll’s dead, and stunk long since above ground,
+ Though lapt in spices and lead that cost us many a pound.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ Indeed, brother burgess, your ling did never stink half so bad,
+ Nor did your habberdin when it no pease-straw had;
+ Ye both were chose together, ’cause ye wore stuff cloaks in hard
+ weather,
+ And Cambridge needs would have a burgess fool and knave.
+ Sing hi ho, John Lowry, {79} concerning habberdin,
+ No member spake before ye, yet you ne’re spoke againe.
+ Sing hi, ho, etc.
+
+ Ned Prideaux {80} he went post to tell the Protector the news,
+ That Fleetwood ruld the rost, having tane off Dicke’s shoes.
+ And that he did believe, Lambert would him deceive
+ As he his brother had gull’d, and Cromwell Fairfax bull’d.
+ Sing hi ho, the attorney was still at your command;
+ In flames together burn ye, still dancing hand in hand!
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ Who’s that would hide his face, and his neck from the collar pull?
+ He must appear in this place, if his cap be made of wool.
+ Who is it? with a vengeance! it is the good Lord St Johns, {81}
+ Who made God’s house to fall, to build his own withall.
+ Sing hi ho, who comes there? who ’tis I must not say;
+ But by his dark lanthorn, I sweare he’s as good in the night as
+ day.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ Edge, brethren, room for one that looks as big as the best;
+ ’Tis pity to leave him alone, for he is as good as the rest;
+ No picklock of the laws, he builds among the daws,
+ If you ha’ any more kings to murder, for a President look no further.
+ Sing hi ho, John Bradshaw, in blood none further engages;
+ The Devil from whom he had’s law, will shortly pay him his wages.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ Next, Peagoose Wild, {82} come in to show your weesle face,
+ And tell us Burley’s sin, whose blood bought you your place;
+ When loyalty was a crime, he lived in a dangerous time,
+ Was forced to pay his neck to make you baron of the cheque.
+ Sing hi ho, Jack Straw, we’ll put it in the margent,
+ ’Twas not for justice or law that you were made a sergeant.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ Noll served not Satan faster, nor with him did better accord;
+ For he was my good master, and the Devil was his good lord.
+ Both Slingsby, Gerard, and Hewet, {83} were sure enough to go to it,
+ According to his intent, that chose me President.
+ Sing hi ho, Lord Lisle, {84} sure law had got a wrench,
+ And where was justice the while, when you sate on the bench.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ Next comes the good Lord Keble, of the Triumvirate,
+ Of the seal in the law but feeble, though on the bench he sate;
+ For when one puts him a case, I wish him out of the place,
+ And, if it were not a sin, an able lawyer in.
+ Sing, give the seal about, I’de have it so the rather,
+ Because we might get out the knave, my lord, my father.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ Pull out the other three, it is Nathaniel Fines {85}
+ (Who Bristol lost for fear), we’ll not leave him behind’s;
+ ’Tis a chip of that good old block, who to loyalty gave the first
+ knock,
+ Then stole away to Lundey, whence the foul fiend fetches him one day.
+ Sing hi ho, canting Fines, you and the rest to mend ’um,
+ Would ye were served in your kinds with an _ense rescidendum_.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ He that comes down-stairs, is Lord Chief Justice Glin; {86}
+ If no man for him cares, he cares as little again:
+ The reason too I know’t, he helpt cut Strafford’s throat,
+ And take away his life, though with a cleaner knife.
+ Sing hi ho, Britain bold, straight to the bar you get,
+ Where it is not so cold as where your justice set.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ He that will next come in, was long of the Council of State,
+ Though hardly a hair on his chin when first in the council he sate;
+ He was sometime in Italy, and learned their fashions prettily,
+ Then came back to’s own nation, to help up reformation.
+ Sing hi ho, Harry Nevil, {87} I prythee be not too rash
+ With atheism to court the Divel, you’re too bold to be his bardash.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ He there with ingratitude blackt is one Cornelius Holland, {88}
+ Who, but for the King’s house, lackt wherewith to appease his colon;
+ The case is well amended since that time, as I think,
+ When at court gate he tended with a little stick and a short link.
+ Sing hi ho, Cornelius, your zeal cannot delude us;
+ The reason pray now tell ye us why thus you play’d the Judas.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ At first he was a grocer who now we Major call,
+ Although you would think no, Sir, if you saw him in Whitehall,
+ Where he has great command, and looks for cap in hand,
+ And if our eggs be not addle, shall be of the next new moddel.
+ Sing hi ho, Mr Salloway, {89} the Lord in heaven doth know
+ When that from hence you shall away, where to the Devil you’l go.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ Little Hill, {90} since set in the House, is to a mountain grown;
+ Not that which brought forth the mouse, but thousands the year of his
+ own.
+ The purchase that I mean, where else but at Taunton Dean;
+ Five thousand pounds per annum, a sum not known to his grannam.
+ Sing hi, the Good old Cause, {91} ’tis old enough not true
+ You got more by that then the laws, so a good old cause to you.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ Master Cecil, {92} pray come behind, because on your own accord
+ The other House you declined, you shall be no longer a lord;
+ The reason, as I guess, you silently did confess,
+ Such lords deserved ill the other House to fill.
+ Sing hi ho, Mr Cecil, your honour now is gone;
+ Such lords are not worth a whistle, we have made better lords of
+ our own.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ Luke Robinson {93} shall go before ye, that snarling northern tyke;
+ Be sure he’ll not adore ye, for honour he doth not like;
+ He cannot honour inherit, and he knows he can never merit,
+ And therefore he cannot bear it that any one else should wear it.
+ Sing hi ho, envious lown, you’re of the beagle’s kind,
+ Who always bark’d at the moon, because in the dark it shined.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ ’Tis this that vengeance rouses, that, while you make long prayers,
+ You eat up widows’ houses, and drink the orphan’s tears;
+ Long time you kept a great noise, of God and the Good old Cause;
+ But if God to you be so kind, then I’me of the Indian’s mind.
+ Sing hi ho, Sir Harry, {94} we see, by your demeanour,
+ If longer here you tarry, you’ll be Sir Harry Vane, Senior.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ Now if your zeal do warme ye, pray loud for fairer weather;
+ Swear to live and die with the army, for these birds are flown
+ together;
+ The House is turn’d out a doe, (and I think it was no sin, too);
+ If we take them there any more, we’ll throw the House out of the
+ window.
+ Sing hi ho, Tom Scot, {95} you lent the Devil your hand;
+ I wonder he helpt you not, but suffred you t’ be trapand.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ They’re once again conduced, and we freed from the evil
+ To which we long were used; God blesse us next from the Devil!
+ If they had not been outed the array had been routed,
+ And then this rotten Rump had sat until the last trump.
+ But, hi ho, Lambert’s here, the Protector’s instrument bore,
+ And many there be who swear that he will do it no more.
+ Sing hi ho, etc.
+
+ Come here, then, honest Peters, {96} say grace for the second course,
+ So long as these your betters must patience have upon force,
+ Long time he kept a great noise with God and the Good old Cause,
+ But if God own such as these, then where’s the Devil’s fees?
+ Sing hi ho, Hugo, I hear thou art not dead;
+ Where now to the Devil will you go, your patrons being fled?
+ Sing hi ho, my honey, my heart shall never rue,
+ Four-and-twenty now for a penny, and into the bargain Hugh.
+
+
+
+THE TALE OF THE COBBLER AND THE VICAR OF BRAY.
+
+
+ Rara est concordia fratrum. Ovid.
+
+ By Samuel Butler.
+
+The “Sir Samuel” of this Ballad is the same person—Sir Samuel Luke of
+Bedfordshire—who is supposed to have been the unconscious model of the
+portrait which is drawn so much more fully in the inimitable Hudibras.
+Ralph is also the well-known Squire in the same poem. The Ballad, though
+published in Butler’s “Posthumous Works,” 1724, was rejected by Thyer in
+the edition of 1784, and is not included in the “Genuine Remains,”
+published from the original manuscripts, formerly in the possession of
+William Longueville, Esq. If not by Butler, it is a successful imitation
+of his style, and abounds in phrases of sturdy colloquial English, and is
+of a date long anterior to the popular song, “The Vicar of Bray.”
+
+ IN Bedfordshire there dwelt a knight,
+ Sir Samuel by name,
+ Who by his feats in civil broils
+ Obtain’d a mighty fame.
+
+ Nor was he much less wise and stout,
+ But fit in both respects
+ To humble sturdy Cavaliers,
+ And to support the sects.
+
+ This worthy knight was one that swore
+ He would not cut his beard
+ Till this ungodly nation was
+ From kings and bishops clear’d:
+
+ Which holy vow he firmly kept,
+ And most devoutly wore
+ A grizly meteor on his face
+ Till they were both no more.
+
+ His worship was, in short, a man
+ Of such exceeding worth,
+ No pen or pencil can describe,
+ Or rhyming bard set forth.
+
+ Many and mighty things he did
+ Both sober and in liquor,—
+ Witness the mortal fray between
+ The Cobbler and the Vicar;
+
+ Which by his wisdom and his power
+ He wisely did prevent,
+ And both the combatants at once
+ In wooden durance pent.
+
+ The manner how these two fell out
+ And quarrell’d in their ale,
+ I shall attempt at large to show
+ In the succeeding tale.
+
+ A strolling cobbler, who was wont
+ To trudge from town to town,
+ Happen’d upon his walk to meet
+ A vicar in his gown.
+
+ And as they forward jogg’d along,
+ The vicar, growing hot,
+ First asked the cobbler if he knew
+ Where they might take a pot?
+
+ Yes, marry that I do, quoth he;
+ Here is a house hard by,
+ That far exceeds all Bedfordshire
+ For ale and landlady.
+
+ Thither let’s go, the vicar said;
+ And when they thither came,
+ He liked the liquor wondrous well,
+ But better far the dame.
+
+ And she, who, like a cunning jilt,
+ Knew how to please her guest,
+ Used all her little tricks and arts
+ To entertain the priest.
+
+ The cobbler too, who quickly saw
+ The landlady’s design,
+ Did all that in his power was
+ To manage the divine.
+
+ With smutty jests and merry songs
+ They charm’d the vicar so,
+ That he determined for that night
+ No further he would go.
+
+ And being fixt, the cobbler thought
+ ’Twas proper to go try
+ If he could get a job or two
+ His charges to supply.
+
+ So going out into the street,
+ He bawls with all his might,—
+ If any of you tread awry
+ I’m here to set you right.
+
+ I can repair your leaky boots,
+ And underlay your soles;
+ Backsliders, I can underprop
+ And patch up all your holes.
+
+ The vicar, who unluckily
+ The cobbler’s outcry heard,
+ From off the bench on which he sat
+ With mighty fury rear’d.
+
+ Quoth he, What priest, what holy priest
+ Can hear this bawling slave,
+ But must, in justice to his coat,
+ Chastise the saucy knave?
+
+ What has this wretch to do with souls,
+ Or with backsliders either,
+ Whose business only is his awls,
+ His lasts, his thread, and leather?
+
+ I lose my patience to be made
+ This strolling varlet’s sport;
+ Nor could I think this saucy rogue
+ Could serve me in such sort.
+
+ The cobbler, who had no design
+ The vicar to displease,
+ Unluckily repeats again,—
+ I’m come your soals to ease:
+
+ The inward and the outward too
+ I can repair and mend;
+ And all that my assistance want,
+ I’ll use them like a friend.
+
+ The country folk no sooner heard
+ The honest cobbler’s tongue,
+ But from the village far and near
+ They round about him throng.
+
+ Some bring their boots, and some their shoes,
+ And some their buskins bring:
+ The cobbler sits him down to work,
+ And then begins to sing.
+
+ Death often at the cobbler’s stall
+ Was wont to make a stand,
+ But found the cobbler singing still,
+ And on the mending hand;
+
+ Until at length he met old Time,
+ And then they both together
+ Quite tear the cobbler’s aged sole
+ From off the upper leather.
+
+ Even so a while I may old shoes
+ By care and art maintain,
+ But when the leather’s rotten grown
+ All art and care is vain.
+
+ And thus the cobbler stitched and sung,
+ Not thinking any harm;
+ Till out the angry vicar came
+ With ale and passion warm.
+
+ Dost thou not know, vile slave! quoth he,
+ How impious ’tis to jest
+ With sacred things, and to profane
+ The office of a priest?
+
+ How dar’st thou, most audacious wretch!
+ Those vile expressions use,
+ Which make the souls of men as cheap
+ As soals of boots and shoes?
+
+ Such reprobates as you betray
+ Our character and gown,
+ And would, if you had once the power,
+ The Church itself pull down.
+
+ The cobbler, not aware that he
+ Had done or said amiss,
+ Reply’d, I do not understand
+ What you can mean by this.
+
+ Tho’ I but a poor cobbler be,
+ And stroll about for bread,
+ None better loves the Church than I
+ That ever wore a head.
+
+ But since you are so good at names,
+ And make so loud a pother,
+ I’ll tell you plainly I’m afraid
+ You’re but some cobbling brother.
+
+ Come, vicar, tho’ you talk so big,
+ Our trades are near akin;
+ I patch and cobble outward soals
+ As you do those within.
+
+ And I’ll appeal to any man
+ That understands the nation,
+ If I han’t done more good than you
+ In my respective station.
+
+ Old leather, I must needs confess,
+ I’ve sometimes used as new,
+ And often pared the soal so near
+ That I have spoil’d the shoe.
+
+ You vicars, by a different way,
+ Have done the very same;
+ For you have pared your doctrines so
+ You made religion lame.
+
+ Your principles you’ve quite disown’d,
+ And old ones changed for new,
+ That no man can distinguish right
+ Which are the false or true.
+
+ I dare be bold, you’re one of those
+ Have took the Covenant;
+ With Cavaliers are Cavalier,
+ And with the saints a saint.
+
+ The vicar at this sharp rebuke
+ Begins to storm and swear;
+ Quoth he, Thou vile apostate wretch!
+ Dost thou with me compare?
+
+ I that have care of many souls,
+ And power to damn or save,
+ Dar’st thou thyself compare with me,
+ Thou vile, ungodly knave!
+
+ I wish I had thee somewhere else,
+ I’d quickly make thee know
+ What ’tis to make comparisons,
+ And to revile me so.
+
+ Thou art an enemy to the State,
+ Some priest in masquerade,
+ That, to promote the Pope’s designs,
+ Has learnt the cobbling trade:
+
+ Or else some spy to Cavaliers,
+ And art by them sent out
+ To carry false intelligence,
+ And scatter lies about.
+
+ But whilst the vicar full of ire
+ Was railing at this rate,
+ His worship, good Sir Samuel,
+ O’erlighted at the gate.
+
+ And asking of the landlady
+ Th’ occasion of the stir;
+ Quoth she, If you will give me leave
+ I will inform you, Sir.
+
+ This cobbler happening to o’ertake
+ The vicar in his walk,
+ In friendly sort they forward march,
+ And to each other talk.
+
+ Until the parson first proposed
+ To stop and take a whet;
+ So cheek by jole they hither came
+ Like travellers well met.
+
+ A world of healths and jests went round,
+ Sometimes a merry tale;
+ Till they resolved to stay all night,
+ So well they liked my ale.
+
+ Thus all things lovingly went on,
+ And who so great as they;
+ Before an ugly accident
+ Began this mortal fray.
+
+ The case I take it to be this,—
+ The vicar being fixt,
+ The cobbler chanced to cry his trade,
+ And in his cry he mixt
+
+ Some harmless words, which I suppose
+ The vicar falsely thought
+ Might be design’d to banter him,
+ And scandalize his coat.
+
+ If that be all, quoth he, go out
+ And bid them both come in;
+ A dozen of your nappy ale
+ Will set ’em right again.
+
+ And if the ale should chance to fail,
+ For so perhaps it may,
+ I have it in my powers to try
+ A more effectual way.
+
+ These vicars are a wilful tribe,
+ A restless, stubborn crew;
+ And if they are not humbled quite,
+ The State they will undo.
+
+ The cobbler is a cunning knave,
+ That goes about by stealth,
+ And would, instead of mending shoes,
+ Repair the Commonwealth.
+
+ However, bid ’em both come in,
+ This fray must have an end;
+ Such little feuds as these do oft
+ To greater mischiefs tend.
+
+ Without more bidding out she goes
+ And told them, by her troth,
+ There was a magistrate within
+ That needs must see ’em both.
+
+ But, gentlemen, pray distance keep,
+ And don’t too testy be;
+ Ill words good manners still corrupt
+ And spoil good company.
+
+ To this the vicar first replies,
+ I fear no magistrate;
+ For let ’em make what laws they will,
+ I’ll still obey the State.
+
+ Whatever I can say or do,
+ I’m sure not much avails;
+ I stall still be Vicar of Bray
+ Whichever side prevails.
+
+ My conscience, thanks to Heaven, is come
+ To such a happy pass,
+ That I can take the Covenant
+ And never hang an ass.
+
+ I’ve took so many oaths before,
+ That now without remorse
+ I take all oaths the State can make,
+ As meerly things of course.
+
+ Go therefore, dame, the justice tell
+ His summons I’ll obey;
+ And further you may let him know
+ I Vicar am of Bray.
+
+ I find indeed, the cobbler said,
+ I am not much mistaken;
+ This vicar knows the ready way
+ To save his reverend bacon. {97}
+
+ This is a hopeful priest indeed,
+ And well deserves a rope;
+ Rather than lose his vicarage
+ He’d swear to Turk or Pope.
+
+ For gain he would his God deny,
+ His country and his King;
+ Swear and forswear, recant and lye,
+ Do any wicked thing.
+
+ At this the vicar set his teeth,
+ And to the cobbler flew;
+ And with his sacerdotal fist
+ Gave him a box or two.
+
+ The cobbler soon return’d the blows,
+ And with both head and heel
+ So manfully behaved himself,
+ He made the vicar reel.
+
+ Great was the outcry that was made,
+ And in the woman ran
+ To tell his worship that the fight
+ Betwixt them was began.
+
+ And is it so indeed? quoth he;
+ I’ll make the slaves repent:
+ Then up he took his basket hilt,
+ And out enraged he went.
+
+ The country folk no sooner saw
+ The knight with naked blade,
+ But for his worship instantly
+ An open lane was made;
+
+ Who with a stern and angry look
+ Cry’d out, What knaves are these
+ That in the face of justice dare
+ Disturb the public peace?
+
+ Vile rascals! I will make you know
+ I am a magistrate,
+ And that as such I bear about
+ The vengeance of the State.
+
+ Go, seize them, Ralph, and bring them in,
+ That I may know the cause,
+ That first induced them to this rage,
+ And thus to break the laws.
+
+ Ralph, who was both his squire and clerk,
+ And constable withal,
+ I’ th’ name o’ th’ Commonwealth aloud
+ Did for assistance bawl.
+
+ The words had hardly pass’d his mouth
+ But they secure them both;
+ And Ralph, to show his furious zeal
+ And hatred to the cloth,
+
+ Runs to the vicar through the crowd,
+ And takes him by the throat:
+ How ill, says he, doth this become
+ Your character and coat!
+
+ Was it for this not long ago
+ You took the Covenant,
+ And in most solemn manner swore
+ That you’d become a saint?
+
+ And here he gave him such a pinch
+ That made the vicar shout,—
+ Good people, I shall murder’d be
+ By this ungodly lout.
+
+ He gripes my throat to that degree
+ I can’t his talons bear;
+ And if you do not hold his hands,
+ He’ll throttle me, I fear.
+
+ At this a butcher of the town
+ Steps up to Ralph in ire,—
+ What, will you squeeze his gullet through,
+ You son of blood and fire?
+
+ You are the Devil’s instrument
+ To execute the laws;
+ What, will you murther the poor man
+ With your phanatick claws?
+
+ At which the squire quits his hold,
+ And lugging out his blade,
+ Full at the sturdy butcher’s pate
+ A furious stroke he made.
+
+ A dismal outcry then began
+ Among the country folk;
+ Who all conclude the butcher slain
+ By such a mortal stroke.
+
+ But here good fortune, that has still
+ A friendship for the brave,
+ I’ th’ nick misguides the fatal blow,
+ And does the butcher save.
+
+ The knight, who heard the noise within,
+ Runs out with might and main,
+ And seeing Ralph amidst the crowd
+ In danger to be slain,
+
+ Without regard to age or sex
+ Old basket-hilt so ply’d,
+ That in an instant three or four
+ Lay bleeding at his side.
+
+ And greater mischiefs in his rage
+ This furious knight had done,
+ If he had not prevented been
+ By Dick, the blacksmith’s son,
+
+ Who catch’d his worship on the hip,
+ And gave him such a squelch,
+ That he some moments breathless lay
+ Ere he was heard to belch.
+
+ Nor was the squire in better case,
+ By sturdy butcher ply’d,
+ Who from the shoulder to the flank
+ Had soundly swinged his hide.
+
+ Whilst things in this confusion stood,
+ And knight and squire disarm’d,
+ Up comes a neighbouring gentleman
+ The outcry had alarm’d;
+
+ Who riding up among the crowd,
+ The vicar first he spy’d,
+ With sleeveless gown and bloody band
+ And hands behind him ty’d.
+
+ Bless me, says he, what means all this?
+ Then turning round his eyes,
+ In the same plight, or in a worse,
+ The cobbler bleeding spies.
+
+ And looking further round he saw,
+ Like one in doleful dump,
+ The knight, amidst a gaping mob,
+ Sit pensive on his rump.
+
+ And by his side lay Ralph his squire,
+ Whom butcher fell had maul’d;
+ Who bitterly bemoan’d his fate,
+ And for a surgeon call’d.
+
+ Surprised at first he paused awhile,
+ And then accosts the knight,—
+ What makes you here, Sir Samuel,
+ In this unhappy plight?
+
+ At this the knight gave’s breast a thump,
+ And stretching out his hand,—
+ If you will pull me up, he cried,
+ I’ll try if I can stand.
+
+ And then I’ll let you know the cause;
+ But first take care of Ralph,
+ Who in my good or ill success
+ Doth always stand my half.
+
+ In short, he got his worship up
+ And led him in the door;
+ Where he at length relates the tale
+ As I have told before.
+
+ When he had heard the story out,
+ The gentleman replies,—
+ It is not in my province, sir,
+ Your worship to advise.
+
+ But were I in your worship’s place,
+ The only thing I’d do,
+ Was first to reprimand the fools,
+ And then to let them go.
+
+ I think it first advisable
+ To take them from the rabble,
+ And let them come and both set forth
+ The occasion of the squabble.
+
+ This is the Vicar, Sir, of Bray,
+ A man of no repute,
+ The scorn and scandal of his tribe,
+ A loose, ill-manner’d brute.
+
+ The cobbler’s a poor strolling wretch
+ That mends my servants’ shoes;
+ And often calls as he goes by
+ To bring me country news.
+
+ At this his worship grip’d his beard,
+ And in an angry mood,
+ Swore by the laws of chivalry
+ That blood required blood.
+
+ Besides, I’m by the Commonwealth
+ Entrusted to chastise
+ All knaves that straggle up and down
+ To raise such mutinies.
+
+ However, since ’tis your request,
+ They shall be call’d and heard;
+ But neither Ralph nor I can grant
+ Such rascals should be clear’d.
+
+ And so, to wind the tale up short,
+ They were call’d in together;
+ And by the gentlemen were ask’d
+ What wind ’twas blew them thither.
+
+ Good ale and handsome landladies
+ You might have nearer home;
+ And therefore ’tis for something more
+ That you so far are come.
+
+ To which the vicar answer’d first,—
+ My living is so small,
+ That I am forced to stroll about
+ To try and get a call.
+
+ And, quoth the cobbler, I am forced
+ To leave my wife and dwelling,
+ T’ escape the danger of being press’d
+ To go a colonelling.
+
+ There’s many an honest jovial lad
+ Unwarily drawn in,
+ That I have reason to suspect
+ Will scarce get out again.
+
+ The proverb says, _Harm watch harm catch_,
+ I’ll out of danger keep,
+ For he that sleeps in a whole skin
+ Doth most securely sleep.
+
+ My business is to mend bad soals
+ And stitch up broken quarters:
+ A cobbler’s name would look but odd
+ Among a list of martyrs.
+
+ Faith, cobbler, quoth the gentleman,
+ And that shall be my case;
+ I will neither party join,
+ Let what will come to pass.
+
+ No importunities or threats
+ My fixt resolves shall rest;
+ Come here, Sir Samuel, where’s his health
+ That loves old England best.
+
+ I pity those unhappy fools
+ Who, ere they were aware,
+ Designing and ambitious men
+ Have drawn into a snare.
+
+ But, vicar, to come to the case,—
+ Amidst a senseless crowd,
+ What urged you to such violence,
+ And made you talk so loud?
+
+ Passion I’m sure does ill become
+ Your character and cloath,
+ And, tho’ the cause be ne’er so just,
+ Brings scandal upon both.
+
+ Vicar, I speak it with regret,
+ An inadvertent priest
+ Renders himself ridiculous,
+ And every body’s jest.
+
+ The vicar to be thus rebuked
+ A little time stood mute;
+ But having gulp’d his passion down,
+ Replies,—That cobbling brute
+
+ Has treated me with such contempt,
+ Such vile expressions used,
+ That I no longer could forbear
+ To hear myself abused.
+
+ The rascal had the insolence
+ To give himself the lie,
+ And to aver h’ had done more good
+ And saved more soals than I.
+
+ Nay, further, Sir, this miscreant
+ To tell me was so bold,
+ Our trades were very near of kin,
+ But his was the more old.
+
+ Now, Sir, I will to you appeal
+ On such a provocation,
+ If there was not sufficient cause
+ To use a little passion?
+
+ Now, quoth the cobbler, with your leave,
+ I’ll prove it to his face,
+ All this is mere suggestion,
+ And foreign to the case.
+
+ And since he calls so many names
+ And talks so very loud,
+ I will be bound to make it plain
+ ’Twas he that raised the crowd.
+
+ Nay, further, I will make ’t appear
+ He and the priests have done
+ More mischief than the cobblers far
+ All over Christendom.
+
+ All Europe groans beneath their yoke,
+ And poor Great Britain owes
+ To them her present miseries,
+ And dread of future woes.
+
+ The priests of all religions are
+ And will be still the same,
+ And all, tho’ in a different way,
+ Are playing the same game.
+
+ At this the gentleman stood up,—
+ Cobbler, you run too fast;
+ By thus condemning all the tribe
+ You go beyond your last.
+
+ Much mischief has by priests been done,
+ And more is doing still;
+ But then to censure all alike
+ Must be exceeding ill.
+
+ Too many, I must needs confess,
+ Are mightily to blame,
+ Who by their wicked practices
+ Disgrace the very name.
+
+ But, cobbler, still the major part
+ The minor should conclude;
+ To argue at another rate’s
+ Impertinent and rude.
+
+ By this time all the neighbours round
+ Were flock’d about the door,
+ And some were on the vicar’s side,
+ But on the cobbler’s more.
+
+ Among the rest a grazier, who
+ Had lately been at town
+ To sell his oxen and his sheep,
+ Brim-full of news came down.
+
+ Quoth he, The priests have preach’d and pray’d,
+ And made so damn’d a pother,
+ That all the people are run mad
+ To murther one another.
+
+ By their contrivances and arts
+ They’ve play’d their game so long,
+ That no man knows which side is right,
+ Or which is in the wrong.
+
+ I’m sure I’ve Smithfield market used
+ For more than twenty year,
+ But never did such murmurings
+ And dreadful outcries hear.
+
+ Some for a church, and some a tub,
+ And some for both together;
+ And some, perhaps the greater part,
+ Have no regard for either.
+
+ Some for a king, and some for none;
+ And some have hankerings
+ To mend the Commonwealth, and make
+ An empire of all kings.
+
+ What’s worse, old Noll is marching off,
+ And Dick, his heir-apparent,
+ Succeeds him in the government,
+ A very lame vicegerent.
+
+ He’ll reign but little time, poor fool,
+ But sink beneath the State,
+ That will not fail to ride the fool
+ ’Bove common horseman’s weight.
+
+ And rulers, when they lose the power,
+ Like horses overweigh’d,
+ Must either fall and break their knees,
+ Or else turn perfect jade.
+
+ The vicar to be twice rebuked
+ No longer could contain;
+ But thus replies,—To knaves like you
+ All arguments are vain.
+
+ The Church must use her arm of flesh,
+ The other will not do;
+ The clergy waste their breath and time
+ On miscreants like you.
+
+ You are so stubborn and so proud,
+ So dull and prepossest,
+ That no instructions can prevail
+ How well soe’er addrest.
+
+ Who would reform such reprobates,
+ Must drub them soundly first;
+ I know no other way but that
+ To make them wise or just.
+
+ Fie, vicar, fie, his patron said,
+ Sure that is not the way;
+ You should instruct your auditors
+ To suffer or obey.
+
+ Those were the doctrines that of old
+ The learned fathers taught;
+ And ’twas by them the Church at first
+ Was to perfection brought.
+
+ Come, vicar, lay your feuds aside,
+ And calmly take your cup;
+ And let us try in friendly wise
+ To make the matter up.
+
+ That’s certainly the wiser course,
+ And better too by far;
+ All men of prudence strive to quench
+ The sparks of civil war.
+
+ By furious heats and ill advice
+ Our neighbours are undone,
+ Then let us timely caution take
+ From their destruction.
+
+ If we would turn our heads about,
+ And look towards forty-one,
+ We soon should see what little jars
+ Those cruel wars begun.
+
+ A one-eyed cobbler then was one
+ Of that rebellious crew,
+ That did in Charles the martyr’s blood
+ Their wicked hands imbrue.
+
+ I mention this not to deface
+ This cobbler’s reputation,
+ Whom I have always honest found,
+ And useful in his station.
+
+ But this I urge to let you see
+ The danger of a fight
+ Between a cobbler and a priest,
+ Though he were ne’er so right.
+
+ The vicars are a numerous tribe,
+ So are the cobblers too;
+ And if a general quarrel rise,
+ What must the country do?
+
+ Our outward and our inward soals
+ Must quickly want repair;
+ And all the neighbourhood around
+ Would the misfortune share.
+
+ Sir, quoth the grazier, I believe
+ Our outward soals indeed
+ May quickly want the cobbler’s help
+ To be from leakings freed.
+
+ But for our inward souls, I think
+ They’re of a worth too great
+ To be committed to the care
+ Of any holy cheat,
+
+ Who only serves his God for gain,
+ Religion is his trade;
+ And ’tis by such as these our Church
+ So scandalous is made.
+
+ Why should I trust my soul with one
+ That preaches, swears, and prays,
+ And the next moment contradicts
+ Himself in all he says?
+
+ His solemn oaths he looks upon
+ As only words of course!
+ Which like their wives our fathers took
+ For better or for worse.
+
+ But he takes oaths as some take w—s,
+ Only to serve his ease;
+ And rogues and w—s, it is well known,
+ May part whene’er they please.
+
+ At this the cobbler bolder grew,
+ And stoutly thus reply’d,—
+ If you’re so good at drubbing, Sir,
+ Your manhood shall be try’d.
+
+ What I have said I will maintain,
+ And further prove withal—
+ I daily do more good than you
+ In my respective call.
+
+ I know your character, quoth he,
+ You proud insulting vicar,
+ Who only huff and domineer
+ And quarrel in your liquor.
+
+ The honest gentleman, who saw
+ ’Twould come again to blows,
+ Commands the cobbler to forbear,
+ And to the vicar goes.
+
+ Vicar, says he, for shame give o’er
+ And mitigate your rage;
+ You scandalize your cloth too much
+ A cobbler to engage.
+
+ All people’s eyes are on your tribe,
+ And every little ill
+ They multiply and aggravate
+ And will because they will.
+
+ But now let’s call another cause,
+ So let this health go round;
+ Be peace and plenty, truth and right,
+ In good old England found.
+
+ Quoth Ralph, All this is empty talk
+ And only tends to laughter;
+ If these two varlets should be spared,
+ Who’d pity us hereafter?
+
+ Your worship may do what you please,
+ But I’ll have satisfaction
+ For drubbing and for damages
+ In this ungodly action.
+
+ I think that you can do no less
+ Than send them to the stocks;
+ And I’ll assist the constable
+ In fixing in their hocks.
+
+ There let ’em sit and fight it out,
+ Or scold till they are friends;
+ Or, what is better much than both,
+ Till I am made amends.
+
+ Ralph, quoth the knight, that’s well advised,
+ Let them both hither go,
+ And you and the sub-magistrate
+ Take care that it be so.
+
+ Let them be lock’d in face to face,
+ Bare buttocks on the ground;
+ And let them in that posture sit
+ Till they with us compound.
+
+ Thus fixt, well leave them for a time,
+ Whilst we with grief relate,
+ How at a wake this knight and squire
+ Got each a broken pate.
+
+
+
+THE GENEVA BALLAD.
+
+
+ From Samuel Butler’s Posthumous Works.
+
+ OF all the factions in the town
+ Moved by French springs or Flemish wheels,
+ None turns religion upside down,
+ Or tears pretences out at heels,
+ Like _Splaymouth_ with his brace of caps,
+ Whose conscience might be scann’d perhaps
+ By the dimensions of his chaps;
+
+ He whom the sisters do adore,
+ Counting his actions all divine,
+ Who when the spirit hints can roar,
+ And, if occasion serves, can whine;
+ Nay, he can bellow, bray, or bark;
+ Was ever _sike a Beauk-learn’d_ clerk
+ That speaks all linguas of the ark?
+
+ To draw the hornets in like bees,
+ With pleasing twangs he tones his prose;
+ He gives his handkerchief a squeeze,
+ And draws John Calvin thro’ his nose;
+ Motive on motive he obtrudes,
+ With slip-stocking similitudes,
+ Eight uses more, and so concludes.
+
+ When monarchy began to bleed,
+ And treason had a fine new name;
+ When Thames was balderdash’d with Tweed,
+ And pulpits did like beacons flame;
+ When Jeroboam’s calves were rear’d,
+ And Laud was neither loved nor fear’d,
+ This gospel-comet first appear’d.
+
+ Soon his unhallow’d fingers stript
+ His sovereign-liege of power and land;
+ And, having smote his master, slipt
+ His sword into his fellow’s hand;
+ But he that wears his eyes may note
+ Oft-times the butcher binds a goat,
+ And leaves his boy to cut her throat.
+
+ Poor England felt his fury then
+ Outweigh’d Queen Mary’s many grains;
+ His very preaching slew more men
+ Than Bonnar’s faggots, stakes, and chains:
+ With dog-star zeal, and lungs like Boreas,
+ He fought, and taught, and, what’s notorious,
+ Destroy’d his Lord to make him glorious.
+
+ Yet drew for King and Parliament,
+ As if the wind could stand north-south;
+ Broke Moses’ law with blest intent,
+ Murther’d, and then he wiped his mouth:
+ Oblivion alters not his case,
+ Nor clemency nor acts of grace
+ Can blanch an Ethiopian’s face.
+
+ Ripe for rebellion, he begins
+ To rally up the saints in swarms;
+ He bawls aloud, Sir, leave your sins,
+ But whispers, Boys, stand to your arms:
+ Thus he’s grown insolently rude,
+ Thinking his gods can’t be subdued—
+ _Money_, I mean, and _multitude_.
+
+ Magistrates he regards no more
+ Than St George or the King of Colon,
+ Vowing he’ll not conform before
+ The old wives wind their dead in woollen:
+ He calls the bishop gray-hair’d coff,
+ And makes his power as mere a scoff
+ As Dagon when his hands were off.
+
+ Hark! how he opens with full cry,
+ Halloo, my hearts, beware of Rome!
+ Cowards that are afraid to die
+ Thus make domestic brawls at home.
+ How quietly great Charles might reign,
+ Would all these Hotspurs cross the main
+ And preach down Popery in Spain.
+
+ The starry rule of Heaven is fixt,
+ There’s no dissension in the sky;
+ And can there be a mean betwixt,
+ Confusion and conformity?
+ A place divided never thrives,
+ ’Tis bad when hornets dwell in hives,
+ But worse when children play with knives.
+
+ I would as soon turn back to mass,
+ Or change my praise to _Thee_ and _Thou_;
+ Let the Pope ride me like an ass,
+ And his priests milk me like a cow!
+ As buckle to Smectymnian laws,
+ The bad effects o’ th’ Good old Cause,
+ That have dove’s plumes, but vulture’s claws.
+
+ For ’twas the holy Kirk that nursed,
+ The Brownists and the ranters’ crew;
+ Foul error’s motley vesture first
+ Was oaded {98} in a northern blue;
+ And what’s th’ enthusiastick breed,
+ Or men of Knipperdolin’s creed,
+ But Cov’nanters run up to seed!
+
+ Yet they all cry they love the King,
+ And make boast of their innocence:
+ There cannot be so vile a thing
+ But may be cover’d with pretence;
+ Yet when all’s said, one thing I’ll swear,
+ No subject like th’ old Cavalier,
+ No traytor like _Jack-Presbyter_.
+
+
+
+THE DEVIL’S PROGRESS ON EARTH,
+OR
+HUGGLE DUGGLE.
+
+
+ From Durfey’s “Pills to Purge Melancholy.”
+
+ _Frier Bacon_ walks again,
+ And Doctor _Forster_ {99} too;
+ _Prosperine_ and _Pluto_,
+ And many a goblin crew:
+ With that a merry devil,
+ To make the _Airing_, vow’d;
+ Huggle Duggle, Ha! ha! ha!
+ The Devil laugh’d aloud.
+
+ Why think you that he laugh’d?
+ Forsooth he came from court;
+ And there amongst the gallants
+ Had spy’d such pretty sport;
+ There was such cunning jugling,
+ And ladys gon so proud;
+ Huggle Duggle, etc.
+
+ With that into the city
+ Away the Devil went;
+ To view the merchants’ dealings
+ It was his full intent:
+ And there along the brave Exchange
+ He crept into the croud.
+ Huggle Duggle, etc.
+
+ He went into the city
+ To see all there was well;
+ Their scales were false, their weights were light,
+ Their conscience fit for hell;
+ And _Panders_ chosen magistrates,
+ And _Puritans_ allow’d.
+ Huggle Duggle, etc.
+
+ With that unto the country
+ Away the Devil goeth;
+ For there is all plain dealing,
+ For that the Devil knoweth:
+ But the rich man reaps the gains
+ For which the poor man plough’d.
+ Huggle Duggle, etc.
+
+ With that the Devil in haste
+ Took post away to hell,
+ And call’d his fellow furies,
+ And told them all on earth was well:
+ That falsehood there did flourish,
+ Plain dealing was in a cloud.
+ Huggle Duggle, Ha! ha! ha!
+ The devils laugh’d aloud.
+
+
+
+A BOTTLE DEFINITION OF THAT FALLEN ANGEL, CALLED A WHIG.
+
+
+From a collection of Historical and State Poems, Satyrs, Songs, and
+Epigrams, by Ned Ward, A. D. 1717.
+
+ WHAT is a Whig? A cunning rogue
+ That once was in, now out of vogue:
+ A rebel to the Church and throne,
+ Of Lucifer the very spawn.
+
+ A tyrant, who is ne’er at rest
+ In power, or when he’s dispossess’d;
+ A knave, who foolishly has lost
+ What so much blood and treasure cost.
+
+ A lying, bouncing desperado,
+ A bomb, a stink-pot, a granado;
+ That’s ready primed, and charged to break,
+ And mischief do for mischief’s sake:
+
+ A comet, whose portending phiz
+ Appears more dreadful than it is;
+ But now propitious stars repel
+ Those ills it lastly did fortel.
+
+ ’Twill burst with unregarded spight,
+ And, since the Parliament proves right,
+ Will turn to smoke, which shone of late
+ So bright and flaming in the State.
+
+
+
+THE DESPONDING WHIG.
+
+
+ From Ned Ward’s Works, vol. iv. 1709.
+
+ WHEN owles are strip’d of their disguise,
+ And wolves of shepherd’s cloathing,
+ Those birds and beasts that please our eyes
+ Will then beget our loathing;
+ When foxes tremble in their holes
+ At dangers that they see,
+ And those we think so wise prove fools,
+ Then low, boys, down go we.
+
+ If those designs abortive prove
+ We’ve been so long in hatching,
+ And cunning knaves are forced to move
+ From home for fear of catching;
+ The rabble soon will change their tone
+ When our intrigues they see,
+ And cry God save the Church and Throne,
+ Then low, boys, down go we.
+
+ The weaver then no more must leave
+ His loom and turn a preacher,
+ Nor with his cant poor fools deceive
+ To make himself the richer.
+ Our leaders soon would disappear
+ If such a change should be,
+ Our scriblers too would stink for fear,
+ Then low, boys, down go we.
+
+ No canvisars would dare to shew
+ Their postures and grimaces,
+ Or proph’sy what they never knew,
+ By dint of ugly faces.
+ But shove the tumbler through the town,
+ And quickly banish’d be,
+ For none must teach without a gown,
+ Then low, boys, down go we.
+
+ If such unhappy days should come,
+ Our virtue, moderation,
+ Would surely be repaid us home
+ With double compensation;
+ For as we never could forgive,
+ I fear we then should see
+ That what we lent we must receive,
+ Then low, boys, down go we.
+
+ Should honest brethren once discern
+ Our knaveries, they’d disown us,
+ And bubbl’d fools more wit should learn,
+ The Lord have mercy on us;
+ Let’s guard against that evil day,
+ Least such a time should be,
+ And tackers should come into play,
+ Then low, boys, down go we.
+
+ Tho’ hitherto we’ve play’d our parts
+ Like wary cunning foxes,
+ And gain’d the common people’s hearts
+ By broaching het’rodoxes,—
+ But they’re as fickle as the winds,
+ With nothing long agree,
+ And when they change their wav’ring minds,
+ Then low, boys, down go we.
+
+ Let’s preach and pray, but spit our gall
+ On those that do oppose us,
+ And cant of grace, in spite of all
+ The shame the Devil owes us:
+ The just, the loyal, and the wise
+ With us shall Papists be,
+ For if the _High Church_ once should rise,
+ Then, _Low Church_, down go we.
+
+
+
+PHANATICK ZEAL,
+OR
+A LOOKING-GLASS FOR THE WHIGS.
+
+
+ From a Collection of 180 Loyal Songs.
+ Tune, “A Swearing we will go.”
+
+ WHO would not be a Tory
+ When the loyal are call’d so:
+ And a Whig now is known
+ To be the nation’s foe?
+ So a Tory I will be, will be,
+ And a Tory I will be.
+
+ With little band precise,
+ Hair Presbyterian cut,
+ Whig turns up hands and eyes
+ Though smoking hot from slut.
+ So a Tory I will be, etc.
+
+ Black cap turn’d up with white,
+ With wolfish neck and face,
+ And mouth with nonsense stuft,
+ Speaks Whig a man of grace,
+ And a Tory I will be, etc.
+
+ The sisters go to meetings
+ To meet their gallants there;
+ And oft mistake for my Lord,
+ And snivel out my dear.
+ And a Tory I will be, etc.
+
+ Example, we do own,
+ Than precept better is;
+ For Creswell she was safe,
+ When she lived a private Miss.
+ And a Tory I will be, etc.
+
+ The Whigs, though ne’er so proud,
+ Sometimes have been as low,
+ For there are some of note
+ Have long a raree-show.
+ And a Tory I will be, etc.
+
+ These mushrooms now have got
+ Their champion turn-coat hick;
+ But if the naked truth were known
+ They’re assisted by old Nick.
+ And a Tory I will be, etc.
+
+ To be and to be not
+ At once is in their power;
+ For when they’re in, they’re guilty,
+ But clear when out o’ the tower.
+ And a Tory I will be, etc.
+
+ To carry their designs,
+ Though ’t contradicts their sense;
+ They’re clear a Whiggish traytor
+ Against clear evidence.
+ And a Tory I will be, etc.
+
+ The old proverb doth us tell,
+ Each dog will have his day;
+ And Whig has had his too,
+ For which he’ll soundly pay;
+ And a Tory I will be, etc.
+
+ For bodkins and for thimbles
+ Now let your tubsters cant;
+ Their confounded tired cause
+ Had never yet more want.
+ So a Tory I will be, etc.
+
+ For ignoramus Toney
+ Has left you in the lurch;
+ And you have spent your money,
+ So, faith, e’en come to Church;
+ For a Tory I will be, etc.
+
+ They are of no religion,
+ Be it spoken to their glories,
+ For St Peter and St Paul
+ With them both are Tories;
+ And a Tory I will be, etc.
+
+ They’re excellent contrivers,
+ I wonder what they’re not,
+ For something they can make
+ Of nothing and a plot.
+ And a Tory I will be, etc.
+
+ But now your holy cheat
+ Is known throughout the nation;
+ And a Whig is known to be
+ A thing quite out of fashion.
+ And a Tory I will be, etc.
+
+
+
+A NEW GAME AT CARDS:
+OR,
+WIN AT FIRST AND LOSE AT LAST.
+
+
+A popular ballad, written immediately after the restoration of Charles
+II.; and in which the victorious Cavaliers render honour to General Monk,
+Duke of Albemarle.
+
+ Tune, “Ye gallants that delight to play.”
+
+ YE merry hearts that love to play
+ At cards, see who hath won the day;
+ You that once did sadly sing
+ The knave of clubs hath won the king;
+ Now more happy times we have,
+ The king hath overcome the knave.
+
+ Not long ago a game was play’d,
+ When three crowns at the stakes were laid;
+ England had no cause to boast,
+ Knaves won that which kings had lost:
+ Coaches gave the way to carts,
+ And clubs were better cards than hearts.
+
+ Old Noll was the knave o’ clubs,
+ And dad of such as preach in tubs;
+ Bradshaw, Ireton, and Pride
+ Were three other knaves beside;
+ And they play’d with half the pack,
+ Throwing out all cards but black.
+
+ But the just Fates threw these four out,
+ Which made the loyal party shout;
+ The Pope would fain have had the stock,
+ And with these cards have whipt his dock.
+ But soon the Devil these cards snatches
+ To dip in brimstone, and make matches.
+
+ But still the sport for to maintain,
+ Bold Lambert, Haslerigg, and Vane,
+ With one-eyed Hewson, took their places,
+ Knaves were better cards than aces;
+ But Fleetwood he himself did save,
+ Because he was more fool than knave.
+
+ Cromwell, though he so much had won,
+ Yet he had an unlucky son;
+ He sits still, and not regards,
+ Whilst cunning gamesters set the cards;
+ And thus, alas! poor silly Dick,
+ He play’d awhile, and lost his trick.
+
+ The Rumpers that had won whole towns,
+ The spoils of martyrs and of crowns,
+ Were not contented, but grew rough,
+ As though they had not won enough;
+ They kept the cards still in their hands,
+ To play for tithes and college lands.
+
+ The Presbyters began to fret
+ That they were like to lose the sett;
+ Unto the Rump they did appeal,
+ And said it was their turn to deal;
+ Then dealt with Presbyterians, but
+ The army swore that they would cut.
+
+ The foreign lands began to wonder,
+ To see what gallants we lived under,
+ That they, which Christians did forswear,
+ Should follow gaming all the year,—
+ Nay more, which was the strangest thing,
+ To play so long without a king.
+
+ The bold phanatics present were,
+ Like butlers with their boxes there,
+ Not doubting but that every game
+ Some profit would redound to them;
+ Because they were the gamesters’ minions,
+ And every day broach’d new opinions.
+
+ But Cheshire men (as stories say)
+ Began to show them gamester’s play;
+ Brave Booth and all his army strives
+ To save the stakes, or lose their lives;
+ But, oh sad fate! they were undone
+ By playing of their cards too soon.
+
+ Thus all the while a club was trump,
+ There’s none could ever beat the Rump,
+ Until a noble general came,
+ And gave the cheaters a clear slam;
+ His finger did outwit their noddy,
+ And screw’d up poor Jack Lambert’s body.
+
+ Then Haslerigg began to scowl,
+ And said the general play’d foul.
+ Look to him, partners, for I tell ye,
+ This Monk has got a king in’s belly.
+ Not so, quoth Monk, but I believe
+ Sir Arthur has a knave in’s sleeve.
+
+ When General Monk did understand
+ The Rump were peeping into’s hand,
+ He wisely kept his cards from sight,
+ Which put the Rump into a fright;
+ He saw how many were betray’d
+ That show’d their cards before they play’d.
+
+ At length, quoth he, some cards we lack,
+ I will not play with half a pack;
+ What you cast out I will bring in,
+ And a new game we will begin:
+ With that the standers-by did say
+ They never yet saw fairer play.
+
+ But presently this game was past,
+ And for a second knaves were cast;
+ All new cards, not stain’d with spots,
+ As was the Rumpers and the Scots,—
+ Here good gamesters play’d their parts
+ And turn’d up the king of hearts.
+
+ After this game was done, I think
+ The standers-by had cause to drink,
+ And all loyal subjects sing,
+ Farewell knaves, and welcome King;
+ For, till we saw the King return’d,
+ We wish’d the cards had all been burn’d.
+
+
+
+THE CAVALEERS LITANY.
+
+
+ (March 25th, 1660.)—From the King’s Pamphlets, British Museum.
+
+ FROM pardons which extend to woods,
+ Entitle thieves to keep our goods,
+ Forgive our rents as well as bloods,
+ God bless, etc.
+
+ From judges who award that none
+ Of our oppressours should attone
+ (The losses sure were not their own),
+ God bless, etc.
+
+ From Christians which can soon forget
+ Our injuries, but not one bit
+ Of self-concernment would remit,
+ God bless, etc.
+
+ From duresse, and their dolefull tale,
+ Who, famisht by a lawless sale,
+ Compounded it for cakes and ale,
+ God bless, etc.
+
+ From persons still to tread the stage,
+ Who did the drudgeries of our age
+ (Such counsells are, I fear, too sage),
+ God bless, etc.
+
+ From maximes which (to make all sure)
+ With great rewards the bad allure,
+ ’Cause of the good they are secure,
+ God bless, etc.
+
+ From cunning gamesters, who, they say,
+ Are sure to winne, what-e’re they play;
+ In April Lambert, Charles in May,
+ God bless, etc.
+
+ From neuters and their leven’d lump,
+ Who name the King and mean the Rump,
+ Or care not much what card is trump,
+ God bless, etc.
+
+ From midnight-birds, who lye at catch
+ Some plume from monarchy to snatch,
+ And from fond youths that cannot watch,
+ God bless, etc.
+
+ From brethren who must still dissent,
+ Whose froward gospell brooks no Lent,
+ And who recant, but ne’er repent,
+ God bless, etc.
+
+ From Levites void of truth and shame,
+ Who to the time their pulpits frame,
+ And keep the style but change the name,
+ God bless, etc.
+
+ From men by heynous crimes made rich,
+ Who (though their hopes are in the ditch)
+ Have still th’ old fornicatours itch,
+ God bless, etc.
+
+ From such as freely paid th’ arrears
+ Of the State-troops for many years,
+ But grudge one tax for Cavaleers,
+ God bless, etc.
+
+
+
+THE SECOND PART.
+
+
+ A CROWN of gold without allay,
+ Not here provided for one day,
+ But framed above to last for aye!
+ God send, etc.
+
+ A Queen to fill the empty place,
+ And multiply his noble race,
+ Wee all beseech the throne of grace
+ To send, etc.
+
+ A people still as true and kind
+ As late (when for their King they pin’d),
+ Not fickle as the tide or wild,
+ God send, etc.
+
+ A fleet like that in fifty-three,
+ To re-assert our power at sea,
+ And make proud Flemings bend their knee,
+ God send, etc.
+
+ Full magazines and cash in store,
+ That such as wrought his fate before
+ May hope to do the same no more,
+ God send, etc.
+
+ A searching judgement to divine,
+ Of persons whether they do joyn
+ For love, for fear, or for design,
+ God send, etc.
+
+ A well-complexion’d Parliament,
+ That shall (like Englishmen) resent
+ What loyall subjects underwent,
+ God send, etc.
+
+ Review of statutes lately past,
+ Made in such heat, pen’d in such hast,
+ That all events were not forecast,
+ God send, etc.
+
+ Dispatch of businesse, lawes upright,
+ And favour where it stands with right,
+ (Be their purses ne’er so light),
+ God send, etc.
+
+ A raven to supply their need,
+ Whose martyrdom (like noble seed)
+ Sprung up at length and choak’t the weed,
+ God send, etc.
+
+ The King and kingdom’s debts defray’d,
+ And those of honest men well pay’d,
+ To which their vertue them betray’d,
+ God send, etc.
+
+ Increase of customes to the King
+ May our increase of traffick bring,
+ ’Tis that will make the people sing
+ Long live, etc.
+
+London, printed for Robert Crofts, at the Crown, in Chancery Lane, 1661.
+
+
+
+THE CAVALIER’S COMPLAINT.
+
+
+This and the following ballad, from the King’s Pamphlets, British Museum,
+express the discontent of the Cavaliers at the ingratitude of King
+Charles to the old supporters of the fortunes of his family.—(March 15th,
+1660.)
+
+ To the tune of “I tell thee, Dick.”
+
+ COME, Jack, let’s drink a pot of ale,
+ And I shall tell thee such a tale
+ Will make thine ears to ring;
+ My coyne is spent, my time is lost,
+ And I this only fruit can boast,
+ That once I saw my King.
+
+ But this doth most afflict my mind:
+ I went to Court in hope to find
+ Some of my friends in place;
+ And walking there, I had a sight
+ Of all the crew, but, by this light!
+ I hardly knew one face.
+
+ ’S’life! of so many noble sparkes,
+ Who on their bodies bear the markes
+ Of their integritie;
+ And suffer’d ruine of estate,
+ It was my damn’d unhappy fate
+ That I not one could see.
+
+ Not one, upon my life, among
+ My old acquaintance all along
+ At Truro and before;
+ And I suppose the place can show
+ As few of those whom thou didst know
+ At Yorke or Marston-moore.
+
+ But truly there are swarmes of those
+ Who lately were our chiefest foes,
+ Of pantaloons and muffes;
+ Whilst the old rusty Cavaleer
+ Retires, or dares not once appear,
+ For want of coyne and cuffes.
+
+ When none of these I could descry,
+ Who better far deserv’d then I,
+ Calmely I did reflect;
+ “Old services (by rule of State)
+ Like almanacks grow out of date,—
+ What then can I expect?”
+
+ Troth! in contempt of Fortune’s frown,
+ I’ll get me fairly out of town,
+ And in a cloyster pray;
+ That since the starres are yet unkind
+ To Royalists, the King may find
+ More faithfull friends than they.
+
+
+
+AN ECHO TO THE CAVALIER’S COMPLAINT.
+
+
+ I MARVEL, Dick, that having been
+ So long abroad, and having seen
+ The world as thou hast done,
+ Thou should’st acquaint mee with a tale
+ As old as Nestor, and as stale
+ As that of Priest and Nunne. {100}
+
+ Are we to learn what is a Court?
+ A pageant made for fortune’s sport,
+ Where merits scarce appear;
+ For bashfull merit only dwells
+ In camps, in villages, and cells;
+ Alas! it dwells not there.
+
+ Desert is nice in its addresse,
+ And merit ofttimes doth oppresse
+ Beyond what guilt would do;
+ But they are sure of their demands
+ That come to Court with golden hands,
+ And brazen faces, too.
+
+ The King, they say, doth still professe
+ To give his party some redresse,
+ And cherish honestie;
+ But his good wishes prove in vain,
+ Whose service with his servants’ gain
+ Not alwayes doth agree.
+
+ All princes (be they ne’er so wise)
+ Are fain to see with others’ eyes,
+ But seldom hear at all;
+ And courtiers find their interest
+ In time to feather well their nest,
+ Providing for their fall.
+
+ Our comfort doth on time depend,
+ Things when they are at worst will mend;
+ And let us but reflect
+ On our condition th’ other day,
+ When none but tyrants bore the sway,
+ What did we then expect?
+
+ Meanwhile a calm retreat is best,
+ But discontent (if not supprest)
+ Will breed disloyaltie;
+ This is the constant note I sing,
+ I have been faithful to the King,
+ And so shall ever be.
+
+London, printed for Robert Crofts, at the Crown, in Chancery Lane, 1661.
+
+
+
+A RELATION.
+
+
+Of Ten grand infamous Traytors, who, for their horrid murder and
+detestable villany against our late soveraigne Lord King Charles the
+First, that ever blessed martyr, were arraigned, tryed, and executed in
+the moneth of October, 1660, which in perpetuity will be had in
+remembrance unto the world’s end.
+
+This is one of the Six Ballads of the Restoration found in a trunk, and
+sent by Sir W. C. Trevelyan to the British Museum. “No measure threw
+more disgrace on the Restoration,” says Mr Wright, “than the prosecution
+of the regicides; and the heartless and sanguinary manner in which it was
+conducted tended more than any other circumstance to open the eyes of the
+people to the real character of the government to which they had been
+betrayed.” Pepys observes on the 20th Oct., “A bloody week this and the
+last have been; there being ten hanged, drawn, and quartered.”
+
+ The tune is “Come let us drinke, the time invites.”
+
+ HEE that can impose a thing,
+ And shew forth a reason
+ For what was done against the King,
+ From the palace to the prison;
+ Let him here with me recite,
+ For my pen is bent to write
+ The horrid facts of treason.
+
+ Since there is no learned scribe
+ Nor arithmaticion
+ Ever able to decide
+ The usurp’d base ambition,
+ Which in truth I shall declare,
+ Traytors here which lately were,
+ Who wanted a phisitian.
+
+ For the grand disease that bred
+ Nature could not weane it;
+ From the foot unto the head,
+ Was putrefacted treason in it;
+ Doctors could no cure give,
+ Which made the squire then beleeve
+ That he must first begin it.
+
+ And the phisick did compose,
+ Within a pound of reason;
+ First to take away the cause,
+ Then to purge away the treason,
+ With a dosse of hemp made up,
+ Wrought as thickly as a rope,
+ And given them in due season.
+
+ The doctors did prescribe at last
+ To give ’um this potation,
+ A vomit or a single cast,
+ Well deserved, in purgation;
+ After that to lay them downe,
+ And bleed a veine in every one,
+ As traytors of the nation.
+
+ So when first the physicke wrought,
+ The thirteenth of October, {101}
+ The patient on a sledge was brought,
+ Like a rebell and a rover,
+ To the execution tree;
+ Where with much dexterity
+ Was gently turned over.
+
+
+THE SECOND PART.
+
+
+ To the same tune.
+
+ MONDAY was the fifteenth day,
+ As Carew then did follow, {102}
+ Of whom all men I thinke might say
+ In tyranny did deeply wallow;
+ Traytor proved unto the King,
+ Which made him on the gallowes swing,
+ And all the people hallow.
+
+ Tuesday, after Peters, Cooke, {103}
+ Two notorious traytors,
+ That brought our soveraigne to the blocke,
+ For which were hang’d and cut in quarters;
+ ’Twas Cooke which wrought the bloody thing
+ To draw the charge against our King,
+ That ever blessed martyr.
+
+ Next, on Wednesday, foure came,
+ For murthur all imputed,
+ There to answer for the same,
+ Which in judgement were confuted.
+ Gregorie Clement, Jones, and Scot,
+ And Scroop together, for a plot, {104}
+ Likewise were executed.
+
+ Thursday past, and Friday then,
+ To end the full conclusion,
+ And make the traytors just up ten,
+ That day were brought to execution,
+ Hacker and proud Axtell he, {105}
+ At Tyburne for their treachery
+ Received their absolution.
+
+ Being against the King and States,
+ The Commons all condemn’d ’um,
+ And their quarters on the gates
+ Hangeth for a memorandum
+ ’Twixt the heavens and the earth;
+ Traytors are so little worth,
+ To dust and smoake wee’l send ’um.
+
+ Let now October warning make
+ To bloody-minded traytors,
+ That never phisicke more they take,
+ For in this moneth they lost their quarters;
+ Being so against the King,
+ Which to murther they did bring,
+ The ever blessed martyr.
+
+London, printed for Fr. Coles, T. Vere, M. Wright, and W. Gilbertson.
+
+
+
+THE GLORY OF THESE NATIONS;
+
+
+OR, KING AND PEOPLES HAPPINESSE. BEING A BRIEF RELATION OF KING
+CHARLES’S ROYALL PROGRESSE FROM DOVER TO LONDON, HOW THE LORD GENERALL
+AND THE LORD MAYOR, WITH ALL THE NOBILITY AND GENTRY OF THE LAND, BROUGHT
+HIM THOROW THE FAMOUS CITY OF LONDON TO HIS PALLACE AT WESTMINSTER, THE
+29TH OF MAY LAST, BEING HIS MAJESTIES BIRTH-DAY, TO THE GREAT COMFORT OF
+HIS LOYALL SUBJECTS.
+
+One of the six curious broadsides found by Sir W. C. Trevelyan in the
+lining of a trunk, and now in the British Museum.
+
+The new Parliament met on the twenty-fifth of April, and on the first of
+May the King’s letter from Breda was read, and the Restoration determined
+by a vote of the House. The King immediately repaired to the coast, and,
+after meeting with some obstruction from the roughness of the weather,
+went on board the _Nazeby_ on the 23rd of May. On the 25th he landed at
+Dover. He made his entry into London on the 29th.
+
+ To the tune of “When the King enjoys his own again.”
+
+ WHERE’S those that did prognosticate,
+ And did envy fair England’s state,
+ And said King Charles no more should reign?
+ Their predictions were but in vain,
+ For the King is now return’d,
+ For whom fair England mourn’d;
+ His nobles royally him entertain.
+ Now blessed be the day!
+ Thus do his subjects say,
+ That God hath brought him home again.
+
+ The twenty-second of lovely May
+ At Dover arrived, fame doth say,
+ Where our most noble generall
+ Did on his knees before him fall,
+ Craving to kiss his hand,
+ So soon as he did land.
+ Royally they did him entertain,
+ With all their pow’r and might,
+ To bring him to his right,
+ And place him in his own again.
+
+ Then the King, I understand,
+ Did kindly take him by the hand
+ And lovingly did him embrace,
+ Rejoycing for to see his face.
+ Hee lift him from the ground
+ With joy that did abound,
+ And graciously did him entertain;
+ Rejoycing that once more
+ He was o’ th’ English shore,
+ To enjoy his own in peace again.
+
+ From Dover to Canterbury they past,
+ And so to Cobham-hall at last;
+ From thence to London march amain,
+ With a triumphant and glorious train,
+ Where he was received with joy,
+ His sorrow to destroy,
+ In England once more for to raign;
+ Now all men do sing,
+ God save Charles our King,
+ That now enjoyes his own again.
+
+ At Deptford the maidens they
+ Stood all in white by the high-way
+ Their loyalty to Charles to show,
+ They with sweet flowers his way to strew.
+ Each wore a ribbin blew,
+ They were of comely hue,
+ With joy they did him entertain,
+ With acclamations to the skye
+ As the King passed by,
+ For joy that he receives his own again.
+
+ In Wallworth-fields a gallant band
+ Of London ’prentices did stand,
+ All in white dublets very gay,
+ To entertain King Charles that day,
+ With muskets, swords, and pike;
+ I never saw the like,
+ Nor a more youthfull gallant train;
+ They up their hats did fling,
+ And cry, “God save the King!
+ Now he enjoys his own again.”
+
+ At Newington-Buts the Lord Mayor willed
+ A famous booth for to be builded,
+ Where King Charles did make a stand,
+ And received the sword into his hand;
+ Which his Majesty did take,
+ And then returned back
+ Unto the Mayor with love again.
+ A banquet they him make,
+ He doth thereof partake,
+ Then marcht his triumphant train.
+
+ The King with all his noblemen,
+ Through Southwark they marched then;
+ First marched Major Generall Brown, {106}
+ Then Norwich Earle of great renown, {107}
+ With many a valiant knight
+ And gallant men of might,
+ Richly attired, marching amain,
+ There Lords Mordin, Gerard, and
+ The good Earle of Cleavland, {108}
+ To bring the King to his own again.
+
+ Near sixty flags and streamers then
+ Was born before a thousand men,
+ In plush coats and chaines of gold,
+ These were most rich for to behold;
+ With every man his page,
+ The glory of his age;
+ With courage bold they marcht amain,
+ Then with gladnesse they
+ Brought the King on his way
+ For to enjoy his own again.
+
+ Then Lichfields and Darbyes Earles, {109}
+ Two of fair England’s royall pearles;
+ Major Generall Massey then
+ Commanded the life guard of men,
+ The King for to defend,
+ If any should contend,
+ Or seem his comming to restrain;
+ But also joyfull were
+ That no such durst appear,
+ Now the King enjoyes his own again.
+
+ Four rich maces before them went,
+ And many heralds well content;
+ The Lord Mayor and the generall
+ Did march before the King withall.
+ His brothers on each side
+ Along by him did ride;
+ The Southwark-waits did play amain,
+ Which made them all to smile
+ And to stand still awhile,
+ And then they marched on again.
+
+ Then with drawn swords all men did side,
+ And flourishing the same, then cryed,
+ “Charles the Second now God save,
+ That he his lawfull right may have!
+ And we all on him attend,
+ From dangers him to defend,
+ And all that with him doth remain.
+ Blessed be God that we
+ Did live these days to see,
+ That the King enjoyes his own again!”
+
+ The bells likewise did loudly ring,
+ Bonefires did burn and people sing;
+ London conduits did run with wine,
+ And all men do to Charles incline;
+ Hoping now that all
+ Unto their trades may fall,
+ Their famylies for to maintain,
+ And from wrong be free,
+ ’Cause we have liv’d to see
+ The King enjoy his own again.
+
+ London, printed for Charles Tyns, on London Bridge.
+
+
+
+THE NOBLE PROGRESS,
+OR,
+A TRUE RELATION OF THE LORD
+GENERAL MONK’S POLITICAL
+PROCEEDINGS.
+
+
+The Noble Progresse, or a True Relation of the Lord General Monk’s
+Political Proceedings with the Rump, the calling in the secluded Members,
+their transcendant vote for his sacred Majesty, with his reception at
+Dover, and royal conduct through the City of London to his famous Palace
+at Whitehall. One of the broadsides in the British Museum, found in the
+lining of an old trunk by Sir W. C. Trevelyan.
+
+ Tune—“When first the Scottish wars began.”
+
+ GOOD people, hearken to my call,
+ I’le tell you all what did befall
+ And hapned of late;
+ Our noble valiant General Monk
+ Came to the Rump, who lately stunk
+ With their council of state.
+ Admiring what this man would doe,
+ His secret mind there’s none could know,
+ They div’d into him as much as they could,—
+ George would not be won with their silver nor gold:
+ The sectarian saints at this lookt blew,
+ With all the rest of the factious crew,
+ They vapour’d awhile, and were in good hope,
+ But now they have nothing left but the rope.
+
+ Another invention then they sought,
+ Which long they wrought for to be brought
+ To claspe him with they;
+ Quoth Vane and Scot, I’le tell you what,
+ Wee’l have a plot and he shall not,
+ Wee’l carry the sway:
+ Let’s vote him a thousand pound a yeare,
+ And Hampton Court for him and his Heire.
+ Indeed, quoth George, ye’re Free Parliament men
+ To cut a thong out of another man’s skin.
+ The sectarian, etc.
+
+ They sent him then with all his hosts
+ To break our posts and raise our ghosts,
+ Which was their intent;
+ To cut our gates and chain all downe
+ Unto the ground—this trick they found
+ To make him be shent:
+ This plot the Rump did so accord
+ To cast an odium on my lord,
+ But in the task he was hard put untoo’t,
+ ’Twas enough to infect both his horse and his foot,
+ The sectarian, etc.
+
+ But when my lord perceived that night
+ What was their spight, he brought to light
+ Their knaveries all;
+ This Parliament of forty-eight,
+ Which long did wait, came to him straight,
+ To give them a fall,
+ And some phanatical people knew
+ That George would give them their fatall due;
+ Indeed he did requite them agen,
+ For he pul’d the Monster out of his den.
+ The sectarian, etc.
+
+ To the House our worthy Parliament
+ With good intent they boldly went
+ To vote home the King,
+ And many hundred people more
+ Stood at the doore, and waited for
+ Good tidings to bring;
+ Yet some in the House had their hands much in blood,
+ And in great opposition like traytors they stood;
+ But yet I believe it is very well known
+ That those that were for him were twenty to one.
+ But the sectarian, etc.
+
+ They call’d the League and Covenant in
+ To read again to every man;
+ But what comes next?
+ All sequestrations null be void,
+ The people said none should be paid,
+ For this was the text.
+ For, as I heard all the people say,
+ They voted King Charles the first of May;
+ Bonfires burning, bells did ring,
+ And our streets did echo with God bless ye King.
+ At this the sectarian, etc.
+
+ Our general then to Dover goes,
+ In spite of foes or deadly blowes,
+ Saying Vive le Roy;
+ And all the glories of the land,
+ At his command they there did stand
+ In triumph and joy.
+ Good Lord, what a sumptuous sight ’twas to see
+ Our good Lord General fall on his knee
+ To welcome home his Majestie,
+ And own his sacred sovereignty.
+ But the sectarian, etc.
+
+ When all the worthy noble train
+ Came back again with Charlemain,
+ Our sovereign great:
+ The Lord Mayor in his scarlet gown,
+ His chain so long, went through the town
+ In pompe and state.
+ The livery-men each line the way
+ Upon this great triumphant day;
+ Five rich maces carried before,
+ And my Lord himselfe the sword he bore.
+ Then Vive le Roy the gentry did sing,
+ For General Monk rode next to the King;
+ With acclamations, shouts, and cryes,
+ I thought they would have rent the skyes.
+
+ The conduits, ravished with joy,
+ As I may say, did run all day
+ Great plenty of wine;
+ And every gentleman of note
+ In’s velvet coat that could be got
+ In glory did shine.
+ There were all the peeres and barrons bold,
+ Richly clad in silver and gold,
+ Marched through the street so brave,
+ No greater pompe a king could have.
+ At this, the sacristan, etc.
+
+ And thus conducted all along
+ Throughout the throng, still he did come
+ Unto White Hall;
+ Attended by those noble-men,
+ Bold heroes’ kin that brought him in
+ With the geneall;
+ Who was the man that brought him home
+ And placed him on his royal throne;—
+ ’Twas General Monk did doe the thing,
+ So God preserve our gracious King,
+ Now the sacristan, etc.
+
+
+
+ON THE KING’S RETURN.
+
+
+ By Alex. Brome.
+
+ LONG have we waited for a happy end
+ Of all our miseries and strife;—
+ But still in vain;—the swordmen did intend
+ To make them hold for term of life:
+ That our distempers might be made
+ Their everlasting livelihood and trade.
+
+ They entail their swords and guns,
+ And pay, which wounded more,
+ Upon their daughters and their sons,
+ Thereby to keep us ever poor.
+
+ But when the Civil Wars were past,
+ They civil government invade,
+ To make our taxes and our slavery last,
+ Both to their titles and their trade.
+
+ But now we are redeem’d from all
+ By our indulgent King,
+ Whose coming does prevent our fall,
+ With loyal and with joyful hearts we’ll sing:
+
+ CHORUS,
+
+ Welcome, welcome, royal May,
+ Welcome, long-desired Spring.
+ Many Springs and Mays we’ve seen,
+ Have brought forth what’s gay and green;
+ But none is like this glorious day,
+ Which brings forth our gracious King.
+
+
+
+THE BRAVE BARBARY.
+
+
+ A Ballad by Alex. Brome.
+
+ OLD England is now a brave Barbary made,
+ And every one has an ambition to ride her;
+ King Charles was a horseman that long used the trade,
+ But he rode in a snaffle, and that could not guide her.
+
+ Then the hungry Scot comes with spur and with switch,
+ And would teach her to run a Geneva career;
+ His grooms were all Puritan, Traytor, and Witch,
+ But she soon threw them down with their pedlary geer.
+
+ The Long Parliament next came all to the block,
+ And they this untameable palfrey would ride;
+ But she would not bear all that numerous flock,
+ At which they were fain themselves to divide.
+
+ Jack Presbyter first gets the steed by the head,
+ While the reverend Bishops had hold of the bridle;
+ Jack said through the nose they their flockes did not feed,
+ But sat still on the beast and grew aged and idle.
+
+ And then comes the Rout, with broom-sticks inspired,
+ And pull’d down their graces, their sleeves, and their train;
+ And sets up Sir Jack, who the beast quickly tyr’d
+ With a journey to Scotland and thence back again.
+
+ Jack rode in a doublet, with a yoke of prick-ears,
+ A cursed splay-mouth and a Covenant spur,
+ Rides switching and spurring with jealousies and fears,
+ Till the poor famish’d beast was not able to stir.
+
+ Next came th’ Independent—a dev’lish designer,
+ And got himself call’d by a holier name—
+ Makes Jack to unhorse, for he was diviner,
+ And would make her travel as far’s Amsterdam.
+
+ But Nol, a rank-rider, gets first in the saddle,
+ And made her show tricks, and curvate, and rebound;
+ She quickly perceived that he rode widdle waddle,
+ And like his coach-horses threw his Highness to ground.
+
+ Then Dick, being lame, rode holding by the pummel,
+ Not having the wit to get hold of the rein;
+ But the jade did so snort at the sight of a Cromwell,
+ That poor Dick and his kindred turn’d footmen again.
+
+ Next Fleetwood and Vane with their rascally pack,
+ Would every one put their feet in the stirrup;
+ But they pull’d the saddle quite off of her back,
+ And were all got under her before they were up.
+
+ At last the King mounts her, and then she stood still;
+ As his Bucephalus, proud of this rider,
+ She cheerfully yields to his power and skill
+ Who is careful to feed her, and skilful to guide her.
+
+
+
+A CATCH.
+
+
+ By Alex. Brome. A.D. 1660.
+
+ LET’S leave off our labour, and now let’s go play,
+ For this is our time to be jolly;
+ Our plagues and our plaguers are both fled away,
+ To nourish our griefs is but folly:
+ He that won’t drink and sing
+ Is a traytor to’s King,
+ And so he that does not look twenty years younger;
+ We’ll look blythe and trim
+ With rejoicing at him
+ That is the restorer and will be the prolonger
+ Of all our felicity and health,
+ The joy of our hearts, and increase of our wealth.
+ ’Tis he brings our trading, our trading brings riches,
+ Our riches brings honour, at which every mind itches,
+ And our riches bring sack, and our sack brings us joy,
+ And our joy makes us leap and sing,
+ Vive le Roy!
+
+
+
+THE TURN-COAT.
+
+
+ By Samuel Butler. 1661.
+
+Several lines in this song were incorporated in the better-known ballad
+of the Vicar of Bray, said by Nichols in his Select Poems to have been
+written by a soldier in Colonel Fuller’s troop of dragoons, in the reign
+of George I. Butler’s ballad, though unpublished, must therefore have
+been known at the time.
+
+ To the tune of “London is a fine town.”
+
+ I LOVED no King since forty-one,
+ When Prelacy went down;
+ A cloak and band I then put on
+ And preach’d against the crown.
+ A turn-coat is a cunning man
+ That cants to admiration,
+ And prays for any king to gain
+ The people’s approbation.
+
+ I show’d the paths to heaven untrod,
+ From Popery to refine ’em,
+ And taught the people to serve God,
+ As if the Devil were in ’em.
+ A turn-coat, etc.
+
+ When Charles return’d into our land,
+ The English Church supporter,
+ I shifted off my cloak and band,
+ And so became a courtier.
+ A turn-coat, etc.
+
+ The King’s religion I profest,
+ And found there was no harm in ’t;
+ I cogg’d and flatter’d like the rest,
+ Till I had got preferment.
+ A turn-coat, etc.
+
+ I taught my conscience how to cope
+ With honesty or evil;
+ And when I rail’d against the Pope
+ I sided with the Devil.
+ A turn-coat, etc.
+
+
+
+THE CLARET DRINKER’S SONG,
+OR
+THE GOOD FELLOW’S DESIGN.
+
+
+Being a pleasant song of the times, written by a person of quality.—From
+the Roxburgh Ballads, Vol. iii.
+
+ Wine the most powerfull’st of all things on earth,
+ Which stifles cares and sorrows in their birth;
+ No treason in it harbours, nor can hate
+ Creep in when it bears away, to hurt the State.
+ Though storms grow high, so wine is to be got,
+ We are secure, their rage we value not;
+ The Muses cherish’d up such nectar, sing
+ Eternal joy to him that loves the King.
+
+ To the tune of “Let Cæsar live long.”
+
+ A POX of the fooling and plotting of late,
+ What a pudder and stir has it kept in the State!
+ Let the rabble run mad with suspicions and fears,
+ Let ’em scuffle and rail till they go by the ears,—
+ Their grievances never shall trouble my pate,
+ So I but enjoy my dear bottle at quiet.
+
+ What coxcombs were those that would ruin their case
+ And their necks for a toy, a thin wafer, and mass!
+ For at Tyburn they never had needed to swing
+ Had they been but true subjects to drink and their King:
+ A friend and a bottle is all my design,—
+ He’s no room for treason that’s top-full of wine.
+
+ I mind not the members and makers of laws,
+ Let them sit or prorogue as his Majesty please;
+ Let ’em damn us to Woolen, I’le never repine
+ At my usage when dead, so alive I have wine;
+ Yet oft in my drink I can hardly forbear
+ To blame them for making my claret so dear.
+
+ I mind not grave allies who idly debate
+ About rights and successions, the trifles of State;
+ We’ve a good King already, and he deserves laughter
+ That will trouble his head with who shall come after:
+ Come, here’s to his health! and I wish he may be
+ As free from all cares and all troubles as we.
+
+ SECOND PART.
+
+ WHAT care I how leagues with Hollanders go,
+ Or intrigues ’twist Mounsieurs or Dons for to?
+ What concerns it my drinking if cities be sold,
+ If the conqueror takes them by storming or gold?
+ From whence claret comes is the place that I mind,
+ And when the fleet’s coming I pray for a wind.
+
+ The bully of France that aspires to renown
+ By dull cutting of throats, and by venturing his own;
+ Let him fight till he’s ruined, make matches, and treat,
+ To afford us still news, the dull coffee-house cheat:
+ He’s but a brave wretch, whilst that I am more free,
+ More safe, and a thousand times happier than he.
+
+ In spite of him, or the Pope, or the Devil,
+ Or faggot, or fire, or the worst of hell’s evil,
+ I still will drink healths to the lovers of wine,
+ Those jovial, brisk blades that do never repine;
+ I’ll drink in defiance of napkin or halter,
+ Tho’ religion turn round still, yet mine shall ne’er alter.
+
+ But a health to good fellows shall still be my care,
+ And whilst wine it holds out, no bumpers we’ll spare.
+ I’ll subscribe to petitions for nothing but claret,
+ That that may be cheap, here’s both my hands for it;
+ ’Tis my province, and with it I only am pleased,
+ With the rest, scolding wives let poor cuckolds appease.
+
+ No doubt ’tis the best of all drinks, or so soon
+ It ne’er had been chose by the Man in the Moon, {110}
+ Who drinks nothing else, both by night and by day
+ But claret, brisk claret, and most people say,
+ Whilst glasses brimful to the stars they go round,
+ Which makes them shine brighter with red juice still crown’d.
+
+ For all things in Nature doe live by good drinking,
+ And he’s a dull fool, and not worthy my thinking,
+ That does not prefer it before all the treasure
+ The Indies contain, or the sea without measure;
+ ’Tis the life of good fellows, for without it they pine,
+ When nought can revive them but brimmers of wine.
+
+ I know the refreshments that still it does bring,
+ Which have oftentimes made us as great as a king
+ In the midst of his armies where’er he is found,
+ Whilst the bottles and glasses I’ve muster’d round;
+ Who are Bacchus’ warriors a conquest will gain
+ Without the least bloodshed, or wounded, or slain.
+
+ Then here’s a good health to all those that love peace,
+ Let plotters be damn’d and all quarrels now cease
+ Let me but have wine and I care for no more,
+ ’Tis a treasure sufficient; there’s none can be poor
+ That has Bacchus to’s friend, for he laughs at all harm,
+ Whilst with high-proofed claret he does himself arm.
+
+ Printed for J. Jordan, at the Angel, Giltspur Street.
+
+
+
+THE LOYAL SUBJECTS’ HEARTY WISHES TO KING CHARLES II.
+
+
+ From Sir W. C. Trevelyan’s Broadsides in the British Museum.
+
+ He that write these verses certainly
+ Did serve his royal father faithfully,
+ Likewise himself he served at Worcester fight,
+ And for his loyalty was put to flight.
+
+ But had he a haid of hair like Absolom,
+ And every hair as strong as was Samson,
+ I’d venture all for Charles the Second’s sake,
+ And for his Majesty my life forsake.
+
+ To the tune “When Cannons are roaring.”
+
+ FIRST PART.
+
+ TRUE subjects, all rejoice
+ After long sadness,
+ And now with heart and voice
+ Show forth your gladness.
+ That to King Charles were true
+ And rebels hated,
+ This song only to you
+ Is dedicated;
+ For Charles our sovereign dear
+ Is safe returned
+ True subjects’ hearts to cheer,
+ That long have mourned:
+ Then let us give God praise
+ That doth defend him,
+ And pray with heart and voice,
+ Angels, attend him.
+
+ The dangers he hath past
+ From vile usurpers
+ Now bring him joy at last,
+ Although some lurkers
+ Did seek his blood to spill
+ By actions evil;
+ But God we see is still
+ Above the Devil:
+ Though many serpents hiss
+ Him to devour,
+ God his defender is
+ By His strong power:
+ Then let us give him praise
+ That doth defend him,
+ And sing with heart and voice,
+ Angels, defend him.
+
+ The joy that he doth bring,
+ If true confessed,
+ The tongues of mortal men
+ Cannot confess it;
+ He cures our drooping fears,
+ Being long tormented,
+ And his true Cavaliers
+ Are well contented;
+ For now the Protestant
+ Again shall flourish;
+ The King our nursing father
+ He will us cherish:
+ Then let us give God praise
+ That did defend him,
+ And sing with heart and voice,
+ Angels, attend him.
+
+ Like Moses, he is meek
+ And tender-hearted;
+ And by all means doth seek
+ To have foes converted;
+ But, like the Israelites,
+ There are a number
+ That for his love to them
+ ’Gainst him doth murmur:
+ Read Exodus,—’tis true
+ The Israelites rather
+ Yield to the Egyptian crew
+ Than Moses their father:
+ So many phanaticks,
+ With hearts disloyal,
+ Their hearts and minds do fix
+ ’Gainst our King royal.
+
+ SECOND PART.
+
+ LIKE holy David, he
+ Past many troubles,
+ And by his constancy
+ His joys redoubles;
+ For now he doth bear sway
+ By God appointed,
+ For Holy Writ doth say,
+ Touch not mine Anointed.
+ He is God’s anointed sure,
+ Who still doth guide him
+ In all his wayes most pure,
+ Though some divide him.
+ Then let us give God praise
+ That doth defend him,
+ And sing with heart and voice,
+ Angels, attend him.
+
+ Many there are, we know,
+ Within this nation,
+ Lip-love to him do show
+ In ’simulation;
+ Of such vile hereticks
+ There are a number,
+ Whose hearts and tongues, we know,
+ Are far asunder;
+ Some do pray for the King
+ Being constrained;
+ Who lately against him
+ Greatly complained;
+ They turn both seat and seam
+ To cheat poor tailors,
+ But the fit place for them
+ Is under strong jailors.
+
+ Let the King’s foes admire
+ Who do reject him;
+ Seeing God doth him inspire,
+ And still direct him,
+ To heal those evil sores,
+ And them to cure
+ By his most gracious hand
+ And prayers pure.
+ Though simple people say
+ Doctors do as much,
+ None but our lawful King
+ Can cure with a touch;
+ As plainly hath been seen
+ Since he returned,—
+ Many have cured been
+ Which long have mourned.
+
+ The poorest wretch that hath
+ This evil, sure
+ May have ease from the King
+ And perfect cure;
+ His Grace is meek and wise,
+ Loving and civil,
+ And to his enemies
+ Doth good for evil;
+ For some that were his foes
+ Were by him healed;
+ His liberal cause to bless
+ Is not concealed;
+ He heals both poor and rich
+ By God’s great power,
+ And his most gracious touch
+ Doth them all cure.
+
+ Then blush, you infidels,
+ That late did scorn him;
+ And you that did rebel,
+ Crave pardon of him;
+ With speed turn a new leaf
+ For your transgresses;
+ Hear what the preacher sayes
+ In Ecclesiastes,—
+ The Scripture’s true, and shall
+ Ever be taught;
+ Curse not the King at all,
+ No, not in thy thought:
+ And holy Peter
+ Two commandments doth bring,—
+ Is first for to fear God,
+ And then honour the King.
+
+ When that we had no King
+ To guide the nation,
+ Opinions up did spring
+ By toleration;
+ And many heresies
+ Were then advanced,
+ And cruel liberties
+ By old Noll granted.
+ Even able ministers
+ Were not esteemed;
+ Many false prophets
+ Good preachers were deemed.
+ The Church some hated;
+ A barn, house, or stable
+ Would serve the Quakers,
+ With their wicked rabble.
+
+ And now for to conclude:
+ The God of power
+ Preserve and guide our King
+ Both day and hour;
+ That he may rule and reign
+ Our hearts to cherish;
+ And on his head, good Lord,
+ Let his crown flourish.
+ Let his true subjects sing
+ With hearts most loyal,
+ God bless and prosper still
+ Charles our King royal.
+ So now let’s give God praise
+ That doth defend him,
+ And sing with heart and voice,
+ Angels defend him.
+
+London, printed for John Andrews, at the White Lion, near Pye-Court.
+
+
+
+KING CHARLES THE SECOND’S RESTORATION, 29TH MAY.
+
+
+ Tune, “Where have you been, my lovely sailor bold?”
+
+ YOU brave loyal Churchmen,
+ That ever stood by the crown,
+ Have you forgot that noble prince
+ Great Charles of high renown,
+ That from his rights was banish’d
+ By Presbyterians, who
+ Most cruelty his father kill’d?—
+ O cursed, damned crew!
+ So let the bells in steeples ring,
+ And music sweetly play,
+ That loyal Tories mayn’t forget
+ The twenty-ninth of May.
+
+ Twelve years was he banish’d
+ From what was his just due,
+ And forced to hide in fields and woods
+ From Presbyterian crew;
+ But God did preserve him,
+ As plainly you do see,
+ The blood-hounds did surround the oak
+ While he was in the tree.
+ So let, etc.
+
+ As Providence would have it,
+ The hounds did lose their scent;
+ To spill the blood of this brave prince
+ It was their whole intent.
+ While that he was in exile,
+ The Church they pull’d down,
+ The Common-prayer they burnt, sir,
+ And trampled on the crown.
+ So let, etc.
+
+ They plunder’d at their pleasure,
+ On lords’ estates they seiz’d,
+ The bishops they did send away,
+ They did just as they pleas’d.
+ But General Monk at last rose up,
+ With valiant heart so bold,
+ Saying, that he no longer
+ By them would be controul’d.
+ So let, etc.
+
+ So in great splendour
+ At last he did bring in,
+ Unto every Torie’s joy,
+ Great Charles our sovereign.
+ Then loyal hearts so merry
+ The royal oak did wear,
+ While balconies with tapestry hung—
+ Nothing but joy was there.
+ So let, etc.
+
+ The conduits they with wine did run,
+ The bonfires did blaze,
+ In every street likewise the skies
+ Did ring with loud huzzas,—
+ Saying, God bless our sovereign,
+ And send him long to reign,
+ Hoping the P—n crew
+ May never rule again.
+ So let, etc.
+
+ Soon as great Charles
+ Our royal King was crown’d,
+ He built the Church up again,
+ The meetings were pull’d down.
+ No canting then was in the land,
+ The subjects were at peace,
+ The Church again did flourish,
+ And joy did then increase.
+ So let, etc.
+
+ The cursed Presbyterian crew
+ Was then put to the flight,
+ Some did fly by day,
+ And others run by night.
+ In barns and stables they did cant,
+ And every place they could;
+ He made them remember
+ The spilling royal blood.
+ So let, etc.
+
+ May God for ever
+ Bless the Church and Crown,
+ And never let any subject strive
+ The King for to dethrone.
+ May Churchmen ever flourish,
+ And peace increase again;
+ God for ever bless the King,
+ And send him long to reign.
+ So let, etc.
+
+
+
+THE JUBILEE,
+OR
+THE CORONATION DAY.
+
+
+From Thomas Jordan’s “_Royal Arbor of Loyal Poesie_,” 12mo, 1664. Mr
+Chappell states—“As this consists of only two stanzas, and the copy of
+the book, which is now in the possession of Mr Payne Collier, is probably
+unique, they are here subjoined.”
+
+ LET every man with tongue and pen
+ Rejoice that Charles is come agen,
+ To gain his sceptre and his throne,
+ And give to every man his own;
+ Let all men that be
+ Together agree,
+ And freely now express their joy;
+ Let your sweetest voices bring
+ Pleasant songs unto the King,
+ To crown his Coronation Day.
+
+ All that do thread on English earth
+ Shall live in freedom, peace, and mirth;
+ The golden times are come that we
+ Did one day think we ne’er should see;
+ Protector and Rump
+ Did put us in a dump,
+ When they their colours did display;
+ But the time is come about,
+ We are in, and they are out,
+ By King Charles his Coronation Day.
+
+
+
+THE KING ENJOYS HIS OWN AGAIN.
+
+
+ (1661.)—From Hogg’s Jacobite Relics.
+
+ WHIGS are now such precious things,
+ We see there’s not one to be found;
+ All roar “God bless and save the King!”
+ And his health goes briskly all day round.
+ To the soldier, cap in hand, the sneaking rascals stand,
+ And would put in for honest men;
+ But the King he well knows his friends from his foes,
+ And now he enjoys his own again.
+
+ From this plot’s first taking air,
+ Like lightning all the Whigs have run;
+ Nay, they’ve left their topping square,
+ To march off with our eldest son:
+ They’ve left their ’states and wives to save their precious lives,
+ Yet who can blame their flying, when
+ ’Twas plain to them all, the great and the small,
+ That the King would have his own again?
+
+ This may chance a warning be
+ (If e’er the saints will warning take)
+ To leave off hatching villany,
+ Since they’ve seen their brother at the stake:
+ And more must mounted be (which God grant we may see),
+ Since juries now are honest men:
+ And the King lets them swing with a hey ding a ding,
+ Great James enjoys his own again.
+
+ Since they have voted that his Guards
+ A nuisance were, which now they find,
+ Since they stand between the King
+ And the treason that such dogs design’d;
+ ’Tis they will you maul, though it cost them a fall,
+ In spight of your most mighty men;
+ For now they are alarm’d, and all Loyalists well arm’d,
+ Since the King enjoys his own again.
+
+ To the King, come, bumpers round,
+ Let’s drink, my boys, while life doth last:
+ He that at the core’s not sound
+ Shall be kick’d out without a taste.
+ We’ll fear no disgrace, but look traitors in the face,
+ Since we’re case-harden’d, honest men;
+ Which makes their crew mad, but us loyal hearts full glad,
+ That the King enjoys his own again.
+
+
+
+A COUNTRY SONG, INTITULED THE RESTORATION.
+
+
+ (May, 1661.)—From the twentieth volume of the folio broadsides, King’s
+ Pamphlets.
+
+ COME, come away
+ To the temple, and pray,
+ And sing with a pleasant strain;
+ The schismatick’s dead,
+ The liturgy’s read,
+ And the King enjoyes his own again.
+
+ The vicar is glad,
+ The clerk is not sad,
+ And the parish cannot refrain
+ To leap and rejoyce
+ And lift up their voyce,
+ That the King enjoyes his own again.
+
+ The country doth bow
+ To old justices now,
+ That long aside have been lain;
+ The bishop’s restored,
+ God is rightly adored,
+ And the King enjoyes his own again.
+
+ Committee-men fall,
+ And majors-generall,
+ No more doe those tyrants reign;
+ There’s no sequestration,
+ Nor new decimation,
+ For the King enjoyes the sword again.
+
+ The scholar doth look
+ With joy on his book,
+ Tom whistles and plows amain;
+ Soldiers plunder no more
+ As they did heretofore,
+ For the King enjoyes the sword again.
+
+ The citizens trade,
+ The merchants do lade,
+ And send their ships into Spain;
+ No pirates at sea
+ To make them a prey,
+ For the King enjoyes the sword again.
+
+ The old man and boy,
+ The clergy and lay,
+ Their joyes cannot contain;
+ ’Tis better than of late
+ With the Church and the State,
+ Now the King enjoyes the sword again.
+
+ Let’s render our praise
+ For these happy dayes
+ To God and our sovereign;
+ Your drinking give ore,
+ Swear not as before,
+ For the King bears not the sword in vain.
+
+ Fanaticks, be quiet,
+ And keep a good diet,
+ To cure your crazy brain;
+ Throw off your disguise,
+ Go to church and be wise,
+ For the King bears not the sword in vain.
+
+ Let faction and pride
+ Be now laid aside,
+ That truth and peace may reign;
+ Let every one mend,
+ And there is an end,
+ For the King bears not the sword in vain.
+
+
+
+HERE’S A HEALTH UNTO HIS MAJESTY.
+
+
+There is only one verse to this Song. The music is arranged for three
+voices in “Playford’s Musical Companion, 1667.”
+
+ HERE’S a health unto his Majesty,
+ With a fal la la la la la la,
+ Confusion to his enemies,
+ With a fal lal la la la la la la.
+ And he that will not drink his health,
+ I wish him neither wit nor wealth,
+ Nor but a rope to hang himself.
+ With a fal lal la la la la la la la la,
+ With a fal lal la la la la la.
+
+
+
+THE WHIGS DROWNED IN AN HONEST TORY HEALTH.
+
+
+ From Col. 180 Loyal Songs.
+
+ Tune, “Hark, the thundering canons roar.”
+
+ WEALTH breeds care, love, hope, and fear;
+ What does love or bus’ness here?
+ While Bacchus’ navy doth appear,
+ Fight on and fear not sinking;
+ Fill it briskly to the brim,
+ Till the flying top-sails swim,
+ We owe the first discovery to him
+ Of this great world of drinking.
+
+ Brave Cabals, who states refine,
+ Mingle their debates with wine,
+ Ceres and the god o’ th’ vine
+ Make every great commander;
+ Let sober Scots small beer subdue,
+ The wise and valiant wine do woo,
+ The Stagerite had the horrors too,
+ To be drunk with Alexander.
+
+ _Stand to your arms_! and now advance,
+ A health to the English King of France;
+ And to the next of boon esperance,
+ By Bacchus and Apollo;
+ Thus in state I lead the van,
+ Fall in your place by the right-hand man,
+ Beat drum! march on! dub a dub, ran dan!
+ He’s a Whig that will not follow.
+
+ Face about to the right again,
+ Britain’s admiral of the main,
+ York and his illustrious train
+ Crown the day’s conclusion;
+ Let a halter stop his throat
+ Who brought in the foremost vote,
+ And of all that did promote
+ The mystery of exclusion.
+
+ Next to Denmark’s warlike prince
+ Let the following health commence,
+ To the nymph whose influence
+ That brought the hero hither;—
+ May their race the tribe annoy,
+ Who the Grandsire would destroy,
+ And get every year a boy
+ Whilst they live together.
+
+ To the royal family
+ Let us close in bumpers three,
+ May the ax and halter be
+ The pledge of every Roundhead;
+ To all loyal hearts pursue,
+ Who to the monarch dare prove true;
+ But for him they call True Blue,
+ Let him be confounded.
+
+
+
+THE CAVALIER.
+
+
+ By Alex. Brome.—(1661–2.)
+
+ WE have ventured our estates,
+ And our liberties and lives,
+ For our master and his mates,
+ And been toss’d by cruel fates
+ Where the rebellious Devil drives,
+ So that not one of ten survives;
+ We have laid all at stake
+ For his Majesty’s sake;
+ We have fought, we have paid,
+ We’ve been sold and betray’d,
+ And tumbled from nation to nation;
+ But now those are thrown down
+ That usurped the Crown,
+ Our hopes were that we
+ All rewarded should be,
+ But we’re paid with a Proclamation.
+
+ Now the times are turn’d about,
+ And the rebels’ race is run;
+ That many-headed beast the Rout,
+ That did turn the Father out,
+ When they saw they were undone,
+ Were for bringing in the son.
+ That phanatical crew,
+ Which made us all rue,
+ Have got so much wealth
+ By their plunder and stealth
+ That they creep into profit and power:
+ And so come what will,
+ They’ll be uppermost still;
+ And we that are low
+ Shall still be kept so,
+ While those domineer and devour.
+
+ Yet we will be loyal still,
+ And serve without reward or hire:
+ To be redeem’d from so much ill,
+ May stay our stomachs, though not still,
+ And if our patience do not tire,
+ We may in time have our desire.
+
+
+
+THE LAMENTATION OF A BAD MARKET,
+OR
+THE DISBANDED SOULDIER.
+
+
+ (July 17th, 1660.)—From the King’s Pamphlets, British Museum.
+
+This ballad relates to the disbanding of the Parliamentary army.
+Contrary, however, to what is pretended in it, says Mr. Wright, in his
+volume printed for the Percy Society, the writers of the time mention
+with admiration the good conduct of the soldiers after they were
+disbanded, each betaking himself to some honest trade or calling, with as
+much readiness as if he had never been employed in any other way. Not
+many weeks before the date of the present ballad, a prose tract had been
+published, with the same title, “The Lamentation of a Bad Market, or
+Knaves and Fools foully foyled, and fallen into a Pit of their own
+digging,” &c. March 21st, 1659–60.
+
+ IN red-coat raggs attired,
+ I wander up and down,
+ Since fate and foes conspired,
+ Thus to array me,
+ Or betray me
+ To the harsh censure of the town.
+ My buffe doth make me boots, my velvet coat and scarlet,
+ Which used to do me credit with many a wicked harlot,
+ Have bid me all adieu, most despicable varlet!
+ Alas, poor souldier, whither wilt thou march?
+
+ I’ve been in France and Holland,
+ Guided by my starrs;
+ I’ve been in Spain and Poland,
+ I’ve been in Hungarie,
+ In Greece and Italy,
+ And served them in all their wars.
+ Britain these eighteen years has known my desperate slaughter,
+ I’ve killed ten at one blow, even in a fit of laughter,
+ Gone home again and smiled, and kiss’d my landlor’s daughter;
+ Alas! poor souldier, etc.
+
+ My valour prevailed,
+ Meeting with my foes,
+ Which strongly we assailed;
+ Oh! strange I wondred,
+ They were a hundred;
+ Yet I routed them with few blowes.
+ This fauchion by my side has kind more men, I’ll swear it,
+ Than Ajax ever did, alas! he ne’er came near it,
+ Yea, more than Priam’s boy, or all that ere did hear it.
+ Alas! poor souldier, etc.
+
+ For King and Parliament
+ I was Prester John.
+ Devout was my intent;
+ I haunted meetings,
+ Used zealous greetings,
+ Crept full of devotion;
+ Smectymnuus won me first, then holy Nye prevail, {111}
+ Then Captain Kiffin {112} slops me with John of Leyden’s tail,
+ Then Fox and Naylor bangs me with Jacob Beamond’s flail. {113}
+ Alas! poor souldier, etc.
+
+ I did about this nation
+ Hold forth my gifts and teach,
+ Maintained the tolleration
+ The common story
+ And Directory
+ I damn’d with the word “preach.”
+ Time was when all trades failed, men counterfeitly zealous
+ Turn’d whining, snievling praters, or kept a country ale-house,
+ Got handsome wives, turn’d cuckolds, howe’er were very jealous.
+ Alas! poor souldier, etc.
+
+ The world doth know me well,
+ I ne’re did peace desire,
+ Because I could not tell
+ Of what behaviour
+ I should savour
+ In a field of thundring fire.
+ When we had murdered King, confounded Church and State,
+ Divided parks and forests, houses, money, plate,
+ We then did peace desire, to keep what he had gat.
+ Alas! poor souldier, etc.
+
+ Surplice was surplisage,
+ We voted right or wrong,
+ Within that furious age,
+ Of the painted glass,
+ Or pictured brass,
+ And liturgie we made a song.
+ Bishops, and bishops’ lands, were superstitious words,
+ Until in souldiers’ hands, and so were kings and lords,
+ But in fashion now again in spight of all our swords.
+ Alas! poor souldier, etc.
+
+ Some say I am forsaken
+ By the great men of these times,
+ And they’re no whit mistaken;
+ It is my fate
+ To be out of date,
+ My masters most are guilty of such crimes.
+ Like an old Almanack, I now but represent
+ How long since Edge-Hill fight, or the rising was in Kent,
+ Or since the dissolution of the first Long Parliament.
+ Alas! poor souldier, etc.
+
+ Good sirs, what shall I fancie,
+ Amidst these gloomy dayes?
+ Shall I goe court brown Nancy?
+ In a countrey town
+ They’l call me clown,
+ If I sing them my outlandish playes.
+ Let me inform their nodle with my heroick spirit,
+ My language and worth besides transcend unto merit;
+ They’l not believe one word, what mortal flesh can bear it?
+ Alas! poor souldier, etc.
+
+ Into the countrey places
+ I resolve to goe,
+ Amongst those sun-burnt faces
+ I’le goe to plough
+ Or keep a cow,
+ ’Tis that my masters now again must do.
+ Souldiers ye see will be of each religion,
+ They’re but like stars, which when the true sun rise they’re gon.
+ I’le to the countrey goe, and there I’le serve Sir John;
+ Aye, aye, ’tis thither, and thither will I goe.
+
+ London, printed for Charles Gustavus, 1660.
+
+
+
+THE COURTIER’S HEALTH;
+OR,
+THE MERRY BOYS OF THE TIMES.
+
+
+ (A.D. 1672.)—From the Roxburgh Ballads, Vol. ii.
+ To the tune of “Come, Boys, fill us a Bumper.”
+
+ COME, boys, fill us a bumper,
+ Wee’l make the nation roar,
+ She’s grown sick of a _Rumper_,
+ That sticks on the old score.
+ Pox on phanaticks, rout ’um,
+ They thirst for our blood;
+ Wee’l taxes raise without ’um,
+ And drink for the nation’s good.
+ Fill the pottles and the gallons,
+ And bring the hogshead in,
+ Wee’l begin with a tallen,
+ A brimmer to the King.
+
+ Round, around, fill a fresh one,
+ Let no man bawk his wine,
+ Wee’l drink to the next in succession,
+ And keep it in the right line.
+ Bring us ten thousand glasses,
+ The more we drink we’re dry;
+ We mind not the beautiful lasses,
+ Whose conquest lyes all in the eye.
+ Fill the pottles, etc.
+
+ We boys are truly loyal,
+ For Charles wee’l venture all,
+ We know his blood is royal,
+ His name shall never fall.
+ But those that seek his ruine
+ May chance to dye before him,
+ While we that sacks are woeing
+ For ever will adore him.
+ Fill the pottles, etc.
+
+ I hate those strange dissenters
+ That strives to hawk a glass,
+ He that at all adventures
+ Will see what comes to pass:
+ And let the Popish nation
+ Disturb us if they can,
+ They ne’er shall breed distraction
+ In a true-hearted man.
+ Fill the pottles, etc.
+
+ Let the fanatics grumble
+ To see things cross their grain,
+ Wee’l make them now more humble
+ Or ease them of their pain:
+ They shall drink sack amain too,
+ Or they shall be choak’t;
+ Wee’l tell ’um ’tis in vain too
+ For us to be provok’t.
+ Fill the pottles, etc.
+
+ He that denyes the brimmer
+ Shall banish’d be in this isle,
+ And we will look more grimmer
+ Till he begins to smile:
+ Wee’l drown him in Canary,
+ And make him all our own,
+ And when his heart is merry
+ Hee’l drink to Charles on’s throne.
+ Fill the pottles, etc.
+
+ Quakers and Anabaptists,
+ Wee’l sink them in a glass;
+ He deals most plain and flattest
+ That sayes he loves a lass:
+ Then tumble down Canary,
+ And let our brains go round,
+ For he that won’t be merry
+ He can’t at heart be sound.
+ Fill the pottles, etc.
+
+ Printed for P. Brooksly, at the Golden Ball in West Smithfield, 1672.
+
+
+
+THE LOYAL TORIES’ DELIGHT;
+OR,
+A PILL FOR FANATICKS.
+
+
+ Being a most pleasant and new song.
+
+ 1680.—From the Roxburgh Ballads, Vol. iii., fol. 911.
+
+ To the tune of “Great York has been debar’d of late, etc.”
+
+ GREAT York has been debar’d of late
+ From Court by some accursed fate;
+ But ere long, we do not fear,
+ We shall have him, have him here,
+ We shall have him, have him here.
+
+ The makers of the plot we see,
+ By damn’d old _Tony’s_ treachery,
+ How they would have brought it about,
+ To have given great York the rout,
+ To have given, etc.
+
+ God preserve our gracious King,
+ And safe tydings to us bring,
+ Defend us from the _sham black box_, {114}
+ And all damn’d fanatick plots,
+ And all damn’d, etc.
+
+ Here Charles’s health I drink to thee,
+ And with him all prosperity;
+ God grant that he long time may reign,
+ To bring us home great York again,
+ To bring us home, etc.
+
+ That he, in spight of all his foes
+ Who loyalty and laws oppose,
+ May long remain in health and peace,
+ Whilst plots and plotters all shall cease,
+ Whilst plots, etc.
+
+ Let Whigs go down to Erebus,
+ And not stay here to trouble us
+ With noisy cant and needless fear,
+ Of ills to come they know not where,
+ Of ills to come, etc.
+
+ When our chief trouble they create,
+ For plain we see what they’d be at;
+ Could they but push great York once down
+ They’d next attempt to snatch the crown,
+ They’d next attempt, etc.
+
+ But Heaven preserve our gracious King,
+ May all good subjects loudly sing;
+ And Royal James preserve likewise,
+ From such as do against him rise,
+ From such as do, etc.
+
+ Then come, again fill round our glass,
+ And, loyal Tories, less it pass,
+ Fill up, fill up unto the brim,
+ And let each boule with necture swim,
+ And let each boule, etc.
+
+ Though _cloakmen_, that seem much precise,
+ ’Gainst wine exclaim with turn’d-up eyes;
+ Yet in a corner they’l be drunk,
+ With drinking healths unto the Rump,
+ With drinking, etc.
+
+ In hopes that once more they shall tear
+ Both Church and State, which is their prayer;
+ But Heaven does yet protect the throne,
+ Whilst Tyburn for such slaves does groan,
+ Whilst Tyburn, etc.
+
+ For now ’tis plain, most men abhor,
+ What some so strongly voted for;
+ Great York in favour does remain,
+ In spight of all the Whiggish train,
+ In spight of all, etc.
+
+ And now the _Old Cause_ goes to wrack,
+ Sedition mauger cloath in black
+ Do greatly dread the triple tree,
+ Whilst we rejoyce in loyalty,
+ Whilst we rejoyce, etc.
+
+ Then come, let’s take another round,
+ And still in loyalty abound,
+ And wish our King he long may reign
+ To bring us home great York again,
+ To bring us home great York again.
+
+
+
+THE ROYAL ADMIRAL.
+
+
+Miss Strickland quotes this ballad in her Lives of the Queens of England,
+and states that this was the first Jacobite song that was written and set
+to music.
+
+ LET Titus {115} and Patience {116} stir up a commotion,
+ Their plotting and swearing shall prosper no more;
+ Now gallant old Jamie commands on the ocean,
+ And mighty Charles keeps them in awe on the shore.
+
+ Jamie the Valiant, the Champion Royal,
+ His own and the monarchy’s rival withstood;
+ The bane and the terror of those the disloyal,
+ Who slew his loved father and thirst for his blood.
+
+ York, the great admiral,—Ocean’s defender,
+ The joy of our navy, the dread of its foes,
+ The lawful successor,—what upstart pretender
+ Shall dare, in our isle, the true heir to oppose?
+
+ Jamie quelled the proud foe on the ocean,
+ And rode the sole conqueror over the main;
+ To this gallant hero let all pay devotion,
+ For England her admiral sees him again.
+
+
+
+THE UNFORTUNATE WHIGS.
+
+
+ 1682.—From the Roxburgh Ballads.
+
+ To the tune of “The King enjoys his own,” &c.
+
+ THE Whigs are but small, and of no good race,
+ And are beloved by very few;
+ Old _Tony_ broach’d his tap in every place,
+ To encourage all his factious crew.
+ At some great houses in this town,
+ The Whigs of high renown,
+ And all with a true blue was their stain;
+ For since it is so,
+ They have wrought their overthrow,
+ Old Tony _will ne’r enjoy his own_, _again_.
+
+ They all owne duty to their lawful prince,
+ And loyal subjects should have been;
+ But their duty is worn out long since,
+ By the _Association_ seen.
+ But these are the Whigs,
+ That have cut off some legs,
+ And fain would be at that sport amain;
+ For since it is so,
+ They have wrought their overthrow,
+ Old Tony _will ne’r enjoy his own again_.
+
+ And yet they are sham-pretenders,
+ And they swear they’ll support our laws;
+ These be the great defenders of
+ _Ignoramus_ and the _Old Cause_:
+ They’ll defend the King
+ By swearing of the thing,
+ These are the cursed rogues in grain;
+ For since it is so,
+ They have wrought their overthrow,
+ Old Tony _will ne’r enjoy his own again_.
+
+ The true religion that shall down,
+ Which so long has won the day,
+ And _Common-prayer_ i’th’ church of ev’ry town,
+ If that the Whigs could but bear the sway:
+ For Oates he does begin
+ Now for to bring them in,
+ As when he came mumping from Spain;
+ For since it is so,
+ They have wrought their overthrow,
+ Old Tony _will ne’r enjoy his own again_.
+
+ How all their shamming plots they would hide,
+ Yet they are ignorant, they say,
+ When as Old _Tony_ he was try’d
+ And brought off with _Ignoramus_ sway:
+ When Oates he was dumb
+ And could not use his tongue,
+ This is the shamming rogues in grain;
+ For since it is so,
+ They have wrought their overthrow,
+ Old Tony _will ne’r enjoy his own again_.
+
+ Then let all true subjects sing,
+ And damn the power of all those
+ That won’t show loyalty to their King,
+ And assist him against his Whiggish foes.
+ Then in this our happy state,
+ In spight of traytors’ hate,
+ We will all loyal still remain;
+ For since it is so,
+ They have wrought their overthrow,
+ Old Tony _will ne’r enjoy his own again_.
+
+ God preserve our gracious King,
+ With the Royal Consort of his bed,
+ And let all loyal subjects sing
+ That the crown may remain on Charles’s head;
+ For we will drink his health
+ In spight of _Common-wealth_,
+ And his lawful rights we will maintain;
+ For since it is so,
+ They have wrought their overthrow,
+ Old Tony _will ne’r enjoy his own again_.
+
+ Printed for S. Maurel, in the year 1682.
+
+
+
+THE DOWNFALL OF THE GOOD OLD CAUSE.
+
+
+From a “Collection of One Hundred and Eighty Loyal Songs, all written
+since 1678,” and published London, 1694. [Fourth Edition.]
+
+ Tune,—“Hey, Boys, up go we.”
+
+ NOW the Bad Old Cause is tapt,
+ And the vessel standeth stoop’d;
+ The cooper may starve for want of work,
+ For the cask shall never be hoop’d;—
+ We will burn the Association,
+ The Covenant and vow,
+ The public cheat of the nation,
+ Anthony, now, now, now
+
+ No fanatick shall bear the sway
+ In court, city, or town,
+ These good kingdoms to betray,
+ And cry the right line down;—
+ Let them cry they love the King,
+ Yet if they hate his brother,
+ Remember Charles they murdered,
+ And so they would the other.
+
+ Weavers and such like fellows
+ In pulpit daily prate,
+ Like the Covenanters,
+ Against the Church and State:
+ Yet they cry they love the King,
+ But their baseness will discover;
+ Charles the First they murdered,
+ And so they would the other.
+
+ When these fellows go to drink,
+ In city or in town,
+ They vilify the bishops
+ And they cry the Stuarts down:
+ Still they cry they love the King,
+ But their baseness I’ll discover;
+ Charles the First they murdered,
+ And so they would the other.
+
+ When the King wanted money,
+ Poor Tangier to relieve,
+ They cry’d down his revenue,
+ Not a penny they would give:
+ Still they cry’d they loved the King,
+ But their baseness I’ll discover;
+ Charles the First they murdered,
+ And so they would the other.
+
+ The noble Marquis of Worcester,
+ And many such brave lord,
+ By the King-killing crew
+ They daily are abhor’d,
+ And called evil councellors,
+ When the truth they did discover;
+ And Charles the First they murdered,
+ And so they would the other.
+
+ The Papists they would kill the King,
+ But the Phanaticks did;
+ Their perjuries and treacheries
+ Aren’t to be parallel’d:
+ Let them cry they love the King,
+ Their faults I will discover;
+ Charles the First they murdered,
+ And so they would the other.
+
+ Charles the Second stands on’s guard,
+ Like a good politick King;
+ The Phanaticks ought to be abhor’d
+ For all their flattering:
+ Let them cry they love the King,
+ Their faults I will discover;
+ Charles the First they murdered,
+ And so they would the other.
+
+ Now let us all good subjects be,
+ That bear a loyal heart;
+ Stand fast for the King
+ And each man act his part;
+ And to support his Sovereign,
+ Religion, and the laws,
+ That formerly were established,
+ And down with the cursed cause.
+
+
+
+OLD JEMMY.
+
+
+From a “Collection of 180 Loyal Songs,” written since 1678. This is a
+parody on the Whig song, “Young Jemmy is a lad that’s royally descended,”
+written in celebration of the Duke of Monmouth. Old Jemmy is the Duke of
+York, afterwards James II.
+
+ To the tune of “Young Jemmy.”
+
+ OLD Jemmy is a lad
+ Right lawfully descended;
+ No bastard born nor bred,
+ Nor for a Whig suspended;
+ The true and lawful heir to th’ crown
+ By right of birth and laws,
+ And bravely will maintain his own
+ In spight of all his foes.
+
+ Old Jemmy is the top
+ And chief among the princes;
+ No _Mobile_ gay fop,
+ With Birmingham pretences;
+ A heart and soul so wondrous great,
+ And such a conquering eye,
+ That every loyal lad fears not
+ In Jemmy’s cause to die.
+
+ Old Jemmy is a prince
+ Of noble resolutions,
+ Whose powerful influence
+ Can order our confusions;
+ But oh! he fights with such a grace
+ No force can him withstand,
+ No god of war but must give place
+ When Jemmy leads the van.
+
+ To Jemmy every swain
+ Does pay due veneration,
+ And Scotland does maintain
+ His title to the nation;
+ The pride of all the court he stands,
+ The patron of his cause,
+ The joy and hope of all his friends,
+ And terror of his foes.
+
+ Maliciously they vote
+ To work Old Jemmy’s ruin,
+ And zealously promote
+ A Bill for his undoing;
+ Both Lords and Commons most agree
+ To pull his Highness down,
+ But (spight of all their policy)
+ Old Jemmy’s heir to th’ crown.
+
+ The schismatick and saint,
+ The Baptist and the Atheist,
+ Swear by the Covenant,
+ Old Jemmy is a Papist:
+ Whilst all the holy crew did plot
+ To pull his Highness down,
+ Great Albany, a noble Scot
+ Did raise unto a crown.
+
+ Great Albany, they swear,
+ He before any other
+ Shall be immediate heir
+ Unto his royal brother;
+ Who will, in spight of all his foes,
+ His lawful rights maintain,
+ And all the fops that interpose
+ Old Jemmy’s York again.
+
+ The Whigs and zealots plot
+ To banish him the nation,
+ But the renowned Scot
+ Hath wrought his restoration:
+ With high respects they treat his Grace,
+ His royal cause maintain;
+ Brave Albany (to Scotland’s praise)
+ Is mighty York again.
+
+ Against his envious fates
+ The Kirk hath taught a lesson,
+ A blessing on the States,
+ To settle the succession;
+ They real were, both knight and lord,
+ And will his right maintain,
+ By royal Parliament restored,
+ Old Jemmy’s come again.
+
+ And now he’s come again,
+ In spight of all Pretenders;
+ Great Albany shall reign,
+ Amongst the Faith’s defenders.
+ Let Whig and Birmingham repine,
+ They show their teeth in vain,
+ The glory of the British line,
+ Old Jemmy’s come again.
+
+
+
+THE CLOAK’S KNAVERY.
+
+
+From “Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge Melancholy; being a Collection of
+the best merry Ballads and Songs, old and new.” London, 1714.
+
+ COME buy my new ballad,
+ I have’t in my wallet,
+ But ’twill not I fear please every pallate;
+ Then mark what ensu’th,
+ I swear by my youth
+ That every line in my ballad is truth.
+ A ballad of wit, a ballad of worth,
+ ’Tis newly printed and newly come forth;
+ ’Twas made of a cloak that fell out with a gown,
+ That cramp’d all the kingdom and crippled the crown.
+
+ I’ll tell you in brief
+ A story of grief,
+ Which happen’d when Cloak was Commander-in-chief;
+ It tore common prayers,
+ Imprison’d lord mayors,
+ In one day it voted down prelates and prayers;
+ It made people perjured in point of obedience,
+ And the Covenant did cut off the oath of allegiance.
+ Then let us endeavour to pull the Cloak down
+ That cramp’d all the kingdom and crippled the crown.
+
+ It was a black Cloke,
+ In good time be it spoke,
+ That kill’d many thousands but never struck stroke;
+ With hatchet and rope
+ The forlorn hope
+ Did join with the Devil to pull down the Pope;
+ It set all the sects in the city to work,
+ And rather than fail ’twould have brought in the Turk.
+ Then let us endeavour, etc.
+
+ It seized on the tower-guns,
+ Those fierce demi-gorgons,
+ It brought in the bag-pipes, and brought in the organs;
+ The pulpits did smoke,
+ The churches did choke,
+ And all our religion was turn’d to a cloak.
+ It brought in lay-elders could not write nor read,
+ It set public faith up and pull’d down the creed.
+ Then let us endeavour, etc.
+
+ This pious impostor
+ Such fury did foster,
+ It left us no penny nor no _pater-noster_;
+ It threw to the ground
+ The commandments down,
+ And set up twice twenty times ten of its own;
+ It routed the King and villains elected,
+ To plunder all those whom they thought disaffected.
+ Then let us endeavour, etc.
+
+ To blind people’s eyes
+ This Cloak was so wise,
+ It took off ship-money, but set up excise;
+ Men brought in their plate
+ For reasons of state,
+ And gave it to Tom Trumpeter and his mate.
+ In pamphlets it writ many specious epistles,
+ To cozen poor wenches of bodkins and whistles.
+ Then let us endeavour, etc.
+
+ In pulpits it moved,
+ And was much approved
+ For crying out, _Fight The Lord’s battles_, _beloved_;
+ It bob-tayled the gown,
+ Put Prelacy down,
+ It trod on the mitre to reach at the crown;
+ And into the field it an army did bring,
+ To aim at the council but shoot at the King.
+ Then let us endeavour, etc.
+
+ It raised up States
+ Whose politic fates
+ Do now keep their quarters on the city gates.
+ To father and mother,
+ To sister and brother,
+ It gave a commission to kill one another.
+ It took up men’s horses at very low rates,
+ And plunder’d our goods to secure our estates.
+ Then let us endeavour, etc.
+
+ This Cloak did proceed
+ To damnable deed,
+ It made the best mirror of majesty bleed;
+ Tho’ Cloak did not do’t,
+ He set it on foot,
+ By rallying and calling his journeymen to’t.
+ For never had come such a bloody disaster,
+ If Cloak had not first drawn a sword at his master.
+ Then let us endeavour, etc.
+
+ Tho’ some of them went hence
+ By sorrowful sentence,
+ This lofty long Cloak is not moved to repentance;
+ But he and his men,
+ Twenty thousand times ten,
+ Are plotting to do their tricks over again.
+ But let this proud Cloak to authority stoop,
+ Or DUN will provide him a button and loop.
+ Then let us endeavour to pull the Cloak down
+ That basely did sever the head from the crown.
+
+ Let’s pray that the King
+ And his Parliament
+ In sacred and secular things may consent;
+ So righteously firm,
+ And religiously free,
+ That Papists and Atheists suppressed may be.
+ And as there’s one Deity does over-reign us,
+ One faith and one form and one Church may contain us.
+ Then peace, truth, and plenty our kingdom will crown,
+ And all Popish plots and their plotters shall down.
+
+
+
+THE TIME-SERVER,
+OR
+A MEDLEY.
+
+
+From the Loyal Garland, 1686. Reprinted for the Percy Society, and
+edited by J. O. Halliwell.
+
+ ROOM for a gamester that plays at all he sees,
+ Whose fickle fancy suits such times as these,
+ One that says Amen to every factious prayer,
+ From Hugh Peters’ pulpit to St Peter’s chair;
+ One that doth defy the Crozier and the Crown,
+ But yet can house with blades that carouse,
+ Whilst pottle pots tumble down, derry down,
+ One that can comply with surplice and with cloak,
+ Yet for his end can independ
+ Whilst Presbyterian broke Brittain’s yoke.
+
+ This is the way to trample without trembling,
+ ’Tis the sycophant’s only secure.
+ Covenants and oaths are badges of dissembling,
+ ’Tis the politick pulls down the pure.
+ To profess and betray, to plunder and pray,
+ Is the only ready way to be great;
+ Flattery doth the feat;
+ Ne’er go, ne’er stir, sir—will venture further
+ Than the greatest dons in the town,
+ From a coffer to a crown.
+
+ I’m in a temperate humour now to think well,
+ Now I’m in another humour for to drink well,
+ Then fill us up a beer-bowl, boys, that we
+ May drink it, drink it merrily;
+ No knavish spy shall understand,
+ For, if it should be known,
+ ’Tis ten to one we shall be trepanned.
+
+ I’ll drink to them a brace of quarts,
+ Whose anagram is call’d true hearts;
+ If all were well, as I would ha’t,
+ And Britain cured of its tumour,
+ I should very well like my fate,
+ And drink my sack at a cheaper rate,
+ Without any noise or rumour,
+ Oh then I should fix my humour.
+
+ But since ’tis no such matter, change your hue,
+ I may cog and flatter, so may you;
+ Religion is a widgeon, and reason is treason,
+ And he that hath a loyal heart may bid the world adieu.
+
+ We must be like the Scottish man,
+ Who, with intent to beat down schism,
+ Brought in the Presbyterian
+ With canon and with catechism.
+ If beuk wont do’t, then Jockey shoot,
+ For the Church of Scotland doth command;
+ And what hath been since they came in
+ I think we have cause to understand.
+
+
+
+THE SOLDIER’S DELIGHT.
+
+
+ (Made in the late times.)
+
+From the Loyal Garland, 1686. Reprinted for the Percy Society, and
+edited by J. O. Halliwell.
+
+ FAIR Phydelia, tempt no more,
+ I may not now thy beauty so adore,
+ Nor offer to thy shrine;
+ I serve one more divine
+ And greater far than you:
+ Hark! the trumpet calls away,
+ We must go, lest the foe
+ Get the field and win the day;
+ Then march bravely on,
+ Charge them in the van,
+ Our cause God’s is, though the odds is
+ Ten times ten to one.
+
+ Tempt no more, I may not yield,
+ Although thine eyes a kingdom may surprise;
+ Leave off thy wanton tales,
+ The high-born Prince of Wales
+ Is mounted in the field,
+ Where the loyal gentry flock,
+ Though forlorn, nobly born,
+ Of a ne’er-decaying stock;
+ Cavaliers, be bold, ne’er let go your hold,
+ Those that loiters are by traitors
+ Dearly bought and sold.
+
+ _Phydelia_.—One kiss more, and so farewell.
+ _Soldier_.—Fie, no more! I prithee fool give o’er;
+ Why cloud’st thou thus thy beams?
+ I see by these extremes,
+ A woman’s heaven or hell.
+ Pray the King may have his own,
+ That the Queen may be seen
+ With her babes on England’s throne;
+ Rally up your men, one shall vanquish ten,
+ Victory, we come to try our valour once again.
+
+
+
+THE LOYAL SOLDIER.
+
+
+ From the Loyal Garland, 1686. Reprinted for the Percy Society, and
+ edited by J. O. Halliwell.
+
+ WHEN in the field of Mars we lie,
+ Amongst those martial wights,
+ Who, never daunted, are to dye
+ For King and countrie’s rights;
+ As on Belona’s god I wait,
+ And her attendant be,
+ Yet, being absent from my mate,
+ I live in misery.
+
+ When lofty winds aloud do blow,
+ It snoweth, hail, or rain,
+ And Charon in his boat doth row,
+ Yet stedfast I’ll remain;
+ And for my shelter in some barn creep,
+ Or under some hedge lye;
+ Whilst such as do now strong castles keep
+ Knows no such misery.
+
+ When down in straw we tumbling lye,
+ With Morpheus’ charms asleep,
+ My heavy, sad, and mournful eye
+ In security so deep;
+ Then do I dream within my arms
+ With thee I sleeping lye,
+ Then do I dread or fear no harms,
+ Nor feel no misery.
+
+ When all my joys are thus compleat,
+ The canons loud do play,
+ The drums alarum straight do beat,
+ Trumpet sounds, horse, away!
+ Awake I then, and nought can find
+ But death attending me,
+ And all my joys are vanisht quite,—
+ This is my misery.
+
+ When hunger oftentimes I feel,
+ And water cold do drink,
+ Yet from my colours I’le not steal,
+ Nor from my King will shrink;
+ No traytor base shall make me yield,
+ But for the cause I’le be:
+ This is my love, pray Heaven to shield,
+ And farewell misery.
+
+ Then to our arms we straight do fly,
+ And forthwith march away;
+ Few towns or cities we come nigh
+ Good liquor us deny;
+ In Lethe deep our woes we steep—
+ Our loves forgotten be,
+ Amongst the jovialst we sing,
+ Hang up all misery.
+
+ Propitious fate, then be more kind,
+ Grim death, lend me thy dart,
+ O sun and moon, and eke the wind,
+ Great Jove, take thou our part;
+ That of these Roundheads and these wars
+ An end that we may see,
+ And thy great name we’ll all applaud,
+ And hang all misery.
+
+
+
+THE POLITITIAN.
+
+
+ Upon an act of Treason made by the Rebels, etc.
+
+ From the Loyal Garland, 1686. Reprinted for the Percy Society, and
+ edited by J. O. Halliwell.
+
+ BUT since it was lately enacted high treason
+ For a man to speak truth ’gainst the head of a state,
+ Let every wise man make a use of his reason
+ To think what he will, but take heed what he prate;
+ For the proverb doth learn us,
+ He that stays from the battel sleeps in a whole skin,
+ And our words are our own if we keep them within,
+ What fools are we then that to prattle do begin
+ Of things that do not concern us!
+
+ ’Tis no matter to me whoe’er gets the battle,
+ The rubs or the crosses, ’tis all one to me;
+ It neither increaseth my goods nor my cattle;
+ A beggar’s a beggar, and so he shall be
+ Unless he turn traitor.
+ Let misers take courses to hoard up their treasure,
+ Whose bounds have no limits, whose minds have no measure,
+ Let me be but quiet and take a little pleasure,
+ A little contents my own nature.
+
+ But what if the kingdom returns to the prime ones?
+ My mind is a kingdom, and so it shall be;
+ I’ll make it appear, if I had but the time once,
+ He’s as happy in one as they are in three,
+ If he might but enjoy it.
+ He that’s mounted aloft is a mark for the fate,
+ And an envy to every pragmatical pate,
+ Whilst he that is low is safe in his estate,
+ And the great ones do scorn to annoy him.
+
+ I count him no wit that is gifted in rayling
+ And flurting at those that above him do sit;
+ Whilst they do outwit him with whipping and jailing,
+ His purse and his person must pay for his wit.
+ But ’tis better to be drinking;
+ If sack were reform’d to twelve-pence a quart
+ I’d study for money to merchandise for’t,
+ With a friend that is willing in mirth we would sport;
+ Not a word, but we’d pay it with thinking.
+
+ My petition shall be that Canary be cheaper,
+ Without either custom or cursed excise;
+ That the wits may have freedom to drink deeper and deeper,
+ And not be undone whilst our noses we baptize;
+ But we’ll liquor them and drench them.
+ If this were but granted, who would not desire
+ To dub himself one of Apollo’s own quire?
+ And then we will drink whilst our noses are on fire,
+ And the quart pots shall be buckets to quench them.
+
+
+
+A NEW DROLL.
+
+
+ From the Loyal Garland, 1686. Edited by J. O. Halliwell.
+
+ COME let’s drink, the time invites,
+ Winter and cold weather;
+ For to spend away long nights,
+ And to keep good wits together.
+ Better far than cards or dice,
+ Isaac’s balls are quaint device,
+ Made up with fan and feather.
+
+ Of strange actions on the seas
+ Why should we be jealous?
+ Bring us liquor that will please,
+ And will make us braver fellows
+ Than the bold Venetian fleet,
+ When the Turks and they do meet
+ Within their Dardanellos.
+
+ Valentian, that famous town,
+ Stood the French man’s wonder;
+ Water they employ’d to drown,
+ So to cut their troops assunder;
+ Turein gave a helpless look,
+ While the lofty Spaniard took
+ La Ferta and his plunder.
+
+ As for water, we disclaim
+ Mankind’s adversary;
+ Once it caused the world’s whole frame
+ In the deluge to miscarry;
+ And that enemy of joy
+ Which sought our freedom to destroy
+ And murder good Canary.
+
+ We that drink have no such thoughts,
+ Black and void of reason:
+ We take care to fill our vaults
+ With good wine of every season;
+ And with many a chirping cup
+ We blow one another up,
+ And that’s our only treason.
+
+ Hear the squibs and mind the bells,
+ The fifth of November;
+ The parson a sad story tells,
+ And with horror doth remember
+ How some hot-brain’d traitor wrought
+ Plots that would have ruin brought
+ To King and every member.
+
+
+
+THE ROYALIST.
+
+
+ A song made in the Rebellion.
+
+ From the Loyal Garland, 1686. Reprinted for the Percy Society, and
+ edited by J. O. Halliwell.
+
+ STAY, shut the gate!
+ T’other quart, boys, ’tis not so late
+ As you are thinking;
+ The stars which you see in the hemisphere be
+ Are but studs in your cheeks by good drinking;
+ The sun’s gone to tipple all night in the sea, boys,
+ To-morrow he’ll blush that he’s paler than we, boys;
+ Drink wine, give him water,
+ ’Tis sack makes us the boys.
+
+ Fill up the glass,
+ To the next merry lad let it pass;
+ Come, away wi’t;
+ Let’s set foot to foot and but give our minds to’t,
+ ’Tis heretical sir, that doth slay wit;
+ Then hang up good faces, let’s drink till our noses
+ Give’s freedom to speak what our fancy disposes,
+ Beneath whose protection now under the rose is.
+
+ Drink off your bowl,
+ ’Twill enrich both your head and your soul with Canary;
+ For a carbuncled face saves a tedious race,
+ And the Indies about us we carry;
+ No Helicon like to the juice of good wine is,
+ For Phoebus had never had wit that divine is,
+ Had his face not been bow-dy’d as thine is and mine is.
+
+ This must go round,
+ Off with your hats till the pavement be crown’d with your beavers;
+ A red-coated face frights a sergeant and his mace,
+ Whilst the constables tremble to shivers.
+ In state march our faces like some of that quorum,
+ While the . . . do fall down and the vulgar adore ’um,
+ And our noses like link-boys run shining before ’um.
+
+
+
+THE ROYALIST’S RESOLVE.
+
+
+ From the Loyal Garland, 1686. Reprinted for the Percy Society.
+
+ COME, drawer, some wine,
+ Or we’ll pull down the sign,
+ For we are all jovial compounders;
+ We’ll make the house ring
+ With healths to our King,
+ And confusion light on his confounders.
+
+ Since former committee
+ Afforded no pity,
+ Our sorrows in wine we will steep ’um;
+ They force us to take
+ Two oaths, but we’ll make
+ A third, that we ne’er mean to keep ’um.
+
+ And next, whoe’er sees,
+ We’ll drink on our knees
+ To the King; may he thirst that repines:
+ A fig for those traytors
+ That look to our waters,
+ They have nothing to do with our wines.
+
+ And next here’s three bowls
+ To all gallant souls
+ That for the King did and will venture;
+ May they flourish when those
+ That are his and our foes
+ Are hang’d, and ram’d down to the center.
+
+ And may they be found
+ In all to abound,
+ Both with Heaven and the country’s anger;
+ May they never want fractions,
+ Doubts, fears, and distractions,
+ Till the gallows-tree frees them from danger.
+
+
+
+LOYALTY TURNED UP TRUMP,
+OR
+THE DANGER OVER.
+
+
+From the Loyal Garland, reprinted from a Black-Letter copy, printed 1686.
+Reprinted for the Percy society, 1850.
+
+ IN vain ill men attempt us,
+ Their day is out of date;
+ The fates do now exempt us
+ From what we felt of late.
+ The nation is grown wiser
+ Than to believe their shame;
+ He that was the deviser
+ Themselves begin to blame.
+
+ They thought the trumps would ever
+ Turn on rebellion’s side,
+ But kinder power deliver
+ Us from their foolish pride;
+ For see, they are deceived,
+ And can no more prevail;
+ Those who the Rump believed,
+ Ashamed are of the tale.
+
+
+
+THE LOYALIST’S ENCOURAGEMENT.
+
+
+ From the Loyal Garland.
+ To the tune of “Now, now the fight’s done.”
+
+ YOU Royalists all, now rejoice and be glad,
+ The day is our own, there’s no cause to be sad,
+ The tumult of faction is crush’d in its pride,
+ And the grand promoters their noddles all hide,
+ For fear of a swing, which does make it appear
+ Though treason they loved yet for hemp they don’t care.
+
+ Then let us be bold still, and baffle their plots,
+ That they in the end may prove impotent sots;
+ And find both their wit and their malice defeated,
+ Nay, find how themselves and their pupils they cheated,
+ By heaping and thrusting to unhinge a State,
+ Of which Heaven’s guardian fixt is by fate.
+
+ Though once they the rabble bewitch’d with their cant,
+ Whilst cobler and weaver set up for a saint;
+ Yet now the stale cheat they can fasten no more,
+ The juggle’s discover’d and they must give o’er;
+ Yet give them their due that such mischief did work,
+ Who revile Christian princes and pray for the Turk.
+
+ Oh! give them their due, and let none of ’em want
+ A cup of Geneva or Turkish turbant,
+ That, clad in their colours, they may not deceive
+ The vulgar, too prone and too apt to believe
+ The fears they suggest on a groundless pretence,
+ On purpose to make ’em repine or their prince.
+
+
+
+THE TROUPER.
+
+
+ From the Loyal Garland. A pleasant song revived.
+
+ COME, come, let us drink,
+ ’Tis vain to think
+ Like fools of grief or sadness;
+ Let our money fly
+ And our sorrows dye,
+ All worldly care is madness;
+ But wine and good cheer
+ Will, in spite of our fear,
+ Inspire us all with gladness.
+
+ Let the greedy clowns,
+ That do live like hounds,
+ They know neither bound nor measure,
+ Lament every loss,
+ For their wealth is their cross,
+ Whose delight is in their treasure;
+ Whilst we with our own
+ Do go merrily on,
+ And spend it at our leisure.
+
+ Then trout about the bowl
+ To every loyal soul,
+ And to his hand commend it.
+ A fig for chink,
+ ’Twas made to buy drink,
+ Before we depart we’ll end it.
+ When we’ve spent our store,
+ The nation yields no more,
+ And merrily we will spend it.
+
+
+
+ON THE TIMES,
+OR
+THE GOOD SUBJECT’S WISH.
+
+
+ From the Loyal Garland.
+ To the tune of “Young Phaon.”
+
+ GOOD days we see, let us rejoice,
+ In peace and loyalty,
+ And still despise the factious noise
+ Of those that vainly try
+ To undermine our happiness,
+ That they may by it get;
+ Knavery has great increase
+ When honesty does set.
+
+ But let us baffle all their tricks,
+ Our King and country serve;
+ And may he never thrive that likes
+ Sedition in reserve:
+ Then let each in his station rest,
+ As all good subjects should;
+ And he that otherwise designs,
+ May he remain unblest.
+
+ May traytors ever be deceived
+ In all they undertake,
+ And never by good men believed;
+ May all the plots they make
+ Fall heavy on themselves, and may
+ They see themselves undone,
+ And never have a happy day,
+ That would the King dethrone.
+
+
+
+THE JOVIALISTS’ CORONATION.
+
+
+ From the Loyal Garland.
+
+ SINCE it must be so, why then so let it go,
+ Let the giddy-brain’d times turn round;
+ Now we have our King, let the goblets be crowned,
+ And our monarchy thus we recover;
+ Whilst the pottles are weeping
+ We’ll drench our sad souls
+ In big-belly’d bowls,
+ And our sorrows in wine shall lie steeping.
+ And we’ll drink till our eyes do run over,
+ And prove it by reason,
+ It can be no treason
+ To drink or to sing
+ A mournifal of healths to our new-crowned King.
+
+ Let us all stand bare in the presence we are,
+ Let our noses like bonfires shine;
+ Instead of the conduits, let pottles run wine,
+ To perfect this true coronation;
+ And we that are loyal, in drink shall be peers;
+ For that face that wears claret
+ Can traytors defie all,
+ And out-stares the bores of our nation;
+ In sign of obedience
+ Our oaths of allegiance
+ Beer glasses shall be,
+ And he that tipples tends to jollitry.
+
+ But if in this reign a halberdly train,
+ Or a constable, chance to revel,
+ And would with his twyvels maliciously swell,
+ And against the King’s party raise arms:
+ Then the drawers, like yeomen o’ the guard,
+ With quart-pots
+ Shall fuddle the sots,
+ Till they make ’um both cuckolds and freemen,
+ And on their wives beat up alarms,
+ Thus as the health passes,
+ We’ll triple our glasses,
+ And count it no sin
+ To drink and be loyal in defence of our King.
+
+
+
+THE LOYAL PRISONER.
+
+
+ From the Loyal Garland.
+
+ HOW happy’s that pris’ner that conquers his fate
+ With silence, and ne’er on bad fortune complains,
+ But carelessly plays with keys on his grate,
+ And he makes a sweet concert with them and his chains!
+ He drowns care in sack, while his thoughts are opprest,
+ And he makes his heart float like a cork in his breast.
+ Then since we are slaves, and all islanders be,
+ And our land a large prison enclosed by the sea,
+ We’ll drink off the ocean, and set ourselves free,
+ For man is the world’s epitomy.
+
+ Let tyrants wear purple, deep-dy’d in the blood
+ Of those they have slain, their scepters to sway,
+ If our conscience be clear, and our title be good,
+ With the rags that hang on us we are richer than they;
+ We’ll drink down at night what we beg or can borrow,
+ And sleep without plotting for more the next morrow.
+ Then since, etc.
+
+ Let the usurer watch o’er his bags and his house,
+ To keep that from robbers he rak’d from his debtors,
+ Which at midnight cries thieves at the noise of a mouse,
+ And he looks if his trunks are fast bound to their fetters;
+ When once he’s grown rich enough for a State’s plot,
+ But in one hour plunders what threescore years got.
+ Then since, etc.
+
+ Come, drawer, fill each man a peck of old sherry,
+ This brimmer shall bid all our senses good-night;
+ When old Aristotle was frolic and merry,
+ By the juice of the grape, he stagger’d out-right;
+ Copernicus once, in a drunken fit, found
+ By the course of’s brains that the world did turn round.
+ Then since, etc.
+
+ ’Tis sack makes our faces like comets to shine,
+ And gives tincture beyond a complexion mask.
+ Diogenes fell so in love with his wine,
+ That when ’twas all out he dwelt in the cask,
+ And being shut up within a close room,
+ He, dying, requested a tub for his tomb.
+ Then since, etc.
+
+ Let him never so privately muster his gold,
+ His angels will their intelligence be;
+ How closely they’re prest in their canvas hold,
+ And they want the State-souldier to set them all free:
+ Let them pine and be hanged, we’ll merrily sing,
+ Who hath nothing to lose, may cry, God bless the King.
+ Then since, etc.
+
+
+
+CANARY’S CORONATION.
+
+
+ From the Loyal Garland.
+
+ COME, let’s purge our brains
+ From ale and grains,
+ That do smell of anarchy;
+ Let’s chuse a King
+ From whose blood may spring
+ Such a sparkling progeny;
+ It will be fit, strew mine in it,
+ Whose flames are bright and clear;
+ We’ll not bind our hands with drayman’s bands,
+ When as we may be freer;
+ Why should we droop, or basely stoop
+ To popular ale or beer?
+
+ Who shall be King? how comes the thing
+ For which we all are met?
+ Claret is a prince that hath long since
+ In the royal order set:
+ His face is spread with a warlike seed,
+ And so he loves to see men;
+ When he bears the sway, his subjects they
+ Shall be as good as freemen;
+ But here’s the plot, almost forgot,
+ ’Tis too much burnt with women.
+
+ By the river of Rhine is a valiant wine
+ That can all other replenish;
+ Let’s then consent to the government
+ And the royal rule of Rhenish:
+ The German wine will warm the chine,
+ And frisk in every vein;
+ ’Twill make the bride forget to chide,
+ And call him to’t again:
+ But that’s not all, he is too small
+ To be our sovereign.
+
+ Let us never think of a noble drink,
+ But with notes advance on high,
+ Let’s proclaim good Canary’s name,—
+ Heaven bless his Majesty!
+ He is a King in everything,
+ Whose nature doth renounce all,
+ He’ll make us skip and nimbly trip
+ From ceiling to the groundsil;
+ Especially when poets be
+ Lords of the Privy Council.
+
+ But a vintner will his taster be,
+ Here’s nothing that can him let;
+ A drawer that hath a good palat
+ Shall be squire of the gimblet.
+ The bar-boys shall be pages all,
+ A tavern well-prepared,
+ And nothing shall be spared;
+ In jovial sort shall be the court,
+ Wine-porters that are soldiers tall
+ Be yeomen of the guard.
+
+ But if a cooper we with a red nose see
+ In any part of the town;
+ The cooper shall, with his aids-royal,
+ Bear the sceptre of the crown;
+ Young wits that wash away their cash
+ In wine and recreation,
+ Who hates ale and beer, shall be welcome here
+ To give their approbation;
+ So shall all you that will allow
+ Canary’s recreation.
+
+
+
+THE MOURNFUL SUBJECTS,
+OR
+THE WHOLE NATION’S LAMENTATION,
+FROM THE HIGHEST TO THE LOWEST.
+
+
+The Mournful Subjects, or the Whole Nation’s Lamentation, from the
+Highest to the Lowest; who did with brinish tears (the true signs of
+sorrow) bewail the death of their most gracious Soveraign King Charles
+the Second, who departed this life Feb. 6th, 1684, and was interred in
+Westminster Abbey, in King Henry the Seventh’s Chapel, on Saturday night
+last, being the 14th day of the said month; to the sollid grief and
+sorrow of all his loving subjects.
+
+ From vol. i. of the Roxburgh Ballads in Brit. Mus.
+
+ Tune, “Troy Town, or the Duchess of Suffolk.”
+
+ TRUE subjects mourn, and well they may,
+ Of each degree, both lords and earls,
+ Which did behold that dismal day,
+ The death of princely pious Charles;
+ Some thousand weeping tears did fall
+ At his most sollid funeral.
+
+ He was a prince of clemency,
+ Whose love and mercy did abound;
+ His death may well lamented be
+ Through all the nations Europe round;
+ Unto the ears of Christian kings
+ His death unwelcome tidings brings.
+
+ All those that ever thought him ill,
+ And did disturb him in his reign,—
+ Let horrour now their conscience fill,
+ And strive such actions to restrain;
+ For sure they know not what they do,
+ The time will come when they shall rue.
+
+ How often villains did design
+ By cruelty his blood to spill,
+ Yet by the Providence divine
+ God would not let them have their will,
+ But did preserve our gracious King,
+ Under the shadow of his wing.
+
+ We grieved his soul while he was here,
+ When we would not his laws obey;
+ Therefore the Lord he was severe,
+ And took our gracious prince away:
+ We were not worthy to enjoy
+ The prince whom subjects would annoy.
+
+ In peace he did lay down his head,
+ The sceptre and the royal crown;
+ His soul is now to heaven fled,
+ Above the reach of mortal frown,
+ Where joy and glory will not cease,
+ In presence with the King of Peace.
+
+ Alas! we had our liberty,
+ He never sought for to devour
+ By a usurping tyranny,
+ To rule by arbitrary power;
+ No, no, in all his blessed reign
+ We had no cause for to complain.
+
+ Let mourners now lament the loss
+ Of him that did the scepter sway,
+ And look upon it as a cross
+ That he from us is snatch’d away;
+ Though he is free from care or woe,
+ Yet we cannot forget him so.
+
+ But since it was thy blessed will
+ To call him from a sinful land,
+ Oh let us all be thankful still
+ That it was done by thine own hand:
+ No pitch of honour can be free
+ From Death’s usurping tyranny.
+
+ The fourteen day of February
+ They did interr our gracious Charles;
+ His funeral solemnity,
+ Accompanied with lords and earls,
+ Four Dukes, I, and Prince George by name,
+ Went next the King with all his train.
+
+ And thus they to the Abbey went
+ To lay him in his silent tomb,
+ Where many inward sighs were spent
+ To think upon their dismal doom.
+ Whole showers of tears afresh then fell
+ When they beheld his last farewell.
+
+ Since it is so, that all must die,
+ And must before our God appear,
+ Oh let us have a watchful eye,
+ Over our conversation here;
+ That like great Charles, our King and friend,
+ We all may have a happy end.
+
+ Let England by their loyalty
+ Repair the breach which they did make;
+ And let us all united be
+ To gracious James, for Charles his sake;
+ And let there be no more discord,
+ But love the King and fear the Lord.
+
+ Printed for F. Deacon in Guilt-Spur Street.
+
+
+
+“MEMENTO MORI.”
+
+
+ AN ELOGY ON THE DEATH OF HIS SACRED
+ MAJESTY KING CHARLES II., OF
+ BLESSED MEMORY.
+
+ From the King’s Pamphlets, British Museum.
+
+ UNWELCOME news! Whitehall its sable wears,
+ And each good subject lies dissolved in tears!
+ Justly indeed; for Charles is dead, the great,
+ (Who can so much as such great griefs repeat?)
+ King Charles the good, in whom that day there fell
+ More than one tribe in this our Israel!
+ Ah! cruel Death! we find thy fatal sting
+ In losing him who was so good a King,—
+ A King so wise, so just, and he’d great part
+ In Solomon’s wisdom and in David’s heart;
+ A King! whose virtues only to rehearse
+ Rather requires a volume than a verse.
+ Sprung from the loyns of Charles of blessed fame,
+ A worthy son of his great father’s name,
+ His parent’s and his grandsire’s virtues he,
+ As h’ did their crown, enjoy’d _ex traduce_,
+ Of th’ best and greatest of Kings the epitome.
+ His justice such as him none could affright
+ From doing t’all to God and subjects right.
+ Punish he could, but, like Heaven’s Majesty,
+ Would that a traitor should repent, not die.
+ His prudence to the laws due vigour gave,
+ He saved others and himself did save.
+ His valour and his courage, write who can?
+ Being a good souldier ere he was a man.
+ Wrestling with sorrows in a land unknown,
+ Whilst Herod did usurp his royal throne,
+ Banish’d his native country, every day,
+ Like Moses, at the brink of death he lay.
+ But that storm’s over, and blest be that hand
+ That gave him conduct to his peaceful land;
+ Where this great King the Gordian knot unties,
+ Of Heaven’s, the kingdom’s, and his enemies;
+ Not with the sword, but with his grace and love,
+ Giving to those their lives that for his strove:
+ Never did person so much mercy breath
+ Since our blest Saviour’s and his father’s death.
+ In fine, his actions may our pattern be,
+ His godly life, the Christian diary;
+ But now he’s dead, alas! our David’s gone,
+ And having served his generation,
+ Is fall’n asleep; that glorious star’s no more
+ That English wise men led unto the shore
+ Of peace, where gospel-truth’s protest
+ Cherished within our pious mother’s breast,
+ And with protection of such Kings still blest;
+ Blest with his piety and the nation too,
+ Happy in’s reign, with milk and honey flew;
+ Yea, blest so much with peace and nature’s store
+ Heaven could scarce give or we desire he more;
+ But yet, alas! he’s dead! Mourn, England, mourn,
+ And all your scarlet into black cloth turn;
+ Let dust and ashes with your tears comply.
+ To weep, not sing, his mournful elegy;
+ And let your love to Charles be shown hereby
+ In rendering James your prayers and loyalty.
+ Long may Great James these kingdoms’ sceptre sway,
+ And may his subjects lovingly obey,
+ Whilst with joint comfort all agree to sing,
+ Heaven bless these kingdoms and “God save the King!”
+
+London: printed by F. Millet for W. Thackeray, at the sign of the Angel
+in Duck Lane, 1685.
+
+
+
+ACCESSION OF JAMES II.
+
+
+From “Read’s Weekly Journal, or British Gazetteer.” Saturday, May 15th,
+1731. This was a Jacobite Journal, and this song was reproduced at the
+time, from an earlier period. The allusions are evidently to the death
+of Charles II. and the succession of James II.
+
+ WHAT means, honest shepherd, this cloud on thy brow?
+ Say, where is thy mirth and thy melody now?
+ Thy pipe thrown aside, and thy looks full of thought,
+ As silent and sad as a bird newly caught.
+ Has any misfortune befallen thy flocks,
+ Some lamb been betray’d by the craft of the fox;
+ Or murrain, more fatal, just seized on thy herd;
+ Or has thy dear Phyllis let slip a cross word?
+
+ The season indeed may to musing incline,
+ Now that grey-bearded Winter makes Autumn resign;
+ The hills all around us their russet put on,
+ And the skies seem in mourning for loss of the sun.
+ The winds make the tree, where thou sitt’st, shake its head;
+ Yet tho’ with dry leaves mother earth’s lap is spread,
+ Her bosom, to cheer it, is verdant with wheat,
+ And the woods can supply us with pastime and meat.
+
+ Oh! no, says the shepherd, I mourn none of these,
+ Content with such changes as Heaven shall please;
+ Tho’ now we have got the wrong side of the year,
+ ’Twill turn up again, and fresh beauties appear:
+ But the loss that I grieve for no time can restore;
+ Our master that lov’d us so well is no more;
+ That oak which we hop’d wou’d long shelter us all,
+ Is fallen; then well may we shake at its fall.
+
+ Where find we a pastor so kind and so good,
+ So careful to feed us with wholesomest food,
+ To watch for our safety, and drive far away
+ The sly prouling fox that would make us his prey?
+ Oh! may his remembrance for ever remain
+ To shame those hard shepherds who, mindful of gain,
+ Only look at their sheep with an eye to the fleece,
+ And watch ’em but so as the fox watch’d the geese.
+
+ Whom now shall I choose for the theme of my song?
+ Or must my poor pipe on the willow be hung?
+ No more to commend that good nature and sense,
+ Which always cou’d please, but ne’er once gave offence.
+ What honour directed he firmly pursu’d,
+ Yet would not his judgment on others intrude;
+ Still ready to help with his service and vote,
+ But ne’er to thrust oar in another man’s boat.
+
+ No more, honest shepherd, these sorrows resound,
+ The virtues thou praisest, so hard to be found,
+ Are yet not all fled, for the swain who succeeds
+ To his fields and his herds is true heir to his deeds;
+ His pattern he’ll follow, his gentleness use,
+ Take care of the shepherds and cherish the muse:
+ Then cease for the dead thy impertinent care,
+ Rejoice, he survives in his brother and heir.
+
+
+
+ON THE MOST HIGH AND MIGHTY MONARCH
+KING JAMES,
+ON HIS EXALTATION ON THE THRONE OF ENGLAND.
+
+
+Being an excellent new song. From a “Collection of One Hundred and
+Eighty Loyal Songs, written since 1678.”
+
+ To the tune of “Hark! the Thundering Cannons roar.”
+
+ HARK! the bells and steeples ring!
+ A health to James our royal King;
+ Heaven approves the offering,
+ Resounding in chorus;
+ Let our sacrifice aspire,
+ Richest gems perfume the fire,
+ Angels and the sacred quire
+ Have led the way before us.
+
+ Thro’ loud storms and tempests driven,
+ This wrong’d prince to us was given,
+ The mighty James, preserved by Heaven
+ To be a future blessing;
+ The anointed instrument,
+ Good great Charles to represent,
+ And fill our souls with that content
+ Which we are now possessing.
+
+ Justice, plenty, wealth, and peace,
+ With the fruitful land’s increase,
+ All the treasures of the seas,
+ With him to us are given;
+ As the brother, just and good,
+ From whose royal father’s blood
+ Clemency runs like a flood,
+ A legacy from Heaven.
+
+ Summon’d young to fierce alarms,
+ Born a man in midst of arms,
+ His good angels kept from harms—
+ The people’s joy and wonder;
+ Early laurels crown’d his brow,
+ And the crowd did praise allow,
+ Whilst against the Belgick foe
+ Great Jove implored his thunder.
+
+ Like him none e’er fill’d the throne,
+ Never courage yet was known
+ With so much conduct met in one,
+ To claim our due devotion;
+ Who made the Belgick lion roar,
+ Drove ’em back to their own shore,
+ To humble and encroach no more
+ Upon the British ocean.
+
+ When poor Holland first grew proud,
+ Saucy, insolent, and loud,
+ Great James subdued the boisterous crowd,
+ The foaming ocean stemming;
+ His country’s glory and its good
+ He valued dearer than his blood,
+ And rid sole sovereign o’er his flood,
+ In spight of French or Fleming.
+
+ When he the foe had overcome,
+ Brought them peace and conquest home,
+ Exiled in foreign parts to roam,
+ Ungrateful rebels vote him;
+ But spite of all their insolence,
+ Inspired with god-like patience,
+ The rightful heir, kind Providence
+ Did to a throne promote him.
+
+ May justice at his elbow wait
+ To defend the Church and State,
+ The subject and this monarch’s date
+ May no storm e’er dissever:
+ May he long adorn this place
+ With his royal brother’s grace,
+ His mercy and his tenderness,
+ To rule this land for ever.
+
+
+
+IN A SUMMER’S DAY.
+
+
+ From Hogg’s Jacobite Relics.
+
+ IN a summer’s day when all was gay
+ The lads and lasses met
+ In a flowery mead, when each lovely maid
+ Was by her true love set.
+ Dick took the glass, and drank to his lass,
+ And _Jamie’s_ health around did pass;
+ Huzza! they cried; Huzza! they all replied,
+ God bless our noble King.
+
+ To the Queen, quothiwell; Drink it off, says Nell,
+ They say she is wondrous pretty;
+ And the prince, says Hugh; That’s right, says Sue;
+ God send him home, says Katy;
+ May the powers above this tribe remove,
+ And send us back the man we love.
+ Huzza! they cried; Huzza! they all replied,
+ God bless our noble King.
+
+ The liquor spent, they to dancing went,
+ Each gamester took his mate;
+ Ralph bow’d to Moll, and Hodge to Doll,
+ Hal took out black-eyed Kate.
+ Name your dance, quoth John; Bid him, says Anne,
+ Play, The King shall enjoy his own again.
+ Huzza! they cried; Huzza! they all replied,
+ God bless our noble King.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+ THE END.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+ JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+
+
+
+FOOTNOTES
+
+
+{1} This stanza is omitted in most collections. Walker was a colonel in
+the parliamentary army; and afterwards a member of the Committee of
+Safety.
+
+{2} The Directory for the Public Worship of God, ordered by the Assembly
+of Divines at Westminster in 1644, to supersede the Book of Common
+Prayer.
+
+{3} The Earl of Thomond.
+
+{4} The Excise, first introduced by the Long Parliament, was
+particularly obnoxious to the Tory party. Dr Johnson more than a hundred
+years later shared all the antipathy of his party to it, and in his
+Dictionary defined it to be “a hateful tax levied upon commodities, and
+adjudged not by the common judges of property, but by wretches hired by
+those to whom excise is paid.”
+
+{5} Henry the Eighth. The comparison is made in other ballads of the
+age. To play old Harry with any one is a phrase that seems to have
+originated with those who suffered by the confiscation of church
+property.
+
+{6} The Marquis of Winchester, the brave defender of his house at
+Basing, had been made prisoner by Cromwell at the storming of that house
+in 1645. Waller had been foiled in his attempt on this place in the year
+preceding.—T. W.
+
+{7} Sir John Ogle, one of the Royalist commanders, who was intrusted
+with the defence of Winchester Castle, which he surrendered on conditions
+just before the siege of Basing House.—T. W.
+
+{8} Wren, bishop of Ely, was committed to the Tower in 1641, accused
+with high “misdemeanours” in his diocese.
+
+{9} David Jenkins, a Welsh Judge, who had been made prisoner at the
+taking of Hereford, and committed first to Newgate and afterwards to the
+Tower. He refused to acknowledge the authority of the Parliament, and
+was the author of several tracts published during the year (while he was
+prisoner in the Tower), which made a great noise.—T. W.
+
+{10} Sir Francis Wortley, Bart., was made a prisoner in 1644, at the
+taking of Walton House, near Wakefield, by Sir Thomas Fairfax.
+
+{11} Sir Edward Hales, Bart., of Woodchurch, in Kent, had been member
+for Queenborough in the Isle of Sheppey. He was not a Royalist.
+
+{12} Sir George Strangways, Bart., according to the marginal note in the
+original. Another of the name, Sir John Strangways, was taken at the
+surrender of Sherborne Castle.
+
+{13} Sir Henry Bedingfield, Bart., of Norfolk; Sir Walter Blount, Bart.,
+of Worcester; and Sir Francis Howard, Bart., of the North, were committed
+to the Tower on the 22nd of January, 1646.
+
+{14} The horrible barbarities committed by the Irish rebels had made the
+Catholics so much abhorred in England, that every English member of that
+community was suspected of plotting the same massacres in England.—T. W.
+
+{15} Sir John Hewet, of Huntingdonshire, was committed to the Tower on
+the 28th of January, 1645(–6).
+
+{16} Sir Thomas Lunsford, Bart., the celebrated Royalist officer, was
+committed to the Tower on the 22nd of January, 1646. The violence and
+barbarities which he and his troop were said to have perpetrated led to
+the popular belief that he was in the habit of eating children.
+
+ From Fielding and from Vavasour,
+ Both ill-affected men;
+ From Lunsford eke dilver us,
+ That eateth up children.
+ Loyal Songs, ed. 1731, i. 38.
+
+ T. W.
+
+{17} Sir William Lewis, one of the eleven members who had been impeached
+by the army.
+
+{18} Col. Giles Strangwaies, of Dorsetshire, taken with Sir Lewis Dives,
+at the surrender of Sherborne, was committed to the Tower on the 28th
+August, 1645. He was member for Bridport in the Long Parliament, and was
+one of those who attended Charles’s “Mongrel” Parliament at Oxford.
+
+{19} Sir Lewis Dives, an active Royalist, was governor of Sherborne
+Castle for the King, and had been made a prisoner by Fairfax in August,
+1645, when that fortress was taken by storm. He was brother-in-law to
+Lord Digby.
+
+{20} Sir John Morley, of Newcastle, committed to the Tower on the 18th
+of July, 1645.
+
+{21} King was a Royalist general, in the north, who was slain July,
+1643.
+
+{22} Sir William Morton, of Gloucestershire, committed to the Tower on
+the 17th August, 1644. Cardinal Morton, Archbishop of Canterbury,
+brought about the marriage between King Henry VII. and the daughter of
+Edward IV., and thus effected the unison of the rival houses of York and
+Lancaster.
+
+{23} Thomas Coningsby, Esq., of Northmyus in Hertfordshire, committed to
+the Tower in November, 1642, for reading the King’s commission of array
+in that county.
+
+{24} Sir Wingfield Bodenham, of the county of Rutland, committed to the
+Tower on the 31st of July, 1643.
+
+{25} Sir Henry Vaughan, a Welsh knight, committed to the Tower on the
+18th July, 1645.
+
+{26} Lilburn was, as has been observed, in the Tower for his practices
+against the present order of things, he being an advocate of extreme
+democratic principles; and he was there instructed in knotty points of
+law by Judge Jenkins, to enable him to torment and baffle the party in
+power. It was Jenkins who said of Lilburne that “If the world were
+emptied of all but John Lilburne, Lilburne would quarrel with John, and
+John with Lilburne.”—T. W.
+
+{27} Mr Thomas Violet, of London, goldsmith, committed to the Tower
+January 6th, 1643(–4), for carrying a letter from the King to the mayor
+and common council of London.
+
+{28} Dr Hudson had been concerned in the King’s transactions with the
+Scots, previous to his delivering himself up to them, and he and
+Ashburnham had been his sole attendants in his flight from Oxford for
+that purpose.—T. W.
+
+{29} Poyntz and Massey were staunch Presbyterians, and their party
+counted on their assistance in opposing the army: but they withdrew, when
+the quarrel seemed to be near coming to extremities.
+
+{30} Glynn was one of the eleven members impeached by the army.
+
+{31} It was believed at this time that Fairfax was favourable to the
+restoration of the King.
+
+{32} The “Jack Ketch” of the day.
+
+{33} The copy in the “Rump Songs” has “Smee and his tub.”
+
+{34} The old proverbial expression of “the devil and his dam” was
+founded on an article of popular superstition which is now obsolete. In
+1598, a Welshman, or borderer, writes to Lord Burghley for leave “to
+drive the devill and his dam” from the castle of Skenfrith, where they
+were said to watch over hidden treasure: “The voyce of the countrey goeth
+there is a dyvell and his dame, one sitts upon a hogshed of gold, the
+other upon a hogshed of silver.” (Queen Elizabeth and her Times, ii.
+397.) The expression is common in our earlier dramatic poets: thus
+Shakespeare,—
+
+ —“I’ll have a bout with thee;
+ Devil, or devil’s dam, I’ll conjure thee:
+ Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch.”
+
+ (Hen. V. Part I. Act I. sc. 5.)
+ T. W.
+
+{35} The prediction was not _quite_ so speedily verified.
+
+{36} Colonel Hewson, originally a shoemaker.
+
+{37} Newspapers.
+
+{38} In the seventeenth century Lancashire enjoyed an unhappy
+pre-eminence in the annals of superstition, and it was regarded
+especially as a land of witches. This fame appears to have originated
+partly in the execution of a number of persons in 1612, who were
+pretended to have been associated together in the crime of witchcraft,
+and who held their unearthly meetings at the Malkin Tower, in the forest
+of Pendle. In 1613 was published an account of the trials, in a thick
+pamphlet, entitled “The Wonderful Discoverie of Witches in the Countie of
+Lancaster. With the Arraignment and Triall of nineteene notorious
+Witches, at the Assizes and general Goale Deliverie, holden in the Castle
+of Lancaster, on Monday, the seventeenth of August last, 1612. Published
+and set forth by commandment of his Majesties Justices of Assize in the
+North Parts, by Thomas Potts, Esquier.” “The famous History of the
+Lancashire Witches” continued to be popular as a chap-book up to the
+beginning of the nineteenth century.—T. WRIGHT.
+
+{39} An allusion to the Dutch War of 1651 and 1652.
+
+{40} Oliver Cromwell.
+
+{41} The Welsh were frequently the subject of satirical allusions during
+the civil wars and the Commonwealth.
+
+{42} Speaker of the Long Parliament.
+
+{43} Cromwell’s wife.
+
+{44} Cromwell’s two sons, Richard and Henry.
+
+{45} Cromwell’s daughter.
+
+{46} Col. Pride, originally a brewer’s drayman.
+
+{47} Walter Strickland, M.P. for a Cornish borough.
+
+{48} Monk was with his troops in Scotland, but had declared himself an
+approver of the proceedings of the Parliament.
+
+{49} Dr John Owen, Joseph Caryl, and Philip Nye, were three of the most
+eminent divines of this eventful age. Caryl, who was a moderate
+independent, was the author of the well-known “Commentary on Job.” Dr
+Owen enjoyed the especial favour of Cromwell, who made him Dean of
+Christchurch, Oxford; in his youth he had shown an inclination to
+Presbyterianism, but early in the war he embraced the party of the
+Independents. He was a most prolific writer. Nye was also an eminent
+writer: previous to 1647 he had been a zealous Presbyterian, but on the
+rise of Cromwell’s influence he joined the Independents, and was employed
+on several occasions by that party.—T. W.
+
+{50} Col. John Ireton was the brother of the more celebrated Henry
+Ireton, and was an alderman of London. He appears to have been clerk of
+the Council of Officers at Wallingford House.
+
+{51} Col. Robert Tichbourne was also an alderman, and had been Lord
+Mayor in 1658. He was an enthusiast in religion of the Independent
+party, and published several books, among which one was very celebrated,
+and is often referred to in the tracts of this period, entitled, “A
+Cluster of Canaan’s Grapes. Being severall experimented truths received
+through private communion with God by his Spirit, grounded on Scripture,
+and presented to open view for publique edification.” London, 4to, Feb.
+16, 1649. In a satirical tract of the year 1660 he is made to say, “I
+made my mother, the city, drunk with the clusters which I brought from
+Canaan, and she in her drink made me a colonel.” After the return of the
+secluded members to the House, and the triumph of the city and the
+Presbyterian party, Ireton and Tichbourne were committed to the Tower,
+charged with aiming at the overthrow of the liberties of the city, and
+other grave misdemeanours. There are in the British Museum two satirical
+tracts relating to their imprisonment: 1. “The Apology of Robert Tichborn
+and John Ireton. Being a serious Vindication of themselves and the Good
+old Cause, from the imputations cast upon them and it by the triumphing
+city and nation in this their day of desertion. Printed for everybody
+but the light-heeled apprentices and head-strong masters of this wincing
+city of London.” (March 12, 1659–60.) 2. “Brethren in Iniquity: or, a
+Beardless Pair; held forth in a Dialogue betwixt Tichburn and Ireton,
+Prisoners in the Tower of London.” 4to. (April 30, 1660.)
+
+{52} George Monk and John Lambert.
+
+{53} The eleventh of February was the day on which Monck overthrew the
+Rump, by declaring for the admission of the secluded members.
+
+{54} On the tenth of February Monk, by order of the Parliament, had
+entered the city in a hostile manner. “Mr Fage told me,” says Pepys,
+“what Monck had done in the city, how he had pulled down the most parts
+of the gates and chains that he could break down, and that he was now
+gone back to Whitehall. The city look mighty blank, and cannot tell what
+in the world to do.” The next day he turned from the Parliament, and
+took part with the city.
+
+{55} Thomas Scot and Luke Robinson were sent by the Parliament to
+expostulate with Monk, but without effect.
+
+{56} Pepys gives the following description of the rejoicings in the city
+on the evening of the eleventh of February:—“In Cheapside there were a
+great many bonfires, and Bow bells and all the bells in all the churches
+as we went home were a-ringing. Hence we went homewards, it being about
+ten at night. But the common joy that was everywhere to be seen! The
+number of bonfires! there being fourteen between St Dunstan’s and Temple
+Bar, and at Strand Bridge I could at one time tell thirty-one fires. In
+King-street seven or eight; and all along burning, and roasting, and
+drinking for Rumps, there being rumps tied upon sticks and carried up and
+down. The butchers at the May Pole in the Strand rang a peal with their
+knives when they were going to sacrifice their rump. On Ludgate Hill
+there was one turning of a spit that had a rump tied upon it, and another
+basting of it. Indeed it was past imagination, both the greatness and
+the suddenness of it. At one end of the street you would think there was
+a whole lane of fire, and so hot that we were fain to keep on the further
+side.”
+
+{57} In a satirical tract, entitled “Free Parliament Quæries,” 4to,
+April 10, 1660, it is inquired “Whether Sir Arthur did not act the Raging
+Turk in Westminster Hall, when he saw the admission of the secluded
+members?” Pepys gives the following account of the reception of Monck’s
+letter from the city on the 11th of February:—“So I went up to the lobby,
+where I saw the Speaker reading of the letter; and after it was read Sir
+A. Haselrigge came out very angry, and Billing, standing by the door,
+took him by the arm and cried, ‘Thou man, will thy beast carry thee no
+longer? thou must fall!’”
+
+{58} Haselrigge was accused of having been a dupe to Monck’s cunning
+intrigues.
+
+{59} The celebrated Praise-God Barebone, at the head of a body of
+fanatics, had (February 9th) presented a strong petition to the House in
+support of the Good old Cause, which gave great offence to the
+Presbyterian party and the citizens, although it was received with
+thanks. According to Pepys, one of Monck’s complaints against the
+Parliament was, “That the late petition of the fanatique people presented
+by Barebone, for the imposing of an oath upon all sorts of people, was
+received by the House with thanks.” The citizens did not omit to show
+their hostility against the presenter of the petition. On the 12th,
+Pepys says, “Charles Glascocke . . . told me the boys had last night
+broke Barebone’s windows.” And again, on the 22nd, “I observed this day
+how abominably Barebone’s windows are broke again last night.”
+
+{60} Miles Corbet, as well as Tichbourn, had sat upon the King in
+judgment. In a satirical tract, published about the same time as the
+present ballad, Tichbourn is made to say, “They say I am as notorious as
+Miles Corbet the Jew.” In another, entitled “The Private Debates, etc.,
+of the Rump,” 4to, April 2, 1660, we read, “Call in the Jews, cryes
+Corbet, there is a certain sympathy (quoth he), methinks, between them
+and me. Those wandering pedlers and I were doubtless made of the same
+mould; they have all such blote-herring faces as myself, and the devil
+himself is in ’um for cruelty.” He was one of those who fled on the
+Restoration, but he was afterwards taken treacherously in Holland, and,
+being brought to London, was executed as a regicide. In another
+satirical tract, entitled “A Continuation of the Acts and Monuments of
+our late Parliament” (Dec. 1659), it is stated that, “July 1, This very
+day the House made two serjeants-at-law, William Steele and Miles Corbet,
+and that was work enough for one day.” And, in a fourth, “Resolved, That
+Miles Corbet and Robert Goodwin be freed from the trouble of the Chief
+Register Office in Chancery.” _Mercurius Honestus_, No. 1. (March 21,
+1659–60.)
+
+{61} William Lord Monson, Viscount Castlemaine, was member for Ryegate
+in the Long Parliament. He was degraded from his honour at the
+Restoration, and was condemned to be drawn on a sledge with a rope round
+his neck from the Tower to Tyburn, and back again, and to be imprisoned
+there for life. It appears, by the satirical tracts of the day, that he
+was chiefly famous for being beaten by his wife. In one, entitled “Your
+Servant, Gentlemen,” 4to, 1659, it is asked, “Whether that member who
+lives nearest the church ought not to ride Skimmington next time my Lady
+Mounson cudgels her husband?” And in another (“The Rump Despairing,”
+4to, London, March 26, 1660) we find the following passage:—“To my Lord
+Monson. A sceptre is one thing, and a ladle is another, and though his
+wife can tell how to use one, yet he is not fit to hold the other.”
+
+{62} Pudding John, or Jack Pudding, was a proverbial expression of the
+times for a Merry Andrew. In an old English-German Dictionary it is
+explained thus:—“_Jack-Pudding_, un buffon de theatre, deliciæ populi,
+ein Hanswurst, Pickelhering.” The term was applied as a soubriquet to
+any man who played the fool to serve another person’s ends. “And first
+Sir Thomas Wrothe (_Jack Pudding_ to Prideaux the post-master) had his
+cue to go high, and feele the pulse of the hous.” History of
+Independency, p. 69 (4to, 1648).
+
+{63} An allusion to James Harrington’s “Oceana.”
+
+{64} James Harrington, a remarkable political writer of this time, had
+founded a club called the Rota, in 1659, for the debating of political
+questions. This club met at Miles’s Coffee-house, in Old Palace Yard,
+and lasted a few mouths. At the beginning of the present year was
+published the result of their deliberations, under the title of “The
+Rota: or, a Model of a Free State, or Equall Commonwealth; once proposed
+and debated in brief, and to be again more at large proposed to, and
+debated by, a free and open Society of ingenious Gentlemen.” 4to,
+London, 1660 (Jan. 9).
+
+{65} William Prynne, the lawyer, who had been so active a member of the
+Long Parliament when the Presbyterians were in power, was one of the
+secluded members. He returned to the House on the 21st of January, this
+year. Pepys says, “Mr Prin came with an old basket-hilt sword on, and
+had a great many shouts upon his going into the hall.”
+
+{66} John Wilde was one of the members for Worcestershire in the Long
+Parliament. In Cromwell’s last Parliament he represented Droitwich, and
+was made by the Protector “Lord Chief Baron of the publick Exchequer.”
+In a satirical pamphlet, contemporary with the present ballad, he is
+spoken of as “Sarjeant Wilde, best known by the name of the Wilde
+Serjeant.” Another old song describes his personal appearance:
+
+ “But, Baron Wild, come out here,
+ Show your ferret face and snout here,
+ For you, being both a fool and a knave,
+ Are a monster in the rout here.”
+
+ Loyal songs II. 55.
+
+{67} See footnote {60}.
+
+{68} Alderman Atkins.
+
+{69} Ludlow was well known as a staunch Republican. The incident
+alluded to was a subject of much merriment, and exercised the pen of some
+of the choicest poets of the latter half of the seventeenth century.—T.
+W.
+
+{70} Lambert, with his army, was in the North, and amid the
+contradictory intelligence which daily came in, we find some people who,
+according to Pepys, spread reports that Lambert was gaining strength.—T.
+W.
+
+{71} Marchamont Nedham.
+
+{72} Lambert and “his bears” are frequently mentioned in the satirical
+writings of this period. Cromwell is said to have sworn “by the living
+God,” when he dissolved the Long Parliament.—T. W.
+
+{73} Speaker of the Long Parliament.
+
+{74} Harry Marten, member for Berkshire, a man of equivocal private
+character. In the heat of the civil wars he had been committed to the
+Tower for a short time by the Parliament, for speaking too openly against
+the person of the King. When he attempted to speak against the violent
+dissolution of the Long Parliament by Cromwell, the latter reproached him
+with the licentiousness of his life.—T. W.
+
+{75} William Lord Monson, Viscount Castlemaine, was member for Ryegate.
+He was degraded from his honours at the Restoration, and was condemned to
+be drawn on a sledge with a rope round his neck from the Tower to Tyburn,
+and back again, and to be imprisoned there for life. It appears, by the
+satirical tracts of the day, that he was chiefly famous for being beaten
+by his wife.—T. W.
+
+{76} Sir Arthur Haselrigge, member for Leicestershire.
+
+{77} Noise or disturbance.
+
+{78} Dr John Hewit, an episcopal clergyman, executed for high treason in
+1658, for having held an active correspondence with the Royalists abroad,
+and having zealously contributed to the insurrection headed by
+Penruddock.
+
+{79} John Lowry, member for Cambridge.
+
+{80} Sir Edmund Prideaux, Bart., member for Lyme Regis. He was
+Cromwell’s Attorney-General.
+
+{81} Oliver St John, member for Totness, and Lord Chief Justice of the
+Common Pleas.
+
+{82} John Wilde, one of the members for Worcestershire. In Cromwell’s
+last Parliament he represented Droitwich, and was made by the Protector
+“Lord Chief Baron of the Public Exchequer.”
+
+{83} Sir Henry Slingsby and Dr Hewet were executed for treason against
+the government of Oliver Cromwell in 1658. Colonel John Gerard was
+brought to the block at the beginning of the Protectorate, in 1654, for
+being engaged in a plot to assassinate Cromwell.
+
+{84} John Lord Lisle represented Yarmouth in the Long Parliament. He
+sat for Kent in the Parliament of 1653, and was afterwards a member of
+Cromwell’s “other House,” and held the office of Lord Commissioner of the
+Great Seal. He was president of the High Courts of Justice which tried
+Gerard, Slingsby, and Hewet.
+
+{85} Nathaniel Fiennes, member for Banbury. In the Parliament of 1654
+he represented Oxfordshire. He was afterwards, as Nathaniel Lord
+Fiennes, a member of Cromwell’s “other House.” Fiennes was accused of
+cowardice in surrendering Bristol (of which he was governor) to Prince
+Rupert, somewhat hastily, in 1643. His father, Lord Say and Sele,
+opposing Cromwell, was obliged to retire to the Isle of Lundy.
+
+{86} John Lord Glynn, member of Cromwell’s “other House,” was “Chief
+Justice assigned to hold pleas in the Upper Bench.” He was engaged in
+the prosecution of the Earl of Strafford. He was one of the eleven
+members impeached by the army in 1647. In the Long Parliament, as well
+as in Cromwell’s Parliaments, he was member for Carnarvon.—T. W.
+
+{87} Henry Nevil, member for Abingdon. In Cromwell’s last Parliament he
+represented Reading. In a satirical tract, he is spoken of as “religious
+Harry Nevill;” and we find in Burton’s Diary, that some months before the
+date of the present song (on the 16th Feb. 1658–9) there was “a great
+debate” on a charge of atheism and blasphemy which had been brought
+against him.—T. W.
+
+{88} In the satirical tract entitled “England’s Confusion,” this member
+is described as “hastily rich Cornelius Holland.” He appears to have
+risen from a low station, and is characterized in the songs of the day as
+having been a link-bearer.—T. W.
+
+{89} Major Salwey was an officer in the Parliamentary array. On the
+17th January, 1660, he incurred the displeasure of the House, and was
+sequestered from his seat and sent to the Tower. He is described as “a
+smart, prating apprentice, newly set for himself.” He appears to have
+been originally a grocer and tobacconist; a ballad of the time speaks of
+him as,
+
+ “Salloway with tobacco
+ Inspired, turned State quack-o;
+ And got more by his feigned zeal
+ Then by his, _What d’ye lack-o_?”
+
+In another he is introduced thus,
+
+ “The tobacco-man Salway, with a heart tall of gall
+ Puffs down bells, steeples, priests, churches and all,
+ As old superstitions relicks of Baal.”
+
+A third ballad, alluding to his attitude in the House, couples together
+
+ “Mr William Lilly’s astrological lyes,
+ And the meditations of Salloway biting his thumbs.”—T. W.
+
+{90} Roger Hill was member for Bridport, in Dorsetshire. He bought a
+grant of the Bishop of Winchester’s manor of Taunton Dean, valued at 1200
+pounds a year. A ballad written towards the end of 1659 says of him,
+
+ “Baron Hill was but a valley,
+ And born scarce to an alley;
+ But now is lord of Taunton Dean,
+ And thousands he can rally.”
+
+{91} With the revival of the Long Parliament, the old Republican
+feelings arose again under the denomination of the “Good old Cause.”
+Innumerable pamphlets were published for and against “The Cause.” Even
+Prynne, the fierce old Presbyterian, who was now turning against the
+patriots, lifted up his pen against it, and published “The Republicans
+and others spurious Good old Cause briefly and truly Anatomized,” 4to,
+May 13, 1659.
+
+{92} Robert Cecil, Esq., was one of the members of the Old Long
+Parliament who were now brought together to form the Rump. He
+represented Old Sarum, Wilts.
+
+{93} Luke Robinson, of Pickering Lyth, in Yorkshire, was member for
+Scarborough. An old ballad says of him,
+
+ “Luke Robinson, that clownado,
+ Though his heart be a granado,
+ Yet a high shoe with his hand in his poke
+ Is his most perfect shadow.”
+
+{94} Sir Harry Vane.
+
+{95} Thomas Scott was member for Aylesbury, in Buckinghamshire, in the
+Long Parliament.
+
+{96} Hugh Peters, the celebrated fanatic. In the margin of the
+original, opposite to the words “the Devil’s fees,” is the following
+note—“His numps and his kidneys.”—T. W.
+
+{97} To save his tithe pig:—probably the origin of the well known slang
+phrase of the present day.
+
+{98} Coloured, or dyed.
+
+{99} Faustus.
+
+{100} An allusion to a popular old story and song. A copy of the words
+and tune of “The Fryar and the Nun” is preserved in the valuable
+collection of ballads in the possession of Mr Thorpe of Piccadilly.—T.
+W.
+
+{101} “October 13th. I went out to Charing Cross to see Major-General
+Harrison hanged, drawn, and quartered, which was done there, he looking
+as cheerful as any man could do in that condition.”—Pepys. Thomas
+Harrison was the son of a butcher at Newcastle-under-Line; he conveyed
+Charles I. from Windsor to Whitehall to his trial, and afterwards sat as
+one of the judges.
+
+{102} “October 15th. This morning Mr Carew was hanged and quartered at
+Charing Cross; but his quarters, by a great favour, are not to be hanged
+up.”—Pepys. Colonel John Carew, like Harrison, was one of the
+Fifth-monarchy men, a violent and visionary but honest enthusiast.
+
+{103} Hugh Peters, for his zeal in encouraging the Commonwealth
+soldiery, was particularly hated by the Royalists. John Coke, the able
+lawyer, conducted the prosecution of the King.
+
+{104} Gregory Clement, John Jones, Thomas Scott, and Adrian Scrope, were
+charged with sitting in the High Court of Justice which tried the King.
+Scott was further charged with having, during the sitting of the Rump
+Parliament, expressed his approbation of the sentence against the King.
+Colonel Scrope, although he had been admitted to pardon, was selected as
+one of the objects of vengeance, and was condemned chiefly on a reported
+conversation, in which, when one person had strongly blamed what he
+called the “murder” of the King, Scrope observed, “Some are of one
+opinion, and some of another.”
+
+{105} “October 19th. This morning Hacker and Axtell were hanged and
+quartered, as the rest are.”—Pepys. Colonel Francis Hacker commanded the
+guards at the King’s execution. Axtell was captain of the guard of the
+High Court of Justice at which the King was tried.
+
+{106} Richard Brown, one of Cromwell’s Major-generals, Governor of
+Abingdon, and member for London in the Long Parliament. He had been
+imprisoned by the Rump.
+
+{107} The Earl of Norwich was George Lord Goring, who, with his son,
+acted a prominent part in the Civil Wars. He was created Earl of Norwich
+in 1644.
+
+{108} John Mordaunt, son of the Earl of Peterborough, celebrated for his
+exertions to raise insurrections for the King during the Protectorate,
+was one of the bearers of the letters of the King to Monck. He was
+created Baron Mordaunt, July 10, 1659. Charles Lord Gerard, afterwards
+created Earl of Macclesfield, was a very distinguished Royalist officer.
+Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Cleveland, who had suffered much for his
+loyalty to Charles I., headed a body of three hundred noblemen and
+gentlemen in the triumphal procession of Charles II. into London.
+
+{109} Charles Stuart, a gallant Royalist officer, who had been created
+Earl of Litchfield by Charles I. in 1645, and who immediately after the
+Restoration succeeded his cousin Esme Stuart as Duke of Richmond.
+Charles Stanley, Earl of Derby, was son of the Earl of Derby who was
+beheaded after the battle of Worcester, and of the Countess who so
+gallantly defended Latham House in 1644.
+
+{110} The Nursery Rhyme, “The Man in the Moon drinks claret.”
+
+{111} Philip Nye.
+
+{112} William Kiffin was a celebrated preacher of this time, and had
+been an officer in the Parliamentary army. A little before the
+publication of the present ballad a tract had appeared, with the title,
+“The Life and Approaching Death of William Kiffin. Extracted out of the
+Visitation Book by a Church Member.” 4to, London, March 13, 1659–60. He
+is here said to have been originally ’prentice to a glover, and to have
+been in good credit with Cromwell, who made him a lieutenant-colonel. He
+appears to have been busy among the sectaries at the period of the
+Restoration. He is thus mentioned in a satirical pamphlet of that time,
+entitled “Select City Quæries:”—“Whether the Anabaptists’ late manifesto
+can be said to be forged, false, and scandalous (as Politicus terms it),
+it being well known to be writ by one of Kiffin’s disciples; and whether
+the author thereof or Politicus may be accounted the greater
+incendiary?”—T. W.
+
+{113} Fox and Naylor were the founders of the sect of Quakers. Naylor,
+in particular, was celebrated as an enthusiast. Jacob Boehmen, or
+Behmen, was a celebrated German visionary and enthusiast, who lived at
+the end of the sixteenth and beginning of the seventeenth centuries, and
+the founder of a sect.
+
+{114} There was a story that Charles II. was really married to Lucy
+Walters, the mother of the Duke of Monmouth, and that the contract of
+marriage was in existence in a “black box,” in the custody of the Bishop
+of Durham, suggested apparently by the endeavours of that Bishop to
+change the succession to the crown in favour of the Duke of Monmouth, to
+the exclusion of James II.
+
+{115} Titus Oates, the inventor of the Popish plot.
+
+{116} Patience Ward, the alderman.
+
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CAVALIER SONGS AND BALLADS OF
+ENGLAND***
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