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diff --git a/1030-0.txt b/1030-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..323fb07 --- /dev/null +++ b/1030-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11250 @@ +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*** + + +******* This file should be named 1030-0.txt or 1030-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/3/1030 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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