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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: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CAVALIER SONGS AND BALLADS OF +ENGLAND*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1863 Griffin Bohn and Co. edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>The<br /> +CAVALIER SONGS AND BALLADS<br /> +OF ENGLAND</h1> +<p style="text-align: center">FROM 1642 TO 1684</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">EDITED +BY</span><br /> +CHARLES MACKAY<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">LL.D.</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON<br /> +GRIFFIN BOHN AND CO<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">STATIONERS’ HALL COURT</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">1863.</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pageii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. ii</span><span class="GutSmall">JOHN CHILDS +AND SON, PRINTERS.</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2><a name="pageiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +iii</span>INTRODUCTION.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> 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 <a name="pageiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +iv</span>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 +<a name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p. v</span>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. <a name="pagevi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vi</span>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 <a +name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. vii</span>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 <a name="pageviii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. viii</span>Culloden, should the public receive +the present volume with sufficient favour to justify the +venture.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p><i>December</i>, 1862.</p> +<h2><a name="pagexi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xi</span>CONTENTS.</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>When the King enjoys his own again</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>,, comes home in Peace again</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page4">4</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>I love my King and Country well</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page6">6</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Commoners</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page8">8</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Royalist</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page10">10</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The New Courtier</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page11">11</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Upon the Cavaliers departing out of London</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page13">13</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A Mad World, my Masters</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page14">14</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Man O’ The Moon</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Tub-Preacher</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page18">18</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The New Litany</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page20">20</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Old Protestant’s Litany</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page23">23</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Vive Le Roy</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Cavalier</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A Caveat to the Roundheads</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page31">31</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Hey, then, up go we</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page32">32</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Clean Contrary Way, or, Colonel Venne’s +Encouragement to his Soldiers</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page35">35</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Cameronian Cat</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page37">37</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Royal Feast</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page39">39</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Upon His Majesty’s coming to Holmby</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page50">50</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>I thank you twice</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Cities Loyaltie to the King</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="pagexii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xii</span>The Lawyers’ Lamentation for the Loss of +Charing-Cross</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page55">55</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Downfal of Charing-Cross</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Long Parliament</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page58">58</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Puritan</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page61">61</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Roundhead</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page64">64</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Prattle your pleasure under the rose</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page65">65</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Dominion of the Sword</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page67">67</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The State’s New Coin</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page70">70</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Anarchie, or the Blest Reformation since 1640</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page71">71</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A Coffin for King Charles, a Crown For Cromwell, And A Pit +For The People</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page76">76</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A Short Litany For The Year 1649</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page81">81</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Sale of Rebellion’s Household Stuff</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page82">82</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Cavalier’s Farewell to his Mistress, being +called to the Wars</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page86">86</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Last News from France</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page87">87</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Song to the Figure Two</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page91">91</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Reformation</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page94">94</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Upon the General Pardon passed by the Rump</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page98">98</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>An Old Song on Oliver’s Court</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page100">100</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Parliament Routed, or Here’s a House to be +Let</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page102">102</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A Christmas Song, when the Rump was first dissolved</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page107">107</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A Free Parliament Litany</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page110">110</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Mock Song</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page114">114</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Answer</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page116">116</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>As close as a Goose</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page118">118</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Prisoners</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page120">120</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Protecting Brewer</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page122">122</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Arraignment of the Devil for stealing away President +Bradshaw</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page124">124</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A New Ballad to an Old Tune, “Tom Of +Bedlam”</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page130">130</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="pagexiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xiii</span>Saint George and the Dragon, Anglice Mercurius +Poeticus</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page133">133</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Second Part of St George for England</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page143">143</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A New-year’s Gift for the Rump</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A Proper New Ballad on the Old Parliament; or, the Second +Part of Knave Out of Doors</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page151">151</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Tale of the Cobbler and the Vicar of Bray</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page166">166</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Geneva Ballad</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page191">191</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Devil’s Progress on Earth, or Huggle Duggle, +etc.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page194">194</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A Bottle Definition of that Fallen Angel, called a +Whig</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page196">196</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Desponding Whig</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page197">197</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Phanatick Zeal, or a Looking-glass for the Whigs</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page199">199</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A New Game at Cards: or, Win at First and Lose at Last</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page202">202</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Cavaleers Litany</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page205">205</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Cavalier’s Complaint</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page209">209</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>An Echo to the Cavalier’s Complaint</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page211">211</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A Relation</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page213">213</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Glory of these Nations</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page217">217</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Noble Progress, or, a True Relation of the Lord +General Monk’s Political Proceedings</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page223">223</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>On the King’s Return</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page227">227</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Brave Barbary</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page228">228</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A Catch</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page229">229</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Turn-coat</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page231">231</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Claret-drinker’s Song, or, the Good +Fellow’s Design</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page233">233</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Loyal Subjects’ Hearty Wishes to King Charles +II.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page236">236</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>King Charles the Second’s Restoration, 29th May</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page243">243</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Jubilee, or the Coronation Day</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page246">246</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The King enjoys his own again</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page247">247</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A Country Song, intituled the Restoration</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page248">248</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="pagexiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xiv</span>Here’s a Health unto His Majesty</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page251">251</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Whigs drowned in an Honest Tory health</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page251">251</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Cavalier</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page253">253</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Lamentation of a Bad Market, or the Disbanded +Souldier</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page255">255</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Courtier’s Health; or, The Merry Boys of the +Times</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page260">260</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Loyal Tories’ Delight; or A Pill for +Fanaticks</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page262">262</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Royal Admiral</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page265">265</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Unfortunate Whigs</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page266">266</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Downfall of the Good Old Cause</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page268">268</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Old Jemmy</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page271">271</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Cloak’s Knavery</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page274">274</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Time-server, or a Medley</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page278">278</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Soldier’s Delight</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page280">280</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Loyal Soldier</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page281">281</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Polititian</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page283">283</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>A New Droll</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page285">285</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Royalist</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page287">287</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Royalist’s Resolve</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page288">288</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Loyalty turned up Trump, or the Danger over</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page290">290</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Loyalist’s Encouragement</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page290">290</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Trouper</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page292">292</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>On the Times, or The Good Subject’s Wish</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page293">293</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Jovialists’ Coronation</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page294">294</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Loyal Prisoner</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page295">295</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Canary’s Coronation</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page297">297</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Mournful Subjects, or, The Whole Nation’s +Lamination, from the highest to the lowest</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page299">299</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Memento Mori</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page303">303</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Accession of James II.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page305">305</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>On the Most High and Mighty Monarch King James</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page307">307</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>In a Summer’s Day</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page309">309</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="pagexv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xv</span><span +class="GutSmall">LIST OF</span><br /> +BALLAD AND SONG BOOKS<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">AND</span><br /> +MSS. QUOTED IN THIS COLLECTION.</h2> +<p>Ashmolean Collection.</p> +<p>Antidote to Melancholy, 1682.</p> +<p>Apollo’s Banquet, 1690.</p> +<p>Additional MSS.</p> +<p>Aviary, 1740–1745.</p> +<p>Broadsides, in the reign of Charles II.</p> +<p>„ „ „ <i>Roxburghe ballads</i>.</p> +<p>Butler’s, Samuel, Posthumous Works, 1732.</p> +<p>Burney’s, Dr, Collection of Songs.</p> +<p>Ballads, six, of the time of Charles II., in the British +Museum.</p> +<p>Bagford’s Collection [qu. date].</p> +<p>Brome’s, Alex., Songs [qu. date].</p> +<p>Banquet of Music, 1689.</p> +<p>Bull’s, Dr, Collection of Songs [qu. date].</p> +<p>* 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.</p> +<p>* Collection of Loyal Songs, 1750 [Jacobites].</p> +<p>Complete Collection of Old and New English and Scotch Songs, +1735.</p> +<p>Craig’s Collection, 1730.</p> +<p>Convivial Songster, 1782.</p> +<p>Crown Garlands of Golden Roses.</p> +<p>Carey’s, Henry, Musical Centus, 1740.</p> +<p><a name="pagexvi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. xvi</span>* +D’Urfey’s Songs (4 volumes,) or Pills to Purge +Melancholy.</p> +<p>Douce’s Collection, Oxford.</p> +<p>Delightful Companion for the Recorder, 1686.</p> +<p>Dixon’s Ballads of the Peasants of England.</p> +<p>English Political Songs and Ballads of the 17th and 18th +Centuries, by Walker Wilkins.</p> +<p>Evans’ Old Ballads, 1810.</p> +<p>England under the House of Hanover, by Thos. Wright.</p> +<p>Folly in Print, or a Book of Rhymes, 1667.</p> +<p>Golden Garlands of Princely delights, 1620.</p> +<p>Harleian MSS.</p> +<p>Halifax’s Songs, 1694.</p> +<p>Halliwell’s Collection of Ballads, “Cheetham +Library.”</p> +<p>Hogg’s Jacobite Relics of Scotland.</p> +<p>Jordan’s, Thomas, London Triumphant, 1672.</p> +<p>King’s Library.</p> +<p>„ Pamphlets—Collection of Political Songs, from +1640 to the Restoration of Charles II.</p> +<p>Kitchener, Dr, Loyal and National Songs.</p> +<p>Loyal Songs, 120, 1684, by N. Thompson.</p> +<p>,, 180, 1685 to 1694.</p> +<p>Loyal Songs, 1731.</p> +<p>* Loyal Songs written against the Rump Parliament, between +1639 and 1661.</p> +<p>Loyal Garland, containing choice Songs, &c., of our late +Revolution, 1761, and 5th Edition, 1686, Percy Society.</p> +<p>Merry Drollery, complete, 1670.</p> +<p>Muses’ Merriment, 1656. <i>See</i> “Sportive +Wit.”</p> +<p>Musical MSS., British Museum.</p> +<p>Musical Miscellany, Watts.</p> +<p>Muse’s Delight, 1757, or “Apollo’s +Cabinet.”</p> +<p>Old Ballads, 1723, British Museum.</p> +<p>Playford’s Music and Mirth—“Douce’s +Collection.”</p> +<p>„ Choice Songs, &c.</p> +<p><a name="pagexvii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xvii</span>Playford’s Theatre of Music, 1685.</p> +<p>,, Pleasant Music Companion.</p> +<p>,, Catch that Catch can.</p> +<p>„ Antidote against Melancholy, 1669.</p> +<p>Political Merriment.</p> +<p>* Pills to Purge Melancholy, 1661.</p> +<p>Parker’s, Martin, Ballads, Roxburghe Collection.</p> +<p>Political Ballads, Percy Society, Wright’s +Collection.</p> +<p>Pepys’ Collection, British Museum.</p> +<p>Rats rhymed to Death, 1660; King’s Pamphlets, British +Museum.</p> +<p>* Roxburghe Ballads, 3 vols.</p> +<p>Rump Collection of Songs, 1639 to 1661. <i>See</i> Loyal +Songs.</p> +<p>Ritson’s Ancient Songs, 1790.</p> +<p>,, English ,,</p> +<p>Ramsay, Allan, Tea-table Miscellany, 1724.</p> +<p>Rome rhymed to Death [qu. date].</p> +<p>Sportive Wit; the Muse’s Merriment [qu. date].</p> +<p>Skene MSS.</p> +<p>Suckling’s, Sir John, Works [qu. date].</p> +<p>Second Tale of a Tub, 1715.</p> +<p>Satirical Songs on Costume.</p> +<p>True Loyalist, or Chevalier’s Favourite, 1779.</p> +<p>Triumph of Wit, or Ingenuity Displayed.</p> +<p>Taubman’s, Mat., Heroic and Choice Songs on the Times, +1682.</p> +<p>Westminster Drollery, 1671.</p> +<p>* Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge Melancholy.</p> +<p>Wit restored, 1658.</p> +<p>Wit’s Recreation, 1654</p> +<p>Williams’, Sir Charles Hanbury, Political Songs.</p> +<p>Wood’s, Anthony, Collection at Oxford [Ashmolean].</p> +<p>Withers, George, Songs.</p> +<p>Wade’s, John, Ballads [qu. date].</p> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>CAVALIER +SONGS AND BALLADS.</h2> +<h3>WHEN THE KING ENJOYS HIS OWN AGAIN.</h3> +<p>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 <i>Gossips’ Feast</i>, 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,</p> +<blockquote><p>“Whatever yet was published by me<br /> +Was known as Martin Parker, or M. P.;”</p> +</blockquote> +<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 +<i>Marry me</i>, <a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +2</span><i>marry me</i>, <i>quoth he</i>, <i>bonnie +lass</i>. 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.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">What</span> <i>Booker</i> doth prognosticate<br /> + Concerning kings’ or kingdoms’ fate?<br +/> + I think myself to be as wise<br /> + As he that gazeth on the skies;<br /> +My skill goes beyond the depth of a <i>Pond</i>,<br /> + Or <i>Rivers</i> in the greatest rain,<br /> +Thereby I can tell all things will be well<br /> + When the King enjoys his own again.</p> +<p class="poetry"> There’s neither +<i>Swallow</i>, <i>Dove</i>, nor <i>Dade</i>,<br /> + Can soar more high, or deeper wade,<br /> + Nor show a reason from the stars<br /> + What causeth peace or civil wars;<br /> +The Man in the Moon may wear out his shoon<br /> + By running after Charles his wain:<br /> +But all’s to no end, for the times will not mend<br /> + Till the King enjoys his own again.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Though for a time we see +Whitehall<br /> + With cobwebs hanging on the wall<br /> + Instead of silk and silver brave,<br /> + Which formerly it used to have,<br /> +With rich perfume in every room,—<br /> + Delightful to that princely train,<br /> +Which again you shall see, when the time it shall be,<br /> + That the King enjoys his own again.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page3"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 3</span>Full forty years the royal crown<br /> + Hath been his father’s and his own;<br /> + And is there any one but he<br /> + That in the same should sharer be?<br /> +For who better may the sceptre sway<br /> + Than he that hath such right to reign?<br /> +Then let’s hope for a peace, for the wars will not cease<br +/> + Till the King enjoys his own again.</p> +<p class="poetry"> [Did <i>Walker</i> no +predictions lack<br /> + In Hammond’s bloody almanack?<br /> + Foretelling things that would ensue,<br /> + That all proves right, if lies be true;<br /> +But why should not he the pillory foresee,<br /> + Wherein poor Toby once was ta’en?<br /> +And also foreknow to the gallows he must go<br /> + When the King enjoys his own again?] <a +name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1" +class="citation">[1]</a></p> +<p class="poetry"> Till then upon Ararat’s +hill<br /> + My hope shall cast her anchor still,<br /> + Until I see some peaceful dove<br /> + Bring home the branch I dearly love;<br /> +Then will I wait till the waters abate<br /> + Which now disturb my troubled brain,<br /> +Else never rejoice till I hear the voice<br /> + That the King enjoys his own again.</p> +<h3><a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 4</span>WHEN THE +KING COMES HOME IN PEACE AGAIN.</h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Oxford</span> and Cambridge shall agree,<br /> + With honour crown’d, and dignity;<br /> + For learned men shall then take place,<br /> + And bad be silenced with disgrace:<br /> +They’ll know it to be but a casualty<br /> + That hath so long disturb’d their brain;<br /> +For I can surely tell that all things will go well<br /> + When the King comes home in peace again.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Church government shall +settled be,<br /> + And then I hope we shall agree<br /> + Without their help, whose high-brain’d zeal<br +/> + Hath long disturb’d the common weal;<br /> +Greed out of date, and cobblers that do prate<br /> + Of wars that still disturb their brain;<br /> +The which you will see, when the time it shall be<br /> + That the King comes home in peace again.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Though many now are much in +debt,<br /> + And many shops are to be let,<br /> + A golden time is drawing near,<br /> + Men shops shall take to hold their ware;<br /> +And then all our trade shall flourishing be made,<br /> + To which ere long we shall attain;<br /> +For still I can tell all things will be well<br /> + When the King comes home in peace again.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page5"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 5</span>Maidens shall enjoy their mates,<br /> + And honest men their lost estates;<br /> + Women shall have what they do lack,<br /> + Their husbands, who are coming back.<br /> +When the wars have an end, then I and my friend<br /> + All subjects’ freedom shall obtain;<br /> +By which I can tell all things will be well<br /> + When we enjoy sweet peace again.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Though people now walk in +great fear<br /> + Along the country everywhere,<br /> + Thieves shall then tremble at the law,<br /> + And justice shall keep them in awe:<br /> +The Frenchies shall flee with their treacherie,<br /> + And the foes of the King ashamed remain:<br /> +The which you shall see when the time it shall be<br /> + That the King comes home in peace again.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The Parliament must willing +be<br /> + That all the world may plainly see<br /> + How they do labour still for peace,<br /> + That now these bloody wars may cease;<br /> +For they will gladly spend their lives to defend<br /> + The King in all his right to reign:<br /> +So then I can tell all things will be well<br /> + When we enjoy sweet peace again.</p> +<p class="poetry"> When all these things to pass +shall come<br /> + Then farewell Musket, Pick, and Drum,<br /> + The Lamb shall with the Lion feed,<br /> + Which were a happy time indeed.<br /> +<a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>O let us +pray we may all see the day<br /> + That peace may govern in his name,<br /> +For then I can tell all things will be well<br /> + When the King comes home in peace again.</p> +<h3>I LOVE MY KING AND COUNTRY WELL.</h3> +<p>From Songs and other Poems by Alex. Brome, Gent. +Published London 1664; written 1645.</p> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">love</span> my King and +country well,<br /> + Religion and the laws;<br /> +Which I’m mad at the heart that e’er we did sell<br +/> + To buy the good old cause.<br /> + These unnatural +wars<br /> + And brotherly +jars<br /> + Are no delight or joy to me;<br /> + But it is my +desire<br /> + That the wars +should expire,<br /> + And the King and his realms +agree.</p> +<p class="poetry">I never yet did take up arms,<br /> + And yet I dare to dye;<br /> +But I’ll not be seduced by phanatical charms<br /> + Till I know a reason why.<br /> + Why the King and +the state<br /> + Should fall to +debate<br /> + I ne’er could yet a reason +see,<br /> + But I find many +one<br /> + Why the wars +should be done,<br /> + And the King and his realms +agree.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +7</span>I love the King and the Parliament,<br /> + But I love them both together:<br +/> +And when they by division asunder are rent,<br /> + I know ’tis good for +neither.<br /> + +Whichsoe’er of those<br /> + Be +victorious,<br /> + I’m sure for us no good +’twill be,<br /> + For our plagues +will increase<br /> + Unless we have +peace,<br /> + And the King and his realms +agree.</p> +<p class="poetry">The King without them can’t long +stand,<br /> + Nor they without the King;<br /> +’Tis they must advise, and ’tis he must command,<br +/> + For their power from his must +spring.<br /> + ’Tis a +comfortless sway<br /> + When none will +obey;<br /> + If the King han’t his right, +which way shall we?<br /> + They may vote +and make laws,<br /> + But no good they +will cause<br /> + Till the King and his realm +agree.</p> +<p class="poetry">A pure religion I would have,<br /> + Not mixt with human wit;<br /> +And I cannot endure that each ignorant knave<br /> + Should dare to meddle with it.<br +/> + The tricks of +the law<br /> + I would fain +withdraw,<br /> + That it may be alike to each +degree:<br /> + And I fain would +have such<br /> + As do meddle so +much,<br /> + With the King and the church +agree.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span>We have pray’d and pray’d that the wars might +cease,<br /> + And we be free men made;<br /> +I would fight, if my fighting would bring any peace,<br /> + But war is become a trade.<br /> + Our servants did +ride<br /> + With swords by +their side,<br /> + And made their masters footmen +be;<br /> + But we’ll +be no more slaves<br /> + To the beggars +and knaves<br /> + Now the King and the realms do +agree.</p> +<h3>THE COMMONERS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">Written in 1645 to the Club-men, by +Alex. Brome.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Come</span> your ways,<br /> + Bonny boys<br /> + + +Of the town,<br /> + For now is your time or never:<br +/> + Shall your +fears<br /> + Or your cares<br +/> + + +Cast you down?<br /> + Hang your +wealth<br /> + And your +health,<br /> + + +Get renown.<br /> + We are all undone for ever,<br /> + Now the King and the crown<br /> + Are tumbling down,<br /> +<a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>And the +realm doth groan with disasters;<br /> + And the scum of the land<br /> + Are the men that command,<br /> +And our slaves are become our masters.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Now +our lives,<br /> + Children, +wives,<br /> + + +And estate,<br /> + Are a prey to the lust and +plunder,<br /> + To the rage<br +/> + Of our age;<br +/> + + +And the fate<br /> + Of our land<br +/> + Is at hand;<br +/> + + +’Tis too late<br /> + To tread these usurpers under.<br +/> + First down goes the crown,<br /> + Then follows the gown,<br /> +Thus levell’d are we by the Roundhead;<br /> + While Church and State must<br /> + Feed their pride and their +lust,<br /> +And the kingdom and king be confounded.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Shall +we still<br /> + Suffer ill<br /> + + +And be dumb,<br /> + And let every varlet undo us?<br +/> + Shall we +doubt<br /> + Of each lout<br +/> + + +That doth come,<br /> + With a voice<br +/> + Like the +noise<br /> + + +Of a drum,<br /> + And a sword or a buff-coat, to +us?<br /> + <a name="page10"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 10</span>Shall we lose our estates<br /> + By plunder and rates,<br /> +To bedeck those proud upstarts that swagger?<br /> + Rather fight for your meat<br /> + Which those locusts do eat,<br /> +Now every man’s a beggar.</p> +<h3>THE ROYALIST.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">By Alex. Brome. Written +1646.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span> pass about the +bowl to me,<br /> + A health to our distressed King;<br /> +Though we’re in hold let cups go free,<br /> + Birds in a cage may freely sing.<br /> +The ground does tipple healths afar<br /> + When storms do fall, and shall not we?<br /> +A sorrow dares not show its face<br /> + When we are ships, and sack’s the sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">Pox on this grief, hang wealth, let’s +sing;<br /> + Shall’s kill ourselves for fear of death?<br +/> +We’ll live by th’ air which songs do bring,<br /> + Our sighing does but waste our breath.<br /> +Then let us not be discontent,<br /> + Nor drink a glass the less of wine;<br /> +In vain they’ll think their plagues are spent<br /> + When once they see we don’t repine.</p> +<p class="poetry">We do not suffer here alone,<br /> + Though we are beggar’d, so’s the +King;<br /> +’Tis sin t’ have wealth when he has none,<br /> + Tush! poverty’s a royal thing!<br /> +<a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span>When we +are larded well with drink,<br /> + Our head shall turn as round as theirs,<br /> +Our feet shall rise, our bodies sink<br /> + Clean down the wind like Cavaliers.</p> +<p class="poetry">Fill this unnatural quart with sack,<br /> + Nature all vacuums doth decline;<br /> +Ourselves will be a zodiac,<br /> + And every mouth shall be a sign.<br /> +Methinks the travels of the glass<br /> + Are circular, like Plato’s year;<br /> +Where everything is as it was<br /> + Let’s tipple round: and so ’tis +here.</p> +<h3>THE NEW COURTIER.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">By Alex. Brome. 1648.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Since</span> it must be so<br /> + + +Then so let it go,<br /> +Let the giddy-brain’d times turn round;<br /> +Since we have no king let the goblet be crown’d,<br /> + Our monarchy thus will recover:<br /> + While the pottles are weeping<br +/> + + +We’ll drench our sad souls<br /> + + +In big-bellied bowls;<br /> + Our sorrows in sack shall lie +steeping,<br /> + And we’ll drink till our eyes do run over;<br +/> + + +And prove it by reason<br /> + + +That it can be no treason<br /> +To drink and to sing<br /> +A mournival of healths to our new-crown’d King.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> <a +name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>Let us all +stand bare;—<br /> + + +In the presence we are,<br /> +Let our noses like bonfires shine;<br /> +Instead of the conduits, let the pottles run wine,<br /> + To perfect this new coronation;<br /> + And we that are loyal<br /> + + +In drink shall be peers,<br /> + + +While that face that wears<br /> + Pure claret, looks like the +blood-royal,<br /> + And outstares the bones of the nation:<br /> + + +In sign of obedience,<br /> + + +Our oath of allegiance<br /> +Beer-glasses shall be,<br /> +And he that tipples ten is of the nobility.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> But +if in this reign<br /> + + +The halberted train<br /> +Or the constable should rebel,<br /> +And should make their turbill’d militia to swell,<br /> + And against the King’s party raise arms;<br /> + Then the drawers, like yeomen<br +/> + + +Of the guards, with quart pots<br /> + + +Shall fuddle the sots,<br /> + While we make ’em both +cuckolds and freemen;<br /> + And on their wives beat up alarums.<br /> + + +Thus as each health passes<br /> + + +We’ll triple the glasses,<br /> +And hold it no sin<br /> +To be loyal and drink in defence of our King.</p> +<h3><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>UPON +THE CAVALIERS DEPARTING OUT OF LONDON.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">By Alex. Brome.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span> fare thee well, +London,<br /> +Thou next must be undone,<br /> + ’Cause thou hast undone us before;<br /> +This cause and this tyrant<br /> +Had never play’d this high rant<br /> + Were’t not for thy <i>argent +d’or</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now we must desert thee,<br /> +With the lines that begirt thee,<br /> + And the red-coated saints domineer;<br /> +Who with liberty fool thee,<br /> +While a monster doth rule thee,<br /> + And thou feel’st what before thou didst +fear.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now justice and freedom,<br /> +With the laws that did breed ’em,<br /> + Are sent to Jamaica for gold,<br /> +And those that upheld ’em<br /> +Have power but seldom,<br /> + For justice is barter’d and sold.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now the Christian religion<br /> +Must seek a new region,<br /> + And the old saints give way to the new;<br /> +And we that are loyal<br /> +Vail to those that destroy all,<br /> + When the Christian gives place to the Jew.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>But this is our glory,<br /> +In this wretched story<br /> + Calamities fall on the best;<br /> +And those that destroy us<br /> +Do better employ us,<br /> + To sing till they are supprest.</p> +<h3>A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From the King’s pamphlets, +British Museum.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">We</span> have a King, and +yet no King,<br /> + For he hath lost his power;<br /> +For ’gainst his will his subjects are<br /> + Imprison’d in the Tower.</p> +<p class="poetry">We had some laws (but now no laws)<br /> + By which he held his crown;<br /> +And we had estates and liberties,<br /> + But now they’re voted down.</p> +<p class="poetry">We had religion, but of late<br /> + That’s beaten down with clubs;<br /> +Whilst that profaneness authorized<br /> + Is belched forth in tubs.</p> +<p class="poetry">We were free subjects born, but now<br /> + We are by force made slaves,<br /> +By some whom we did count our friends,<br /> + But in the end proved knaves.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +15</span>And now to such a grievous height<br /> + Are our misfortunes grown,<br /> +That our estates are took away<br /> + By tricks before ne’er known.</p> +<p class="poetry">For there are agents sent abroad<br /> + Most humbly for to crave<br /> +Our alms; but if they are denied,<br /> + And of us nothing have,</p> +<p class="poetry">Then by a vote <i>ex tempore</i><br /> + We are to prison sent,<br /> +Mark’d with the name of enemy,<br /> + To King and Parliament:</p> +<p class="poetry">And during our imprisonment,<br /> + Their lawless bulls do plunder<br /> +A license to their soldiers,<br /> + Our houses for to plunder.</p> +<p class="poetry">And if their hounds do chance to smell<br /> + A man whose fortunes are<br /> +Of some account, whose purse is full,<br /> + Which now is somewhat rare;</p> +<p class="poetry">A <i>monster</i> now, <i>delinquent</i> +term’d,<br /> + He is declared to be,<br /> +And that his lands, as well as goods,<br /> + Sequester’d ought to be.</p> +<p class="poetry">As if our prisons were too good,<br /> + He is to Yarmouth sent,<br /> +By virtue of a warrant from<br /> + The King and Parliament.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +16</span>Thus in our royal sovereign’s name,<br /> + And eke his power infused,<br /> +And by the virtue of the same,<br /> + He and all his abused.</p> +<p class="poetry">For by this means his castles now<br /> + Are in the power of those<br /> +Who treach’rously, with might and main,<br /> + Do strive him to depose.</p> +<p class="poetry">Arise, therefore, brave British men,<br /> + Fight for your King and State,<br /> +Against those trait’rous men that strive<br /> + This realm to ruinate.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis Pym, ’tis Pym and his +colleagues,<br /> + That did our woe engender;<br /> +Nought but their lives can end our woes,<br /> + And us in safety render.</p> +<h3>THE MAN O’ THE MOON.</h3> +<p>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,—</p> +<p class="poetry">“Then was a man came fron the moon<br /> + And landed in our town, sir,<br /> +And he has sworn a solemn oath<br /> + That all but knaves must down, sir.”</p> +<p>In Martin Parker’s foregoing ballad, “When the +King enjoys his own again,” there is also an allusion to +the man in the moon:—</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page17"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 17</span>“The Man in the Moon<br /> + May wear out his shoon<br /> +By running after Charles his wain;”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p class="poetry">The man o’ the moon for ever!<br /> +The man o’ the moon for ever!<br /> + We’ll drink to him still<br /> + In a merry cup of ale,—<br /> +Here’s the man o’ the moon for ever!</p> +<p class="poetry">The man o’ the moon, here’s to +him!<br /> +How few there be that know him!<br /> + But we’ll drink to him still<br /> + In a merry cup of ale,—<br /> +The man o’ the moon, here’s to him!</p> +<p class="poetry">Brave man o’ the moon, we hail thee,<br +/> +The true heart ne’er shall fail thee;<br /> + For the day that’s gone<br /> + And the day that’s our own—<br /> +Brave man o’ the moon, we hail thee.</p> +<p class="poetry">We have seen the bear bestride thee,<br /> +And the clouds of winter hide thee,<br /> + But the moon is changed<br /> + And here we are ranged,—<br /> +Brave man o’ the moon, we bide thee.</p> +<p class="poetry">The man o’ the moon for ever!<br /> +The man o’ the moon for ever!<br /> + <a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>We’ll drink to him still<br /> + In a merry cup of ale,—<br /> +Here’s the man o’ the moon for ever!</p> +<p class="poetry">We have grieved the land should shun thee,<br +/> +And have never ceased to mourn thee,<br /> + But for all our grief<br /> + There was no relief,—<br /> +Now, man o’ the moon, return thee.</p> +<p class="poetry">There’s Orion with his golden belt,<br /> +And Mars, that burning mover,<br /> + But of all the lights<br /> + That rule the nights,<br /> +The man o’ the moon for ever!</p> +<h3>THE TUB-PREACHER.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">By Samuel Butler (Author of +Hudibras).<br /> +To the tune of “The Old Courtier of the +Queen’s.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">With</span> face and +fashion to be known,<br /> +With eyes all white, and many a groan,<br /> +With neck awry and snivelling tone,<br /> +And handkerchief from nose new-blown,<br /> +And loving cant to sister Joan;<br /> + ’Tis a new teacher about the town,<br /> + Oh! the town’s new teacher!</p> +<p class="poetry">With cozening laugh, and hollow cheek,<br /> +To get new gatherings every week,<br /> +With paltry sense as man can speak,<br /> +<a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>With some +small Hebrew, and no Greek,<br /> +With hums and haws when stuff’s to seek;<br /> + ’Tis a new teacher, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">With hair cut shorter than the brow,<br /> +With little band, as you know how,<br /> +With cloak like Paul, no coat I trow,<br /> +With surplice none, nor girdle now,<br /> +With hands to thump, nor knees to bow;<br /> + ’Tis a new teacher, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">With shop-board breeding and intrusion,<br /> +By some outlandish institution,<br /> +With Calvin’s method and conclusion,<br /> +To bring all things into confusion,<br /> +And far-stretched sighs for mere illusion;<br /> + ’Tis a new teacher, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">With threats of absolute damnation,<br /> +But certainty of some salvation<br /> +To his new sect, not every nation,<br /> +With election and reprobation,<br /> +And with some use of consolation;<br /> + ’Tis a new teacher, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">With troops expecting him at door<br /> +To hear a sermon and no more,<br /> +And women follow him good store,<br /> +And with great Bibles to turn o’er,<br /> +Whilst Tom writes notes, as bar-boys score,<br /> + ’Tis a new teacher, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +20</span>With double cap to put his head in,<br /> +That looks like a black pot tipp’d with tin;<br /> +While with antic gestures he doth gape and grin;<br /> +The sisters admire, and he wheedles them in,<br /> +Who to cheat their husbands think no sin;<br /> + ’Tis a new teacher, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">With great pretended spiritual motions,<br /> +And many fine whimsical notions,<br /> +With blind zeal and large devotions,<br /> +With broaching rebellion and raising commotions,<br /> +And poisoning the people with Geneva potions;<br /> + ’Tis a new teacher, etc.</p> +<h3>THE NEW LITANY.</h3> +<p>From the King’s pamphlets, British Museum. Satires +in the form of a litany were common from 1646 to 1746, and even +later.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">From</span> an extempore +prayer and a godly ditty,<br /> +From the churlish government of a city,<br /> +From the power of a country committee,<br /> + + +Libera nos, Domine.</p> +<p class="poetry">From the Turk, the Pope, and the Scottish +nation,<br /> +From being govern’d by proclamation,<br /> +And from an old Protestant, quite out of fashion,<br /> + + +Libera, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>From meddling with those that are out of our reaches,<br +/> +From a fighting priest, and a soldier that preaches,<br /> +From an ignoramus that writes, and a woman that teaches,<br /> + + +Libera, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From the doctrine of deposing of a king,<br /> +From the <i>Directory</i>, <a name="citation2"></a><a +href="#footnote2" class="citation">[2]</a> or any such thing,<br +/> +From a fine new marriage without a ring,<br /> + + +Libera, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From a city that yields at the first +summons,<br /> +From plundering goods, either man or woman’s,<br /> +Or having to do with the House of Commons,<br /> + + +Libera, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From a stumbling horse that tumbles o’er +and o’er,<br /> +From ushering a lady, or walking before,<br /> +From an English-Irish rebel, newly come o’er, <a +name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3" +class="citation">[3]</a><br /> + + +Libera, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From compounding, or hanging in a silken +altar,<br /> +From oaths and covenants, and being pounded in a mortar,<br /> +From contributions, or free-quarter,<br /> + + +Libera, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>From mouldy bread, and musty beer,<br /> +From a holiday’s fast, and a Friday’s cheer,<br /> +From a brother-hood, and a she-cavalier,<br /> + + +Libera, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From Nick Neuter, for you, and for you,<br /> +From Thomas Turn-coat, that will never prove true,<br /> +From a reverend Rabbi that’s worse than a Jew,<br /> + + +Libera, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From a country justice that still looks big,<br +/> +From swallowing up the Italian fig,<br /> +Or learning of the Scottish jig,<br /> + + +Libera, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From being taken in a disguise,<br /> +From believing of the printed lies,<br /> +From the Devil and from the Excise, <a name="citation4"></a><a +href="#footnote4" class="citation">[4]</a><br /> + + +Libera, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From a broken pate with a pint pot,<br /> +For fighting for I know not what,<br /> +And from a friend as false as a Scot,<br /> + + +Libera, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From one that speaks no sense, yet talks all +that he can,<br /> +From an old woman and a Parliament man,<br /> +From an Anabaptist and a Presbyter man,<br /> + + +Libera, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +23</span>From Irish rebels and Welsh hubbub-men,<br /> +From Independents and their tub-men,<br /> +From sheriffs’ bailiffs, and their club-men,<br /> + + +Libera, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From one that cares not what he saith,<br /> +From trusting one that never payeth,<br /> +From a private preacher and a public faith,<br /> + + +Libera, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From a vapouring horse and a Roundhead in +buff,<br /> +From roaring Jack Cavee, with money little enough,<br /> +From beads and such idolatrous stuff,<br /> + + +Libera, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From holydays, and all that’s holy,<br /> +From May-poles and fiddlers, and all that’s jolly<br /> +From Latin or learning, since that is folly,<br /> + + +Libera, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">And now to make an end of all,<br /> +I wish the Roundheads had a fall,<br /> +Or else were hanged in Goldsmith’s Hall.<br /> + + +Amen.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">Benedicat Dominus.</p> +<h3>THE OLD PROTESTANT’S LITANY.</h3> +<p class="poetry">Against all sectaries<br /> + And their defendants,<br /> +Both Presbyterians<br /> + And Independents.</p> +<p>Mr Walter Wilkins, in his Political Ballads of the Seventeenth +and Eighteenth Centuries, says, the imprint of this broadside <a +name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>intimates +that it was published in “the year of Hope, 1647,” +and Thomson, the collector, added the precise date, the 7th of +September.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">That</span> thou wilt be +pleased to grant our requests,<br /> +And quite destroy all the vipers’ nests,<br /> +That England and her true religion molests,<br /> + + +Te rogamus audi nos.</p> +<p class="poetry">That thou wilt be pleased to censure with +pity<br /> +The present estate of our once famous city;<br /> +Let her still be govern’d by men just and witty,<br /> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">That thou wilt be pleased to consider the +Tower,<br /> +And all other prisons in the Parliament’s power,<br /> +Where King Charles his friends find their welcome but sour,<br /> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">That thou wilt be pleased to look on the +grief<br /> +Of the King’s old servants, and send them relief,<br /> +Restore to the yeomen o’ th’ Guard chines of beef,<br +/> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">That thou wilt be pleased very quickly to +bring<br /> +Unto his just rights our so much-wrong’d King,<br /> +That he may be happy in everything,<br /> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">That Whitehall may shine in its pristine +lustre,<br /> +That the Parliament may make a general muster,<br /> +That knaves may be punish’d by men who are juster,<br /> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span>That now the dog-days are fully expired,<br /> +That those cursed curs, which our patience have tired,<br /> +May suffer what is by true justice required,<br /> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">That thou wilt be pleased to incline conquering +Thomas<br /> +(Who now hath both city and Tower gotten from us),<br /> +That he may be just in performing his promise,<br /> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">That our hopeful Prince and our gracious +Queen<br /> +(Whom we here in England long time have not seen)<br /> +May soon be restored to what they have been,<br /> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">That the rest of the royal issue may be<br /> +From their Parliamentary guardians set free,<br /> +And be kept according to their high degree,<br /> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">That our ancient Liturgy may be restored,<br /> +That the organs (by sectaries so much abhorr’d)<br /> +May sound divine praises, according to the word,<br /> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">That the ring in marriage, the cross at the +font,<br /> +Which the devil and the Roundheads so much affront,<br /> +May be used again, as before they were wont,<br /> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +26</span>That Episcopacy, used in its right kind,<br /> +In England once more entertainment may find,<br /> +That Scots and lewd factions may go down the wind,<br /> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">That thou wilt be pleased again to restore<br +/> +All things in due order, as they were before,<br /> +That the Church and the State may be vex’d no more,<br /> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">That all the King’s friends may enjoy +their estates,<br /> +And not be kept, as they have been, at low rates,<br /> +That the poor may find comfort again at their gates,<br /> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">That thou wilt all our oppressions remove,<br +/> +And grant us firm faith and hope, join’d with true love,<br +/> +Convert or confound all which virtue reprove,<br /> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">That all peevish sects that would live +uncontroll’d,<br /> +And will not be govern’d, as all subjects should,<br /> +To New England may pack, or live quiet i’ th’ Old,<br +/> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">That gracious King Charles, with his children +and wife,<br /> +Who long time have suffer’d through this civil strife,<br +/> +May end with high honour their natural life,<br /> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +27</span>That they who have seized on honest men’s +treasure,<br /> +Only for their loyalty to God and to Cæsar,<br /> +May in time convenient find measure for measure,<br /> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">That thou all these blessings upon us wilt +send,<br /> +We are no <i>Independents</i>, on Thee we depend,<br /> +And as we believe, from all harm us defend;<br /> + + +Te rogamus, etc.</p> +<h3>VIVE LE ROY.</h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> though the +zealots pull down the prelates,<br /> +Push at the pulpit, and kick at the crown,<br /> +Shall we not never once more endeavour,<br /> +Strive to purchase our royall renown?<br /> +Shall not the Roundhead first be confounded?<br /> +Sa, sa, sa, say, boys, ha, ha, ha, ha, boys,<br /> +Then we’ll return with triumph and joy.<br /> +Then we’ll be merry, drink white wine and sherry,<br /> +Then we will sing, boys, God bless the King, boys,<br /> +Cast up our caps, and cry, <i>Vive le Roy</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">What though the wise make Alderman Isaac<br /> +Put us in prison and steal our estates,<br /> +Though we be forced to be unhorsed,<br /> +And walk on foot as it pleaseth the fates;<br /> +<a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>In the +King’s army no man shall harm ye.<br /> +Then come along, boys, valiant and strong, boys,<br /> +Fight for your goods, which the Roundheads enjoy;<br /> +And when you venture London to enter,<br /> +And when you come, boys, with fife and drum, boys,<br /> +Isaac himself shall cry, <i>Vive le Roy</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">If you will choose them, do not refuse them,<br +/> +Since honest Parliament never made thieves,<br /> +Charles will not further have rogues dipt in murder,<br /> +Neither by leases, long lives, nor reprieves.<br /> +’Tis the conditions and propositions<br /> +Will not be granted, then be not daunted,<br /> +We will our honest old customs enjoy;<br /> +Paul’s not rejected, will be respected,<br /> +And in the quier voices rise higher,<br /> +Thanks to the heavens, and (cry), <i>Vive le Roy</i>.</p> +<h3>THE CAVALIER.</h3> +<p>By Samuel Butler. From his Posthumous Works. A +somewhat different version appears in Chappell’s Popular +Music of the Olden Time.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span> that is a +clear<br /> + + +Cavalier<br /> +Will not repine,<br /> + + +Although<br /> +His pocket grow<br /> + + +So very low<br /> +He cannot get wine.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +29</span>Fortune is a lass<br /> + + +Will embrace,<br /> +But soon destroy;<br /> + + +Born free,<br /> +In liberty<br /> + + +We’ll always be,<br /> +Singing <i>Vive le Roy</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Virtue is its own reward,<br /> + And Fortune is a whore;<br /> +There’s none but knaves and fools regard her,<br /> + Or her power implore.<br /> +But he that is a trusty <i>Roger</i>,<br /> + And will serve the King;<br /> +Altho’ he be a tatter’d soldier,<br /> + Yet may skip and sing:<br /> +Whilst we that fight for love,<br /> +May in the way of honour prove<br /> +That they who make sport of us<br /> +May come short of us;<br /> +Fate will flatter them,<br /> +And will scatter them;<br /> +Whilst our loyalty<br /> +Looks upon royalty,<br /> +We that live peacefully,<br /> +May be successfully<br /> +Crown’d with a crown at last.</p> +<p class="poetry">Tho’ a real honest man<br /> +May be quite undone,<br /> +He’ll show his allegiance,<br /> +Love, and obedience;<br /> +Those will raise him up,<br /> +Honour stays him up,<br /> +<a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>Virtue +keeps him up,<br /> +And we praise him up.<br /> +Whilst the vain courtiers dine,<br /> +With their bottles full of wine,<br /> +Honour will make him fast.<br /> +Freely then<br /> +Let’s be honest men<br /> + And kick at fate,<br /> +For we may live to see<br /> +Our loyalty<br /> + Valued at a higher rate.<br /> +He that bears a sword<br /> + Or a word against the throne,<br /> +And does profanely prate<br /> +To abuse the state,<br /> + Hath no kindness for his own.</p> +<p class="poetry">What tho’ painted plumes and prayers<br +/> + Are the prosp’rous men,<br /> +Yet we’ll attend our own affairs<br /> + ’Till they come to ’t agen;<br /> +Treachery may be faced with light,<br /> + And letchery lined with furr;<br /> +A cuckold may be made a knight,<br /> + Sing <i>Fortune de la Guerre</i>.<br /> +But what’s that to us, brave boys,<br /> +That are right honest men?<br /> +We’ll conquer and come again,<br /> +Beat up the drum again;<br /> + Hey for <i>Cavaliers</i>,<br /> + Hoe for <i>Cavaliers</i>,<br /> + Drink for <i>Cavaliers</i>,<br /> + Fight for <i>Cavaliers</i>,<br /> + <a name="page31"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 31</span>Dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub,<br /> + Have at Old <i>Beelzebub</i>,<br +/> + <i>Oliver</i> stinks for fear.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Fifth Monarchy-men</i> must down, boys,<br +/> +With bulleys of every sect in town, boys;<br /> +We’ll rally and to ’t again,<br /> +Give ’em the rout again;<br /> +Fly like light about,<br /> +Face to the right-about,<br /> +Charge them home again<br /> +When they come on again;<br /> +<i>Sing Tantara rara</i>, <i>boys</i>,<br /> +<i>Tantara rara</i>, <i>boys</i>,<br /> +This is the life of an Old Cavalier.</p> +<h3>A CAVEAT TO THE ROUNDHEADS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From the Posthumous Works of Samuel +Butler.</p> +<p class="poetry"> I <span +class="smcap">come</span> to charge ye<br /> + That fight the clergy,<br /> +And pull the mitre from the prelate’s head,<br /> + That you will be wary<br /> + Lest you miscarry<br /> +In all those factious humours you have bred;<br /> +But as for <i>Brownists</i> we’ll have none,<br /> +But take them all and hang them one by one.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Your wicked +actions<br /> + Join’d in factions<br /> +Are all but aims to rob the King of his due;<br /> + <a name="page32"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 32</span>Then give this reason<br /> + For your treason,<br /> +That you’ll be ruled, if he’ll be ruled by you.<br /> +Then leave these factions, zealous brother,<br /> +Lest you be hanged one against another.</p> +<h3>HEY, THEN, UP GO WE.</h3> +<p>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.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Know</span> this, my +brethren, heaven is clear,<br /> + And all the clouds are gone;<br /> +The righteous man shall flourish now,<br /> + Good days are coming on.<br /> +Then come, my brethren, and be glad,<br /> + And eke rejoyce with me;<br /> +Lawn sleeves and rochets shall go down,<br /> + And hey, then, up go we.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll break the windows which the +whore<br /> + Of Babylon hath painted,<br /> +And when the popish saints are down<br /> + Then Barrow shall be sainted;<br /> +<a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +33</span>There’s neither cross nor crucifix<br /> + Shall stand for men to see,<br /> +Rome’s trash and trumpery shall go down,<br /> + And hey, then, up go we.</p> +<p class="poetry">Whate’er the Popish hands have built<br +/> + Our hammers shall undo;<br /> +We’ll break their pipes and burn their copes,<br /> + And pull down churches too;<br /> +We’ll exercise within the groves,<br /> + And teach beneath a tree;<br /> +We’ll make a pulpit of a cask,<br /> + And hey, then, up go we.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll put down Universities,<br /> + Where learning is profest,<br /> +Because they practise and maintain<br /> + The language of the Beast;<br /> +We’ll drive the doctors out of doors,<br /> + And all that learned be;<br /> +We’ll cry all arts and learning down,<br /> + And hey, then, up go we.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll down with deans and prebends, +too,<br /> + And I rejoyce to tell ye<br /> +We then shall get our fill of pig,<br /> + And capons for the belly.<br /> +We’ll burn the Fathers’ weighty tomes,<br /> + And make the School-men flee;<br /> +We’ll down with all that smells of wit,<br /> + And hey, then, up go we.</p> +<p class="poetry">If once the Antichristian crew<br /> + Be crush’d and overthrown,<br /> +<a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +34</span>We’ll teach the nobles how to stoop,<br /> + And keep the gentry down:<br /> +Good manners have an ill report,<br /> + And turn to pride, we see,<br /> +We’ll therefore put good manners down,<br /> + And hey, then, up go we.</p> +<p class="poetry">The name of lords shall be abhorr’d,<br +/> + For every man’s a brother;<br /> +No reason why in Church and State<br /> + One man should rule another;<br /> +But when the change of government<br /> + Shall set our fingers free,<br /> +We’ll make these wanton sisters stoop,<br /> + And hey, then, up go we.</p> +<p class="poetry">What though the King and Parliament<br /> + Do not accord together,<br /> +We have more cause to be content,<br /> + This is our sunshine weather:<br /> +For if that reason should take place,<br /> + And they should once agree,<br /> +Who would be in a Roundhead’s case,<br /> + For hey, then, up go we.</p> +<p class="poetry">What should we do, then, in this case?<br /> + Let’s put it to a venture;<br /> +If that we hold out seven years’ space<br /> + We’ll sue out our indenture.<br /> +A time may come to make us rue,<br /> + And time may set us free,<br /> +Except the gallows claim his due,<br /> + And hey, then, up go we.</p> +<h3><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>THE +CLEAN CONTRARY WAY,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR,</span><br /> +COLONEL VENNE’S ENCOURAGEMENT TO HIS SOLDIERS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">To the air of “Hey, then, up +go we.”<br /> +From a Collection of Loyal Songs written against the Rump +Parliament.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fight</span> on, brave +soldiers, for the cause,<br /> + Fear not the Cavaliers;<br /> +Their threat’nings are as senseless as<br /> + Our jealousies and fears.<br /> +Tis you must perfect this great work,<br /> + And all malignants slay;<br /> +You must bring back the King again<br /> + The clean contrary way.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis for religion that you fight,<br /> + And for the kingdom’s good;<br /> +By robbing churches, plundering them,<br /> + And shedding guiltless blood.<br /> +Down with the orthodoxal train,<br /> + All loyal subjects slay;<br /> +When these are gone, we shall be blest<br /> + The clean contrary way.</p> +<p class="poetry">When <i>Charles</i> we have made bankrupt,<br +/> + Of power and crown bereft him,<br /> +And all his loyal subjects slain,<br /> + And none but rebels left him;<br /> +When we have beggar’d all the land,<br /> + And sent our trunks away,<br /> +We’ll make him then a glorious prince<br /> + The clean contrary way.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +36</span>’Tis to preserve his Majesty<br /> + That we against him fight,<br /> +Nor ever are we beaten back,<br /> + Because our cause is right:<br /> +If any make a scruple at<br /> + Our Declarations, say,—<br /> +Who fight for us, fight for the King<br /> + The clean contrary way.</p> +<p class="poetry">At <i>Keinton</i>, <i>Brainsford</i>, +<i>Plymouth</i>, <i>York</i>,<br /> + And divers places more,<br /> +What victories we saints obtain,<br /> + The like ne’er seen before:<br /> +How often we Prince <i>Rupert</i> kill’d,<br /> + And bravely won the day,<br /> +The wicked Cavaliers did run<br /> + The clean contrary way.</p> +<p class="poetry">The true religion we maintain,<br /> + The kingdom’s peace and plenty;<br /> +The privilege of Parliament<br /> + Not known to one and twenty;<br /> +The ancient fundamental laws,<br /> + And teach men to obey<br /> +Their lawful sovereign, and all these<br /> + The clean contrary way.</p> +<p class="poetry">We subjects’ liberties preserve<br /> + By imprisonment and plunder,<br /> +And do enrich ourselves and state<br /> + By keeping th’ wicked under.<br /> +We must preserve mechanicks now<br /> + To lectorize and pray;<br /> +By them the gospel is advanced<br /> + The clean contrary way.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +37</span>And though the King be much misled<br /> + By that malignant crew,<br /> +He’ll find us honest at the last,<br /> + Give all of us our due.<br /> +For we do wisely plot, and plot<br /> + Rebellion to alloy,<br /> +He sees we stand for peace and truth<br /> + The clean contrary way.</p> +<p class="poetry">The publick faith shall save our souls<br /> + And our good works together;<br /> +And ships shall save our lives, that stay<br /> + Only for wind and weather:<br /> +But when our faith and works fall down<br /> + And all our hopes decay,<br /> +Our acts will bear us up to heaven<br /> + The clean contrary way.</p> +<h3>THE CAMERONIAN CAT.</h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> was a +Cameronian cat<br /> + Was hunting for a prey,<br /> +And in the house she catch’d a mouse<br /> + Upon the Sabbath-day.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +38</span>The Whig, being offended<br /> + At such an act profane,<br /> +Laid by his book, the cat he took,<br /> + And bound her in a chain.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou damn’d, thou cursed creature,<br /> + This deed so dark with thee,<br /> +Think’st thou to bring to hell below<br /> + My holy wife and me?</p> +<p class="poetry">Assure thyself that for the deed<br /> + Thou blood for blood shalt pay,<br /> +For killing of the Lord’s own mouse<br /> + Upon the Sabbath-day.</p> +<p class="poetry">The presbyter laid by the book,<br /> + And earnestly he pray’d<br /> +That the great sin the cat had done<br /> + Might not on him be laid.</p> +<p class="poetry">And straight to execution<br /> + Poor pussy she was drawn,<br /> +And high hang’d up upon a tree—<br /> + The preacher sung a psalm.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when the work was ended,<br /> + They thought the cat near dead,<br /> +She gave a paw, and then a mew,<br /> + And stretched out her head.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thy name, said he, shall certainly<br /> + A beacon still remain,<br /> +A terror unto evil ones<br /> + For evermore, Amen.</p> +<h3><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>THE +ROYAL FEAST.</h3> +<p>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.)</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>On the 19th of August (according to the <span +class="smcap">Moderate Intelligencer</span> 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.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">God</span> save the best of +kings, King Charles!<br /> + The best of queens, Queen Mary!<br /> +The ladies all, Gloster and Yorke,<br /> + Prince Charles, so like old harry! <a +name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5" +class="citation">[5]</a></p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +40</span>God send the King his own again,<br /> + His towre and all his coyners!<br /> +And blesse all kings who are to reigne,<br /> + From traytors and purloyners!<br /> + The King sent us poor traytors here<br /> + (But you may guesse the reason)<br +/> + Two brace of bucks to mend the cheere,<br /> + Is’t not to eat them +treason?</p> +<p class="poetry">Let Selden search Cotton’s records,<br /> + And Rowley in the Towre,<br /> +They cannot match the president,<br /> + It is not in their power.<br /> +Old Collet would have joy’d to ’ve seen<br /> + This president recorded;<br /> +For all the papers he ere saw<br /> + Scarce such an one afforded.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">But that you may these traytors know,<br /> + I’ll be so bold to name them;<br /> +That if they ever traytors prove<br /> + Then this record may shame them:<br /> +But these are well-try’d loyal blades<br /> + (If England ere had any),<br /> +Search both the Houses through and through<br /> + You’ld scarcely finde so many.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">The first and chiefe a marquesse <a +name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6" +class="citation">[6]</a> is,<br /> + Long with the State did wrestle;<br /> +<a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>Had Ogle +<a name="citation7"></a><a href="#footnote7" +class="citation">[7]</a> done as much as he,<br /> + Th’ad spoyl’d Will Waller’s +castle.<br /> +Ogle had wealth and title got,<br /> + So layd down his commissions;<br /> +The noble marquesse would not yield,<br /> + But scorn’d all base conditions.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">The next a worthy bishop <a +name="citation8"></a><a href="#footnote8" +class="citation">[8]</a> is,<br /> + Of schismaticks was hated;<br /> +But I the cause could never know,<br /> + Nor see the reason stated.<br /> +The cryes were loud, God knowes the cause,<br /> + They had a strange committee,<br /> +Which was a-foot well neere a yeare,<br /> + Who would have had small pitty.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">The next to him is a Welsh Judge, <a +name="citation9"></a><a href="#footnote9" +class="citation">[9]</a><br /> + Durst tell them what was treason;<br /> +<a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>Old honest +David durst be good<br /> + When it was out of season;<br /> +He durst discover all the tricks<br /> + The lawyers use, and knavery,<br /> +And show the subtile plots they use<br /> + To enthrall us into slavery.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Frank Wortley <a name="citation10"></a><a +href="#footnote10" class="citation">[10]</a> hath a jovial +soule,<br /> + Yet never was good club-man;<br /> +He’s for the bishops and the church,<br /> + But can endure no tub-man.<br /> +He told Sir Thomas in the Towre,<br /> + Though he by him was undone,<br /> +It pleased him that he lost more men<br /> + In taking him then London.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sir Edward Hayles <a name="citation11"></a><a +href="#footnote11" class="citation">[11]</a> was wond’rous +rich,<br /> + No flower in Kent yields honey<br /> +In more abundance to the bee<br /> + Then they from him suck money;<br /> +Yet hee’s as chearfull as the best—<br /> + Judge Jenkins sees no reason<br /> +That honest men for wealth should be<br /> + Accused of high treason.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +43</span>Old Sir George Strangways <a name="citation12"></a><a +href="#footnote12" class="citation">[12]</a> he came in,<br /> + Though he himself submitted,<br /> +Yet as a traytor he must be<br /> + Excepted and committed:<br /> +Yet they th’ exception now take off,<br /> + But not the sequestrations,<br /> +Hee must forsooth to Goldsmith’s-hall,<br /> + The place of desolation.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Honest Sir Berr’s a reall man,<br /> + As ere was lapt in leather;<br /> +But he (God blesse us) loves the King,<br /> + And therefore was sent hither.<br /> +He durst be sheriff, and durst make<br /> + The Parliament acquainted<br /> +What he intended for to doe,<br /> + And for this was attainted.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sir Benefield, <a name="citation13"></a><a +href="#footnote13" class="citation">[13]</a> Sir Walter Blunt,<br +/> + Are Romishly affected,<br /> +So’s honest Frank of Howard’s race,<br /> + And slaughter is suspected. <a +name="citation14"></a><a href="#footnote14" +class="citation">[14]</a><br /> +<a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>But how +the devill comes this about,<br /> + That Papists are so loyall,<br /> +And those that call themselves God’s saints<br /> + Like devils do destroy all?<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Jack Hewet <a name="citation15"></a><a +href="#footnote15" class="citation">[15]</a> will have wholesome +meat,<br /> + And drink good wine, if any;<br /> +His entertainment’s free and neat,<br /> + His choyce of friends not many;<br /> +Jack is a loyall-hearted man,<br /> + Well parted and a scholar;<br /> +He’ll grumble if things please him not,<br /> + But never grows to choller.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Gallant Sir Thomas, <a name="citation16"></a><a +href="#footnote16" class="citation">[16]</a> bold and stout<br /> + (Brave Lunsford), children eateth;<br /> +But he takes care, where he eats one,<br /> + There he a hundred getteth;<br /> +When Harlow’s wife brings her long bills,<br /> + He wishes she were blinded;<br /> +When shee speaks loud, as loud he swears<br /> + The woman’s earthly-minded.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>Sir Lewis <a name="citation17"></a><a href="#footnote17" +class="citation">[17]</a> hath an able pen,<br /> + Can cudgell a committee;<br /> +He makes them doe him reason, though<br /> + They others do not pitty.<br /> +Brave Cleaveland had a willing minde,<br /> + Frank Wortley was not able,<br /> +But Lewis got foure pound per weeke<br /> + For’s children and his table.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Giles Strangwayes <a name="citation18"></a><a +href="#footnote18" class="citation">[18]</a> has a gallant +soul,<br /> + A brain infatigable;<br /> +What study he ere undertakes<br /> + To master it hee’s able:<br /> +He studies on his theoremes,<br /> + And logarithmes for number;<br /> +He loves to speake of Lewis Dives, <a name="citation19"></a><a +href="#footnote19" class="citation">[19]</a><br /> + And they are ne’er asunder.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sir John Marlow’s <a +name="citation20"></a><a href="#footnote20" +class="citation">[20]</a> a loyall man<br /> + (If England ere bred any),<br /> +<a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>He +bang’d the pedlar back and side,<br /> + Of Scots he killed many.<br /> +Had General King <a name="citation21"></a><a href="#footnote21" +class="citation">[21]</a> done what he should,<br /> + And given the blew-caps battail,<br /> +Wee’d make them all run into Tweed<br /> + By droves, like sommer cattell.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Will Morton’s <a name="citation22"></a><a +href="#footnote22" class="citation">[22]</a> of that +Cardinal’s race,<br /> + Who made that blessed maryage;<br /> +He is most loyall to his King,<br /> + In action, word, and carryage;<br /> +His sword and pen defends the cause,<br /> + If King Charles thinke not on him,<br /> +Will is amongst the rest undone,—<br /> + The Lord have mercy on him!<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Tom Conisby <a name="citation23"></a><a +href="#footnote23" class="citation">[23]</a> is stout and +stern,<br /> + Yet of a sweet condition;<br /> +To them he loves his crime was great,<br /> + He read the King’s commission,<br /> +And required Cranborn to assist;<br /> + He charged, but should have pray’d him;<br /> +<a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>Tom was so +bold he did require<br /> + All for the King should aid him.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">But I Win. Bodnam <a name="citation24"></a><a +href="#footnote24" class="citation">[24]</a> had forgot,<br /> + Had suffer’d so much hardship;<br /> +There’s no man in the Towre had left<br /> + The King so young a wardship;<br /> +He’s firme both to the church and crowne,<br /> + The crown law and the canon;<br /> +The Houses put him to his shifts,<br /> + And his wife’s father Mammon.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sir Henry Vaughan <a name="citation25"></a><a +href="#footnote25" class="citation">[25]</a> looks as grave<br /> + As any beard can make him;<br /> +Those come poore prisoners for to see<br /> + Doe for our patriarke take him.<br /> +Old Harry is a right true-blue,<br /> + As valiant as Pendraggon;<br /> +And would be loyall to his King,<br /> + Had King Charles ne’er a rag on.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">John Lilburne <a name="citation26"></a><a +href="#footnote26" class="citation">[26]</a> is a stirring +blade,<br /> + And understands the matter;<br /> +<a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>He neither +will king, bishops, lords,<br /> + Nor th’ House of Commons flatter:<br /> +John loves no power prerogative,<br /> + But that derived from Sion;<br /> +As for the mitre and the crown,<br /> + Those two he looks awry on.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Tom Violet <a name="citation27"></a><a +href="#footnote27" class="citation">[27]</a> swears his +injuries<br /> + Are scarcely to be numbred;<br /> +He was close prisoner to the State<br /> + These score dayes and nine hundred;<br /> +For Tom does set down all the dayes,<br /> + And hopes he has good debters;<br /> +’Twould be no treason (Jenkin sayes)<br /> + To bring them peaceful letters.<br /> + The King sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Poore Hudson <a name="citation28"></a><a +href="#footnote28" class="citation">[28]</a> of all was the +last,<br /> + For it was his disaster,<br /> +He met a turncoat swore that he<br /> + Was once King Charles his master;<br /> +<a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>So he to +London soon was brought,<br /> + But came in such a season,<br /> +Their martial court was then cry’d down,<br /> + They could not try his treason.<br /> + The king sent +us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Else Hudson had gone to the pot,<br /> + Who is he can abide him?<br /> +For he was master to the King,<br /> + And (which is more) did guide him.<br /> +Had Hudson done (as Judas did),<br /> + Most loyally betray’d him,<br /> +The Houses are so noble, they<br /> + As bravely would have paid him.<br /> + The King sent us, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll then conclude with hearty +healths<br /> + To King Charles and Queen Mary;<br /> +To the black lad in buff (the Prince),<br /> + So like his grandsire Harry;<br /> +To York, to Glo’ster; may we not<br /> + Send Turk and Pope defiance,<br /> +Since we such gallant seconds have<br /> + To strengthen our alliance?<br /> +Wee’l drink them o’re and o’re again,<br /> + Else we’re unthankfull creatures;<br /> +Since Charles, the wise, the valiant King,<br /> + Takes us for loyall traytors.</p> +<p class="poetry">This if you will rhyme dogrell call,<br /> + (That you please you may name it,)<br /> +One of the loyal traytors here<br /> + Did for a ballad frame it:<br /> +<a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>Old Chevy +Chace was in his minde;<br /> + If any suit it better,<br /> +All those concerned in the song<br /> + Will kindly thank the setter.</p> +<h3>UPON HIS MAJESTY’S COMING TO HOLMBY.</h3> +<p>Charles I., after his surrender to the English Commissioners +by the Scotch, was conveyed to Holmby House, Northamptonshire, +16th February, 1647.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Hold</span> out, brave +Charles, and thou shaft win the field;<br /> +Thou canst not lose thyself, unless thou yield<br /> +On such conditions as will force thy hand<br /> +To give away thy sceptre, crown, and land.<br /> +And what is worse, to hazard by thy fall,<br /> + To lose a greater crown, more worth than all.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thy poor distressed Cavaliers rejoyced<br /> +To hear thy royal resolution voiced,<br /> +And are content far more poor to be<br /> +Than yet they are, so it reflects from thee.<br /> +Thou art our sovereign still, in spite of hate;<br /> + Our zeal is to thy <i>person</i>, not thy +<i>state</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">We are not so ambitious to desire<br /> +Our drooping fortunes to be mounted higher,<br /> +And thou so great a monarch, to our grief,<br /> +Must sue unto thy subjects for relief:<br /> +And when they sit and long debate about it,<br /> + Must either stay their time, or go without it.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +51</span>No, sacred prince, thy friends esteem thee more<br /> +In thy distresses than ere they did before;<br /> +And though their wings be clipt, their wishes fly<br /> +To heaven by millions, for a fresh supply.<br /> +That as thy cause was so betray’d by <i>men</i>,<br /> + It may by <i>angels</i> be restored agen.</p> +<h3>I THANK YOU TWICE;</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">OR</span></p> +<blockquote><p>The city courting their own ruin,<br /> +Thank the Parliament twice for their treble undoing.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">A street ballad. From a +broadside, 1647.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> hierarchy is out +of date,<br /> +Our monarchy was sick of late,<br /> +But now ’tis grown an excellent state:<br /> + Oh, God a-mercy, +Parliament!</p> +<p class="poetry">The teachers knew not what to say,<br /> +The ’prentices have leave to play,<br /> +The people have all forgotten to pray;<br /> + Still, God +a-mercy, Parliament!</p> +<p class="poetry">The Roundhead and the Cavalier<br /> +Have fought it out almost seven year,<br /> +And yet, methinks, they are never the near:<br /> + Oh, God, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">The gentry are sequester’d all;<br /> +Our wives you find at Goldsmith Hall,<br /> +For there they meet with the devil and all;<br /> + Still, God, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span>The Parliament are grown to that height<br /> +They care not a pin what his Majesty saith;<br /> +And they pay all their debts with the public faith.<br /> + Oh, God, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Though all we have here is brought to +nought,<br /> +In Ireland we have whole lordships bought,<br /> +There we shall one day be rich, ’tis thought:<br /> + Still, God, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">We must forsake our father and mother,<br /> +And for the State undo our own brother<br /> +And never leave murthering one another:<br /> + Oh, God, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now the King is caught and the devil is +dead;<br /> +Fairfax must be disbanded,<br /> +Or else he may chance be Hotham-ed.<br /> + Still, God, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">They have made King Charles a glorious king,<br +/> +He was told, long ago, of such a thing;<br /> +Now he and his subjects have reason to sing,<br /> + Oh, God, +etc.</p> +<h3>THE CITIES LOYALTIE TO THE KING.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(Aug. 13th, 1647.)</p> +<p>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 <a +name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune of “London is a +fine town and a gallant city.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Why</span> kept your +train-bands such a stirre?<br /> + Why sent you them by clusters?<br /> +Then went into Saint James’s Parke?<br /> + Why took you then their musters?<br /> +Why rode my Lord up Fleet-street<br /> + With coaches at least twenty,<br /> +And fill’d they say with aldermen,<br /> + As good they had been empty?<br /> +London is a brave towne,<br /> + Yet I their cases pitty;<br /> +Their mayor and some few aldermen<br /> + Have cleane undone the city.</p> +<p class="poetry">The ’prentices are gallant blades,<br /> + And to the king are clifty;<br /> +But the lord mayor and aldermen<br /> + Are scarce so wise as thrifty.<br /> +I’le pay for the apprentices,<br /> + They to the King were hearty;<br /> +For they have done all that they can<br /> + To advance their soveraignes party.<br /> + London, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">What’s now become of your brave +Poyntz?<br /> + And of your Generall Massey? <a +name="citation29"></a><a href="#footnote29" +class="citation">[29]</a><br /> +<a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>If you +petition for a peace,<br /> + These gallants they will slash yee.<br /> +Where now are your reformadoes?<br /> + To Scotland gone together:<br /> +’Twere better they were fairly trusst<br /> + Then they should bring them thither.<br /> + London, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">But if your aldermen were false,<br /> + Or Glyn, that’s your recorder! <a +name="citation30"></a><a href="#footnote30" +class="citation">[30]</a><br /> +Let them never betray you more,<br /> + But hang them up in order.<br /> +All these men may be coach’t as well<br /> + As any other sinner<br /> +Up Holborne, and ride forwarde still,<br /> + To Tyburne to their dinner.<br /> + London, +&c.</p> +<p class="poetry">God send the valiant General may<br /> + Restore the King to glory! <a +name="citation31"></a><a href="#footnote31" +class="citation">[31]</a><br /> +Then that name I have honour’d so<br /> + Will famous be in story;<br /> +While if he doe not, I much feare<br /> + The ruine of the nation,<br /> +And (that I should be loth to see)<br /> + His house’s desolation.<br /> + London, etc.</p> +<h3><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>THE +LAWYERS’ LAMENTATION FOR THE LOSS OF CHARING-CROSS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From a Collection of Loyal Songs, +1610 to 1660.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Undone</span>! undone! the +lawyers cry,<br /> + They ramble up and down;<br /> +We know not the way to <i>Westminster</i><br /> + Now <i>Charing-Cross</i> is down.<br /> +Now fare thee well, old Charing-Cross,<br /> + Then fare thee well, old stump;<br /> +It was a thing set up by a King,<br /> + And so pull’d down by the <i>Rump</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when they came to the bottom of the +Strand<br /> + They were all at a loss:<br /> +This is not the way to <i>Westminster</i>,<br /> + We must go by <i>Charing-Cross</i>.<br /> + Then fare thee well, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Parliament did vote it down<br /> + As a thing they thought most fitting,<br /> +For fear it should fall, and so kill ’em all<br /> + In the House as they were sitting.<br /> + Then fare thee well, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Some letters about this <i>Cross</i> were +found,<br /> + Or else it might been freed;<br /> +But I dare say, and safely swear,<br /> + It could neither write nor read.<br /> + Then fare thee well, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">The <i>Whigs</i> they do affirm and say<br /> + To <i>Popery</i> it was bent;<br /> +<a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>For what I +know it might be so,<br /> + For to church it never went,<br /> + Then fare thee well, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">This cursed <i>Rump-Rebellious Crew</i>,<br /> + They were so damn’d hard-hearted;<br /> +They pass’d a vote that <i>Charing-Cross</i><br /> + Should be taken down and carted:<br /> + Then fare thee well, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, <i>Whigs</i>, I would advise you all,<br +/> + ’Tis what I’d have you do;<br /> +For fear the King should come again,<br /> + Pray pull down <i>Tyburn</i> too.<br /> + Then fare thee well, etc.</p> +<h3>THE DOWNFAL OF CHARING-CROSS.</h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.—<i>Percy’s Reliques of Ancient +English Poetry</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +57</span><span class="smcap">Undone</span>! undone! the lawyers +are,<br /> + They wander about the towne,<br /> +Nor can find the way to Westminster<br /> + Now Charing-Cross is downe:<br /> +At the end of the Strand they make a stand,<br /> + Swearing they are at a loss,<br /> +And chaffing say, that’s not the way,<br /> + They must go by Charing-Cross.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Parliament to vote it down<br /> + Conceived it very fitting,<br /> +For fear it should fall, and kill them all<br /> + In the House as they were sitting.<br /> +They were told god-wot, it had a plot,<br /> + Which made them so hard-hearted,<br /> +To give command it should not stand,<br /> + But be taken down and carted.</p> +<p class="poetry">Men talk of plots, this might have been +worse,<br /> + For anything I know,<br /> +Than that <i>Tomkins</i> and <i>Chaloner</i><br /> + Were hang’d for long agoe.<br /> +Our Parliament did that prevent,<br /> + And wisely them defended,<br /> +For plots they will discover still<br /> + Before they were intended.</p> +<p class="poetry">But neither man, woman, nor child<br /> + Will say, I’m confident,<br /> +They ever heard it speak one word<br /> + Against the Parliament.<br /> +An informer swore it letters bore,<br /> + Or else it had been freed;<br /> +In troth I’ll take my Bible oath<br /> + It could neither write nor read.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +58</span>The Committee said that verify<br /> + To Popery it was bent:<br /> +For ought I know, it might be so,<br /> + For to church it never went.<br /> +What with excise, and such device,<br /> + The kingdom doth begin<br /> +To think you’ll leave them ne’er a cross<br /> + Without doors nor within.</p> +<p class="poetry">Methinks the Common-council should<br /> + Of it have taken pity,<br /> +’Cause, good old cross, it always stood<br /> + So firmly to the city.<br /> +Since crosses you so much disdain,<br /> + Faith, if I were as you,<br /> +For fear the King should rule again<br /> + I’d pull down Tiburn too.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>We had a very curious account of the pulling down of Cheapside +Cross lately published in one of the Numbers of the +<i>Gentlemen’s Magazine</i>, 1766.—<i>Percy’s +Reliques</i>.</p> +<h3>THE LONG PARLIAMENT.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">By John Cleveland.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Most</span> gracious and +omnipotent,<br /> +And everlasting Parliament,<br /> + Whose power and majesty<br /> +<a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>Are +greater than all kings by odds;<br /> +And to account you less than gods<br /> + Must needs be blasphemy.</p> +<p class="poetry">Mosses and Aaron ne’er did do<br /> +More wonder than is wrought by you<br /> + For England’s Israel;<br /> +But though the Red Sea we have past,<br /> +If you to Canaan bring’s at last,<br /> + Is’t not a miracle—?</p> +<p class="poetry">In six years’ space you have done more<br +/> +Than all the parliaments before;<br /> + You have quite done the work.<br /> +The King, the Cavalier, and Pope,<br /> +You have o’erthrown, and next we hope<br /> + You will confound the Turk.</p> +<p class="poetry">By you we have deliverance<br /> +From the design of Spain and France,<br /> + Ormond, Montrose, the Danes;<br /> +You, aided by our brethren Scots,<br /> +Defeated have malignant plots,<br /> + And brought your sword to Cain’s.</p> +<p class="poetry">What wholesome laws you have ordain’d,<br +/> +Whereby our property’s maintain’d,<br /> + ’Gainst those would us undo;<br /> +So that our fortunes and our lives,<br /> +Nay, what is dearer, our own wives,<br /> + Are wholly kept by you.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! what a flourishing Church and State<br /> +Have we enjoy’d e’er since you sate,<br /> + With a glorious King (God save him!):<br /> +<a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>Have you +not made his Majesty,<br /> +Had he the grace but to comply,<br /> + And do as you would have him!</p> +<p class="poetry">Your <i>Directory</i> how to pray<br /> +By the spirit shows the perfect way;<br /> + In real you have abolisht<br /> +The Dagon of the <i>Common Prayer</i>,<br /> +And next we see you will take care<br /> + That churches be demolisht.</p> +<p class="poetry">A multitude in every trade<br /> +Of painful preachers you have made,<br /> + Learned by revelation;<br /> +Cambridge and Oxford made poor preachers,<br /> +Each shop affordeth better teachers,—<br /> + O blessed reformation!</p> +<p class="poetry">Your godly wisdom hath found out<br /> +The true religion, without doubt;<br /> + For sure among so many<br /> +We have five hundred at the least;<br /> +Is not the gospel much increast?<br /> + All must be pure, if any.</p> +<p class="poetry">Could you have done more piously<br /> +Than sell church lands the King to buy,<br /> + And stop the city’s plaints?<br /> +Paying the Scots church-militant,<br /> +That the new gospel helpt to plant;<br /> + God knows they are poor saints!</p> +<p class="poetry">Because th’ Apostles’ Creed is +lame,<br /> +Th’ Assembly doth a better frame,<br /> + Which saves us all with ease;<br /> +<a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span>Provided +still we have the grace<br /> +To believe th’ House in the first place,<br /> + Our works be what they please.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis strange your power and holiness<br +/> +Can’t the Irish devils dispossess,<br /> + His end is very stout:<br /> +But tho’ you do so often pray,<br /> +And ev’ry month keep fasting-day,<br /> + You cannot cast them out.</p> +<h3>THE PURITAN.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">By John Cleveland.<br /> +To the tune of “An old Courtier of the +Queen’s.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">With</span> face and +fashion to be known,<br /> +For one of sure election;<br /> +With eyes all white, and many a groan,<br /> +With neck aside to draw in tone,<br /> +With harp in’s nose, or he is none:<br /> + See a new teacher of the town,<br /> + Oh the town, oh the town’s new teacher!</p> +<p class="poetry">With pate cut shorter than the brow,<br /> +With little ruff starch’d, you know how,<br /> +With cloak like Paul, no cape I trow,<br /> +With surplice none; but lately now<br /> +With hands to thump, no knees to bow:<br /> + See a new teacher, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +62</span>With coz’ning cough, and hollow cheek,<br /> +To get new gatherings every week,<br /> +With paltry change of <i>and</i> to <i>eke</i>,<br /> +With some small Hebrew, and no Greek,<br /> +To find out words, when stuff’s to seek:<br /> + See a new teacher, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">With shop-board breeding and intrusion,<br /> +With some outlandish institution,<br /> +With Ursine’s catechism to muse on,<br /> +With system’s method for confusion,<br /> +With grounds strong laid of mere illusion:<br /> + See a new teacher, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">With rites indifferent all damned,<br /> +And made unlawful, if commanded;<br /> +Good works of Popery down banded,<br /> +And moral laws from him estranged,<br /> +Except the sabbath still unchanged:<br /> + See a new teacher, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">With speech unthought, quick revelation,<br /> +With boldness in predestination,<br /> +With threats of absolute damnation<br /> +Yet <i>yea</i> and <i>nay</i> hath some salvation<br /> +For his own tribe, not every nation:<br /> + See a new teacher, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">With after license cast a crown,<br /> +When Bishop new had put him down;<br /> +With tricks call’d repetition,<br /> +And doctrine newly brought to town<br /> +Of teaching men to hang and drown:<br /> + See a new teacher, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>With flesh-provision to keep Lent,<br /> +With shelves of sweetmeats often spent,<br /> +Which new maid bought, old lady sent,<br /> +Though, to be saved, a poor present,<br /> +Yet legacies assure to event:<br /> + See a new teacher, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">With troops expecting him at th’ door,<br +/> +That would hear sermons, and no more;<br /> +With noting tools, and sighs great store,<br /> +With Bibles great to turn them o’er,<br /> +While he wrests places by the score:<br /> + See a new teacher, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">With running text, the named forsaken,<br /> +With <i>for</i> and <i>but</i>, both by sense shaken,<br /> +Cheap doctrines forced, wild uses taken,<br /> +Both sometimes one by mark mistaken;<br /> +With anything to any shapen:<br /> + See a new teacher, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">With new-wrought caps, against the canon,<br /> +For taking cold, tho’ sure he have none;<br /> +A sermon’s end, where he began one,<br /> +A new hour long, when’s glass had run one,<br /> +New use, new points, new notes to stand on:<br /> + See a new teacher, etc.</p> +<h3><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 64</span>THE +ROUNDHEAD.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From Samuel Butler’s +Posthumous Works.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> +creature’s that, with his short hairs,<br /> +His little band, and huge long ears,<br /> + That this new faith hath founded?<br /> +The saints themselves were never such,<br /> +The prelates ne’er ruled half so much;<br /> + Oh! such a rogue’s a Roundhead.</p> +<p class="poetry">What’s he that doth the bishops hate,<br +/> +And counts their calling reprobate,<br /> + ’Cause by the Pope propounded;<br /> +And thinks a zealous cobbler better<br /> +Than learned Usher in ev’ry letter?<br /> + Oh! such a rogue’s a Roundhead.</p> +<p class="poetry">What’s he that doth <i>high treason</i> +say,<br /> +As often as his <i>yea</i> and <i>nay</i>,<br /> + And wish the King confounded;<br /> +And dares maintain that Mr Pim<br /> +Is fitter for a crown than him?<br /> + Oh! such a rogue’s a Roundhead.</p> +<p class="poetry">What’s he that if he chance to hear<br /> +A little piece of <i>Common Prayer</i>,<br /> + Doth think his conscience wounded;<br /> +Will go five miles to preach and pray,<br /> +And meet a sister by the way?<br /> + Oh! such a rogue’s a Roundhead.</p> +<p class="poetry">What’s he that met a holy sister<br /> +And in a haycock gently kiss’d her?<br /> + Oh! then his zeal abounded:<br /> +<a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +65</span>’Twas underneath a shady willow,<br /> +Her Bible served her for a pillow,<br /> + And there he got a Roundhead.</p> +<h3>PRATTLE YOUR PLEASURE UNDER THE ROSE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From the King’s Pamphlets, +British Museum.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> is an old +proverb which all the world knows,<br /> +Anything may be spoke, if ’t be under the rose:<br /> +Then now let us speak, whilst we are in the hint,<br /> +Of the state of the land, and th’ enormities +in’t.</p> +<p class="poetry">Under the rose be it spoke, there is a number +of knaves,<br /> +More than ever were known in a State before;<br /> +But I hope that their mischiefs have digg’d their own +graves,<br /> +And we’ll never trust knaves for their sakes any more.</p> +<p class="poetry">Under the rose be it spoken, the city’s +an ass<br /> +So long to the public to let their gold run,<br /> +To keep the King out; but ’tis now come to pass,<br /> +I am sure they will lose, whosoever has won.</p> +<p class="poetry">Under the rose be it spoken, there’s a +company of men,<br /> +Trainbands they are called—a plague confound +’em:—<br /> +<a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 66</span>And when +they are waiting at Westminster Hall,<br /> +May their wives be beguiled and begat with child all!</p> +<p class="poetry">Under the rose be it spoken, there’s a +damn’d committee<br /> +Sits in hell (Goldsmiths’ Hall), in the midst of the +city,<br /> +Only to sequester the poor Cavaliers—<br /> +The devil take their souls, and the hangman their ears.</p> +<p class="poetry">Under the rose be it spoken, if you do not +repent<br /> +Of that horrible sin, your pure Parliament,<br /> +Pray stay till Sir Thomas doth bring in the King,<br /> +Then Derrick <a name="citation32"></a><a href="#footnote32" +class="citation">[32]</a> may chance have ’em all in a +string.</p> +<p class="poetry">Under the rose be it spoken, let the synod now +leave<br /> +To wrest the whole Scripture, how souls to deceive;<br /> +For all they have spoken or taught will ne’er save +’em,<br /> +Unless they will leave that fault, hell’s sure to have +’em!</p> +<h3><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 67</span>THE +DOMINION OF THE SWORD.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">A song made in the Rebellion.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">From the Loyal Garland, 1686.<br /> +To the tune of “Love lies a bleeding.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Lay</span> by your pleading,<br /> + Law lies a bleeding;<br /> +Burn all your studies down, and<br /> + Throw away your reading.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Small pow’r the word +has,<br /> + And can afford us<br /> +Not half so much privilege as<br /> + The sword does.</p> +<p class="poetry"> It fosters your masters,<br +/> + It plaisters disasters,<br /> +It makes the servants quickly greater<br /> + Than their masters.</p> +<p class="poetry"> It venters, it enters,<br /> + It seeks and it centers,<br /> +It makes a’prentice free in spite<br /> + Of his indentures.</p> +<p class="poetry"> It talks of small things,<br +/> + But it sets up all things;<br /> +This masters money, though money<br /> + Masters all things.</p> +<p class="poetry"> It is not season<br /> + To talk of reason,<br /> +Nor call it loyalty, when the sword<br /> + Will have it treason.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page68"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 68</span>It conquers the crown, too,<br /> + The grave and the gown, too,<br /> +First it sets up a presbyter, and<br /> + Then it pulls him down too.</p> +<p class="poetry"> This subtle disaster<br /> + Turns bonnet to beaver;<br /> +Down goes a bishop, sirs, and up<br /> + Starts a weaver.</p> +<p class="poetry"> This makes a layman<br /> + To preach and to pray, man;<br /> +And makes a lord of him that<br /> + Was but a drayman.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Far from the gulpit<br /> + Of Saxby’s pulpit,<br /> +This brought an Hebrew ironmonger<br /> + To the pulpit.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Such pitiful things be<br /> + More happy than kings be;<br /> +They get the upper hand of Thimblebee<br /> + And Slingsbee.</p> +<p class="poetry"> No gospel can guide it,<br /> + No law can decide it,<br /> +In Church or State, till the sword<br /> + Has sanctified it.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Down goes your law-tricks,<br +/> + Far from the matricks,<br /> +Sprung up holy Hewson’s power,<br /> + And pull’d down St Patrick’s.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page69"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 69</span>This sword it prevails, too,<br /> + So highly in Wales, too,<br /> +Shenkin ap Powel swears<br /> + “Cots-splutterer nails, too.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> In Scotland this faster<br /> + Did make such disaster,<br /> +That they sent their money back<br /> + For which they sold their master.</p> +<p class="poetry"> It batter’d their +Gunkirk,<br /> + And so it did their Spainkirk,<br /> +That he is fled, and swears the devil<br /> + Is in Dunkirk.</p> +<p class="poetry"> He that can tower,<br /> + Or he that is lower,<br /> +Would be judged a fool to put<br /> + Away his power.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Take books and rent +’em,<br /> + Who can invent ’em,<br /> +When that the sword replies,<br /> + <i>Negatur argumentum</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Your brave college-butlers<br +/> + Must stoop to the sutlers;<br /> +There’s ne’er a library<br /> + Like to the cutlers’.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The blood that was spilt, +sir,<br /> + Hath gain’d all the gilt, sir;<br /> +Thus have you seen me run my<br /> + Sword up to the hilt, sir.</p> +<h3><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>THE +STATE’S NEW COIN.</h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Saw</span> you the +State’s money new come from the Mint?<br /> + Some people do say it is wonderous fine;<br /> +And that you may read a great mystery in’t,<br /> + Of mighty King Nol, the lord of the coin.</p> +<p class="poetry">They have quite omitted his politic head,<br /> + His worshipful face, and his excellent nose;<br /> +But the better to show the life he had led,<br /> + They have fix’d upon it the print of his +hose.</p> +<p class="poetry">For, if they had set up his picture there,<br +/> + They needs must ha’ crown’d him in +Charles’s stead;<br /> +But ’twas cunningly done, that they did forbear,<br /> + And rather would set up aught else than his +head.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis monstrous strange, and yet it is +true,<br /> + In this reformation we should have such luck;<br /> +That crosses were always disdain’d by you,<br /> + Who before pull’d them down, should now set +them up.</p> +<p class="poetry">On this side they have circumscribed “God +with us,”<br /> + And in this stamp and coin they confide;<br /> +<a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +71</span><i>Common-Wealth</i> on the other, by which we may +guess<br /> + That God and the States were not both of a side.</p> +<p class="poetry">On this side they have cross and harp,<br /> + And only a cross on the other set forth;<br /> +By which we may learn, it falls to our part<br /> + Two crosses to have for one fit of mirth!</p> +<h3>THE ANARCHIE, OR THE BLEST REFORMATION SINCE 1640.</h3> +<p>Being a new song, wherein the people expresse their thankes +and pray for the reformers.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>[From the King’s Pamphlets, British Museum. It is +printed but incorrectly in the “Rump Songs,” ed. +1665, under the title of “The Rebellion.”]</p> +<p style="text-align: center">To a rare new Tune.<br /> +(Oct. 24, 1648.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span> that, thankes to +the powers below!<br /> + We have e’ne done out our doe,<br /> +The mitre is downe, and so is the crowne,<br /> + And with them the coronet too;<br /> +Come clownes, and come boyes, come hober-de-hoyes,<br /> + Come females of each degree;<br /> +<a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 72</span>Stretch +your throats, bring in your votes,<br /> + And make good the anarchy.<br /> +And “thus it shall goe,” sayes Alice;<br /> + “Nay, thus it shall goe,” sayes Amy;<br +/> +“Nay, thus it shall goe,” sayes Taffie, “I +trow;”<br /> + “Nay, thus it shall goe,” sayes +Jamy.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah! but the truth, good people all,<br /> + The truth is such a thing;<br /> +For it wou’d undoe both Church and State too,<br /> + And cut the throat of our King.<br /> +Yet not the spirit, nor the new light,<br /> + Can make this point so cleare,<br /> +But thou must bring out, thou deified rout,<br /> + What thing this truth is, and where.<br /> +Speak Abraham, speak Kester, speak Judith, speak Hester,<br /> + Speak tag and rag, short coat and long;<br /> +Truth’s the spell made us rebell,<br /> + And murther and plunder, ding-dong.<br /> +“Sure I have the truth,” sayes Numph;<br /> + “Nay, I ha’ the truth,” sayes +Clemme;<br /> +“Nay, I ha’ the truth,” sayes Reverend Ruth;<br +/> + “Nay, I ha’ the truth,” sayes +Nem.</p> +<p class="poetry">Well, let the truth be where it will,<br /> + We’re sure all else is ours;<br /> +Yet these divisions in our religions<br /> + May chance abate our powers.<br /> +Then let’s agree on some one way,<br /> + It skills not much how true;<br /> +Take Pryn and his clubs; or Say and his tubs, <a +name="citation33"></a><a href="#footnote33" +class="citation">[33]</a><br /> + Or any sect old or new;<br /> +<a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 73</span>The +devil’s i’ th’ pack, if choyce you can lack,<br +/> + We’re fourscore religions strong;<br /> +Take your choyce, the major voyce<br /> + Shall carry it, right or wrong.<br /> +“Then wee’le be of this,” sayes Megg;<br /> + “Nay, wee’le be of that,” sayes +Tibb;<br /> +“Nay, wee’le be of all,” sayes pitifull +Paul;<br /> + “Nay, wee’le be of none,” sayes +Gibb.</p> +<p class="poetry">Neighbours and friends, pray one word more,<br +/> + There’s something yet behinde;<br /> +And wise though you be, you doe not well see<br /> + In which doore sits the winde.<br /> +As for religion to speake right,<br /> + And in the Houses sence,<br /> +The matter’s all one to have any or none,<br /> + If ’twere not for the pretence.<br /> +But herein doth lurke the key of the worke,<br /> + Even to dispose of the crowne,<br /> +Dexteriously, and as may be,<br /> + For your behoofe and your owne.<br /> +“Then let’s ha’ King Charles,” sayes +George;<br /> + “Nay, let’s have his son,” sayes +Hugh;<br /> +“Nay, let’s have none,” sayes Jabbering +Jone;<br /> + “Nay, let’s be all kings,” sayes +Prue.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh we shall have (if we go on<br /> + In plunder, excise, and blood)<br /> +But few folke and poore to domineere ore,<br /> + And that will not be so good;<br /> +Then let’s resolve on some new way,<br /> + Some new and happy course,<br /> +<a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span>The +country’s growne sad, the city horne-mad,<br /> + And both the Houses are worse.<br /> +The synod hath writ, the generall hath spit,<br /> + And both to like purposes too;<br /> +Religion, lawes, the truth, the cause,<br /> + Are talk’t of, but nothing we doe.<br /> +“Come, come, shal’s ha’ peace?” sayes +Nell;<br /> + “No, no, but we won’t,” sayes +Madge;<br /> +“But I say we will,” sayes firy-faced Phill;<br /> + “We will and we won’t,” sayes +Hodge.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus from the rout who can expect<br /> + Ought but division?<br /> +Since unity doth with monarchy<br /> + Begin and end in one.<br /> +If then when all is thought their owne,<br /> + And lyes at their behest,<br /> +These popular pates reap nought but debates,<br /> + From that many round-headed beast;<br /> +Come, Royalists, then, doe you play the men,<br /> + And Cavaliers give the word;<br /> +Now let us see at what you would be,<br /> + And whether you can accord.<br /> +“A health to King Charles!” sayes Tom;<br /> + “Up with it,” sayes Ralph, like a +man;<br /> +“God blesse him,” sayes Doll; “and raise +him,” sayes Moll;<br /> + “And send him his owne!” sayes Nan.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now for these prudent things that sit<br /> + Without end and to none,<br /> +And their committees, that townes and cities<br /> + Fill with confusion;<br /> +<a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>For the +bold troopes of sectaries,<br /> + The Scots and their partakers,<br /> +Our new British states, Col. Burges and his mates,<br /> + The covenant and its makers;<br /> +For all these wee’le pray, and in such a way,<br /> + As if it might granted be,<br /> +Jack and Gill, Mat and Will,<br /> + And all the world would agree.<br /> +“A plague take them all!” sayes Besse;<br /> + “And a pestilence too!” sayes +Margery,<br /> +“The devill!” sayes Dick; “And his dam, <a +name="citation34"></a><a href="#footnote34" +class="citation">[34]</a> too!” sayes Nick;<br /> + “Amen! and Amen!” say I.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<h3><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 76</span>A +COFFIN FOR KING CHARLES,<br /> +A CROWN FOR CROMWELL,<br /> +AND A PIT FOR THE PEOPLE.</h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">CROMWELL ON +THE THRONE.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">So</span>, so, the deed is +done,<br /> + The royal head is sever’d,<br /> +As I meant when I first begun,<br /> + And strongly have endeavour’d.<br /> +Now Charles the First is tumbled down,<br /> + The Second I do not fear;<br /> +I grasp the sceptre, wear the crown,<br /> + Nor for Jehovah care.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">KING CHARLES +IN HIS COFFIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Think’st thou, base slave, though in my +grave<br /> + Like other men I lie,<br /> +My sparkling fame and royal name<br /> + Can (as thou wishest) die?<br /> +Know, caitif, in my son I live<br /> + (The Black Prince call’d by some),<br /> +And he shall ample vengeance give<br /> + To those that did my doom.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page77"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 77</span><span class="GutSmall">THE PEOPLE IN +THE PIT.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Supprest, deprest, involved in woes,<br /> + Great Charles, thy people be<br /> +Basely deceived with specious shows<br /> + By those that murther’d thee.<br /> +We are enslaved to tyrants’ hests,<br /> + Who have our freedom won:<br /> +Our fainting hope now only rests<br /> + On thy succeeding son.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">CROMWELL ON +THE THRONE.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Base vulgar! know, the more you stir,<br /> + The more your woes increase,<br /> +Your rashness will your hopes deter,<br /> + ’Tis we must give you peace.<br /> +Black Charles a traitor is proclaim’d<br /> + Unto our dignity;<br /> +He dies (if e’er by us he’s gain’d)<br /> + Without all remedy.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">KING CHARLES +IN HIS COFFIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Thrice perjured villain! didst not thou<br /> + And thy degenerate train,<br /> +By mankind’s Saviour’s body vow<br /> + To me thy sovereign,<br /> +To make me the most glorious king<br /> + That e’er o’er England reign’d;<br +/> +That me and mine in everything<br /> + By you should be maintain’d?</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page78"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 78</span><span class="GutSmall">THE PEOPLE IN +THE PIT.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Sweet prince! O let us pardon crave<br /> + Of thy beloved shade;<br /> +’Tis we that brought thee to the grave,<br /> + Thou wert by us betray’d.<br /> +We did believe ’twas reformation<br /> + These monsters did desire;<br /> +Not knowing that thy degradation<br /> + And death should be our hire.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">CROMWELL ON +THE THRONE.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Ye sick-brain’d fools! whose wit does +lie<br /> + In your small guts; could you<br /> +Imagine our conspiracy<br /> + Did claim no other due,<br /> +But for to spend our dearest bloods<br /> + To make rascallions flee?<br /> +No, we sought for your lives and goods,<br /> + And for a monarchy.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">KING CHARLES +IN HIS COFFIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">But there’s a Thunderer above,<br /> + Who, though he winks awhile,<br /> +Is not with your black deeds in love,<br /> + He hates your damned guile.<br /> +And though a time you perch upon<br /> + The top of Fortune’s wheel,<br /> +You shortly unto Acharon<br /> + (Drunk with your crimes) shall reel.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page79"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 79</span><span class="GutSmall">THE PEOPLE IN +THE PIT.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Meanwhile (thou glory of the earth)<br /> + We languishing do die:<br /> +<i>Excise</i> doth give free-quarters birth,<br /> + While soldiers multiply.<br /> +Our lives we forfeit every day,<br /> + Our money cuts our throats;<br /> +The laws are taken clean away,<br /> + Or shrunk to traitor’s votes.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">CROMWELL ON +THE THRONE.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Like patient mules resolve to bear<br /> + Whate’er we shall impose;<br /> +Your lives and goods you need not fear,<br /> + We’ll prove your friends, not foes.<br /> +We (the <i>elected</i> ones) must guide<br /> + A thousand years this land;<br /> +You must be props unto our pride,<br /> + And slaves to our command.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">KING CHARLES +IN HIS COFFIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">But you may fail of your fair hopes,<br /> + If fates propitious be;<br /> +And yield your loathed lives in ropes<br /> + To vengeance and to me.<br /> +When as the Swedes and Irish join,<br /> + The Cumbrian and the Scot<br /> +Do with the Danes and French combine,<br /> + Then look unto your lot.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page80"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 80</span><span class="GutSmall">THE PEOPLE IN +THE PIT.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Our wrongs have arm’d us with such +strength,<br /> + So sad is our condition,<br /> +That could we hope that now at length<br /> + We might find intermission,<br /> +And had but half we had before,<br /> + Ere these mechanics sway’d;<br /> +To our revenge, knee-deep in gore,<br /> + We would not fear to wade.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">CROMWELL ON +THE THRONE.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">In vain (fond people) do you grutch<br /> + And tacitly repine.<br /> +For why? my skill and strength are such<br /> + Both poles of heaven are mine.<br /> +Your hands and purses both cohered<br /> + To raise us to this height:<br /> +You must protect those you have rear’d,<br /> + Or sink beneath their weight.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">KING CHARLES +IN HIS COFFIN.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Singing with angels near the throne<br /> + Of the Almighty Three<br /> +I sit, and know perdition<br /> + (Base Cromwell) waits on thee,<br /> +And on thy vile associates:<br /> + Twelve months <a name="citation35"></a><a +href="#footnote35" class="citation">[35]</a> shall full +conclude<br /> +Your power—thus speak the powerful fates,<br /> + Then <i>vades</i> your interlude.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page81"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 81</span><span class="GutSmall">THE PEOPLE IN +THE PIT.</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Yea, powerful fates, haste, haste the time,<br +/> + The most auspicious day,<br /> +On which these monsters of our time<br /> + To hell must post away.<br /> +Meanwhile, so pare their sharpen’d claws,<br /> + And so impair their stings,<br /> +We may no more fight for the Cause<br /> + Or other <i>novel</i> things!</p> +<h3>A SHORT LITANY FOR THE YEAR 1649.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">By Samuel Butler. (From his +Posthumous Works.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">From</span> all the +mischiefs that I mention here,<br /> +Preserve us, Heaven, in this approaching year:<br /> +From civil wars and those uncivil things<br /> +That hate the race of all our queens and kings;<br /> +From those who for self-ends would all betray,<br /> +From saints that curse and flatter when they pray;<br /> +From those that hold it merit to rebel,<br /> +In treason, murthers, and in theft excel;<br /> +From those new teachers have destroy’d the old,<br /> +And those that turn the gospel into gold;<br /> +From a High-Court, and that rebellious crew<br /> +That did their hands in royal blood imbrue,—<br /> +Defend us, Heaven, and to the throne restore<br /> +The rightful heir, and we will ask no more.</p> +<h3><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>THE +SALE OF REBELLION’S HOUSE-HOLD STUFF.</h3> +<p>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</p> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune of “Old Sir Simon +the King.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Rebellion</span> hath +broken up house,<br /> + And hath left me old lumber to sell;<br /> +Come hither and take your choice,<br /> + I’ll promise to use you well.<br /> +Will you buy the old Speaker’s chair?<br /> + Which was warm and easy to sit in,<br /> +And oft has been clean’d, I declare,<br /> + Whereas it was fouler than fitting.<br /> + Says old Simon the King,<br /> + Says old Simon the King,<br /> +With his ale-dropt hose, and his Malmsey nose,<br /> + Sing, hey ding, ding-a-ding, +ding.</p> +<p class="poetry">Will you buy any bacon flitches,<br /> + The fattest that ever were spent?<br /> +They’re the sides of the old committees<br /> + Fed up in the Long Parliament.<br /> +Here’s a pair of bellows and tongs,<br /> + And for a small matter I’ll sell ye +’um,<br /> +They are made of the presbyter’s lungs,<br /> + To blow up the coals of rebellion.<br /> + Says old Simon, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +83</span>I had thought to have given them once<br /> + To some blacksmith for his forge;<br /> +But now I have consider’d on’t,<br /> + They are consecrate to the Church:<br /> +So I’ll give them unto some quire,<br /> + They will make the big organs roar,<br /> +And the little pipes to squeak higher<br /> + Than ever they could before.<br /> + Says old Simon, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Here’s a couple of stools for sale,<br /> + One’s square, and t’other is round;<br +/> +Betwixt them both, the tail<br /> + Of the Rump fell down to the ground.<br /> +Will you buy the State’s council-table,<br /> + Which was made of the good wain-Scot?<br /> +The frame was a tottering Babel,<br /> + To uphold th’ Independent plot.<br /> + Says old Simon, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Here’s the besom of Reformation,<br /> + Which should have made clean the floor;<br /> +But it swept the wealth out of the nation,<br /> + And left us dirt good store.<br /> +Will you buy the state’s spinning-wheel,<br /> + Which spun for the roper’s trade?<br /> +But better it had stood still,<br /> + For now it has spun a fair thread.<br /> + Says old Simon, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Here’s a glyster-pipe well tried,<br /> + Which was made of a butcher’s stump,<br /> +And has been safely applied<br /> + To cure the colds of the Rump.<br /> +<a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +84</span>Here’s a lump of pilgrim’s-salve,<br /> + Which once was a justice of peace,<br /> +Who Noll and the devil did serve,<br /> + But now it is come to this,<br /> + Says old Simon, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Here’s a roll of the State’s +tobacco,<br /> + If any good fellow will take it;<br /> +No Virginia had e’er such a Smack-o,<br /> + And I’ll tell you how they did make it:<br /> +’Tis th’ Engagement and Covenant cook’t<br /> + Up with the abjuration oath,<br /> +And many of them that have took’t<br /> + Complain it was foul in the mouth.<br /> + Says old Simon, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet the ashes may happily serve<br /> + To cure the scab of the nation,<br /> +Whene’er’t has an itch to swerve<br /> + To rebellion by innovation.<br /> +A lanthorn here is to be bought,<br /> + The like was scarce ever gotten,<br /> +For many plots it has found out<br /> + Before they ever were thought on.<br /> + Says old Simon, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Will you buy the Rump’s great saddle,<br +/> + With which it jockey’d the nation?<br /> +And here is the bit and the bridle,<br /> + And curb of dissimulation;<br /> +And here’s the trunk-hose of the Rump,<br /> + And their fair dissembling cloak;<br /> +<a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>And a +Presbyterian jump,<br /> + With an Independent smock.<br /> + Says old Simon, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Will you buy a conscience oft turn’d,<br +/> + Which served the High-Court of justice,<br /> +And stretch’d until England it mourn’d,<br /> + But hell will buy that if the worst is.<br /> +Here’s Joan Cromwell’s kitchen-stuff tub,<br /> + Wherein is the fat of the Rumpers,<br /> +With which old Noll’s horns she did rub,<br /> + When he was got drunk with false bumbers.<br /> + Says old Simon, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Here’s the purse of the public faith;<br +/> + Here’s the model of the Sequestration,<br /> +When the old wives upon their good troth<br /> + Lent thimbles to ruin the nation.<br /> +Here’s Dick Cromwell’s Protectorship,<br /> + And here are Lambert’s commissions,<br /> +And here is Hugh Peters his scrip,<br /> + Cramm’d with tumultuous petitions.<br /> + Says old Simon, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">And here are old Noll’s brewing +vessels,<br /> + And here are his dray and his flings;<br /> +Here are Hewson’s <a name="citation36"></a><a +href="#footnote36" class="citation">[36]</a> awl and his +bristles,<br /> + With diverse other odd things:<br /> +And what is the price doth belong<br /> + To all these matters before ye?<br /> +I’ll sell them all for an old song,<br /> + And so I do end my story.<br /> + Says old Simon, etc.</p> +<h3><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>THE +CAVALIER’S FAREWELL TO HIS MISTRESS, BEING CALLED TO THE +WARRS.</h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fair</span> Fidelia, tempt +no more,<br /> +I may no more thy deity adore<br /> +Nor offer to thy shrine,<br /> +I serve one more divine<br /> +And farr more great than you:<br /> + I must goe,<br /> + Lest the foe<br /> +Gaine the cause and win the day.<br /> +Let’s march bravely on,<br /> +Charge ym in the van,<br /> +Our cause God’s is,<br /> +Though their odds is<br /> + Ten to one.</p> +<p class="poetry">Tempt no more, I may not yeeld<br /> + Altho’ thine eyes<br /> + A kingdome may surprize:<br /> + Leave off thy wanton toiles,<br /> + The high-borne Prince of Wales<br +/> +Is mounted in the field,<br /> + Where the royall gentry flocke.<br +/> + Though alone<br +/> + Nobly borne<br +/> + Of a ne’re decaying +stocke.<br /> + <a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +87</span>Cavaliers, be bold,<br /> + Bravely keep your hold,<br /> + He that loyters<br /> + Is by traytors<br /> + + +Bought and sold.</p> +<p class="poetry">One kisse more, and then farewell;<br /> + Oh no, no +more,<br /> + I prithee give +me o’er,—<br /> + Why cloudest thou thy beames?<br /> + I see by these extreames<br /> +A woman’s heaven or hell.<br /> + Pray the King may have his owne,<br /> + And the Queen<br +/> + May be seen<br +/> + With her babes on England’s throne.<br /> + Rally up your men,<br /> + One shall vanquish ten,<br /> + Victory, we<br /> + Come to try thee<br /> + + +Once agen.</p> +<h3>THE LAST NEWS FROM FRANCE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">[From vol. iii. of the Roxburgh +Ballads, in the British Museum.]</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page88"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 88</span>Tune, “When the King enjoys his +own again.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">All</span> you that do +desire to know<br /> + What is become of the King o’ Scots,<br /> +I unto you will truly show<br /> + After the fight of Northern Rats.<br /> + ’Twas I +did convey<br /> + His Highness +away,<br /> +And from all dangers set him free;—<br /> + In woman +attire,<br /> + As reason did +require,<br /> +And the King himself did wait on me.</p> +<p class="poetry">He of me a service did crave,<br /> + And oftentimes to me stood bare;<br /> +In woman’s apparel he was most brave,<br /> + And on his chin he had no hare;<br /> + Wherever I +came<br /> + My speeches did +frame<br /> +So well my waiting-man to free,<br /> + The like was +never known<br /> + I think by any I +one,<br /> +For the King himself did wait on me.</p> +<p class="poetry">My waiting-man a jewel had,<br /> + Which I for want of money sold;<br /> +Because my fortune was so bad<br /> + We turn’d our jewel into gold.<br /> + A good shift +indeed,<br /> + In time of our +need,<br /> +Then glad was I and glad was he;<br /> + Our cause it did +advance<br /> + Until we came to +France,<br /> +And the King himself did wait on me.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +89</span>We walked through Westminster Hall,<br /> + Where law and justice doth take place<br /> +Our grief was great, our comfort small,<br /> + We lookt grim death all in the face.<br /> + I lookt round +about,<br /> + And made no +other doubt<br /> +But I and my man should taken be;<br /> + The people +little knew,<br /> + As I may tell to +you,<br /> +The King himself did wait on me.</p> +<p class="poetry">From thence we went to the fatal place<br /> + Where his father lost his life;<br /> +And then my man did weep apace,<br /> + And sorrow with him then was rife.<br /> + I bid him +peace,<br /> + Let sorrow +cease,<br /> +For fear that we should taken be.<br /> + The gallants in +Whitehall<br /> + Did little know +at all<br /> +That the King himself did wait on me.</p> +<p class="poetry">The King he was my serving-man,<br /> + And thus the plot we did contrive:<br /> +I went by the name of Mistress Anne<br /> + When we took water at Queenhythe.<br /> + A boat there we +took,<br /> + And London +forsook,<br /> +And now in France arrived are we.<br /> + We got away by +stealth,<br /> + And the King is +in good health,<br /> +And he shall no longer wait on me.</p> +<p class="poetry">The King of Denmark’s dead, they say,<br +/> + Then Charles is like to rule the land;<br /> +<a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>In France +he will no longer stay,<br /> + As I do rightly understand.<br /> + That land is his +due,<br /> + If they be but +true,<br /> +And he with them do well agree:<br /> + I heard a bird +sing<br /> + If he once be +their king,<br /> +My man will then my master be.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now Heaven grant them better success<br /> + With their young king than England had;<br /> +Free from war and from distress,<br /> + Their fortune may not be so bad;<br /> + Since the case +thus stands,<br /> + Let neighbouring +lands<br /> +Lay down their arms and at quiet be;<br /> + But as for my +part,<br /> + I am glad with +all my heart<br /> +That my King must now my master be.</p> +<p class="poetry">And thus I have declared to you<br /> + By what means we escaped away;<br /> +Now we bid our cares adieu,<br /> + Though the King did lose the day.<br /> + To him I was +true,<br /> + And that he well +knew;<br /> +’Tis God that must his comfort be,<br /> + Else all our +policy<br /> + Had been but +foolery,<br /> +For the King no longer waits on me.</p> +<h3><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>SONG +TO THE FIGURE TWO.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From vol. ii. of the Roxburgh +Ballads, in the British Museum.</p> +<p class="poetry">A merry new song wherein you may view<br /> +The drinking healths of a joviall crew,<br /> +To t’ happie return of the figure of <span +class="GutSmall">TWO</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">The figure of <span +class="smcap">Two</span> is a palpable allusion to Charles +II. Tune, “Ragged, and torn, and true.”</p> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">have</span> been a +traveller long,<br /> + And seen the conditions of all;<br /> +I see how each other they wrong,<br /> + And the weakest still goes to the wall.<br /> +And here I’ll begin to relate<br /> + The crosse condition of those<br /> +That hinder our happy fate,<br /> + And now are turned our foes.<br /> +Here’s a health to the figure of <span +class="smcap">Two</span>,<br /> + To the rest of the issue renown’d;<br /> +We’ll bid all our sorrows adieu,<br /> + When the figure of <span class="smcap">Two</span> +shall be crown’d.</p> +<p class="poetry">I crossed the ocean of late,<br /> + And there I did meet with a crosse,<br /> +But having a pretty estate,<br /> + I never lamented my losse:<br /> +I never lamented my harmes,<br /> + And yet I was wondrous sad;<br /> +I found all the land up in arms,<br /> + And I thought all the folke had bin mad.<br /> + Here’s a health, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Kind countrymen, how fell ye out?<br /> + I left you all quiet and still;<br /> +But things are now brought so about,<br /> + You nothing but plunder and kill;<br /> +<a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>Some doe +seem seemingly holy,<br /> + And would be reformers of men,<br /> +But wisdom doth laugh at their folly,<br /> + And sayes they’ll be children agen,<br /> + Here’s a health, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">But woe to the figure of One!<br /> + King Solomon telleth us so;<br /> +But he shall be wronged by none<br /> + That hath two strings to his bow.<br /> +How I love this figure of <span class="smcap">Two</span><br /> + Among all the figures that be,<br /> +I’ll make it appear unto you<br /> + If that you will listen to me.<br /> + Here’s a health, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Observe when the weather is cold<br /> + I wear a cap on my head,<br /> +But wish, if I may be so bold,<br /> + The figure of <span class="smcap">Two</span> in my +bed.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Two</span> in my bed I do crave,<br /> + And that is myself and my mate;<br /> +But pray do not think I would have<br /> + <span class="smcap">Two</span> large great hornes on +my pate.<br /> + Here’s a health, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Since Nature hath given two hands,<br /> + But when they are foul I might scorn them;<br /> +Yet people thus much understands,<br /> + <span class="smcap">Two</span> fine white gloves +will adorn them.<br /> +<span class="smcap">Two</span> feet for to bear up my body,<br /> + No more had the knight of the sun;<br /> +But people would think me a noddy<br /> + If two shoes I would not put on.<br /> + Here’s a health, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +93</span>The figure of <span class="smcap">Two</span> is a +thing<br /> + That we cannot well live without,<br /> +No more than without a good king,<br /> + Though we be never so stout;<br /> +And thus we may well understand,<br /> + If ever our troubles should cease,<br /> +Two needful things in a land<br /> + Is a king and a justice of peace.<br /> + Here’s a health, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">And now for to draw to an end,<br /> + I wish a good happy conclusion,<br /> +The State would so much stand our friend,<br /> + To end this unhappy confusion;<br /> +The which might be done in a trice,<br /> + In giving of Cæsar his due;<br /> +If we were so honest and wise<br /> + As to think of the figure of <span +class="smcap">Two</span>.<br /> + Here’s a health, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">If any desire to know,<br /> + This riddle I now will unfold,<br /> +It is a man wrapped in woe,<br /> + Whose father is wrapped in mould:<br /> +So now to conclude my song,<br /> + I mention him so much the rather<br /> +Because he hath suffer’d some wrong,<br /> + And bears up the name of his father.<br /> + Here’s a health, etc.</p> +<h3><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>THE +REFORMATION.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">Written in the year 1652, by Samuel +Butler. From his Posthumous Works.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Tell</span> me not of Lords +and laws,<br /> + Rules or reformation;<br /> +All that’s done not worth two straws<br /> + To the welfare of the nation;<br /> +If men in power do rant it still,<br /> +And give no reason but their will<br /> + For all their domination;<br /> +Or if they do an act that’s just,<br /> +’Tis not because they would, but must,<br /> +To gratify some party’s lust.</p> +<p class="poetry">All our expense of blood and purse<br /> + Has yet produced no profit;<br /> +Men are still as bad or worse,<br /> + And will whate’er comes of it.<br /> +We’ve shuffled out and shuffled in<br /> +The person, but retain the sin,<br /> + To make our game the surer;<br /> +Yet spight of all our pains and skill,<br /> +The knaves all in the pack are still,<br /> +And ever were, and ever will,<br /> + Though something now demurer.</p> +<p class="poetry">And it can never be so,<br /> + Since knaves are still in fashion;<br /> +Men of souls so base and low,<br /> + Meer bigots of the nation;<br /> +<a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>Whose +designs are power and wealth,<br /> +At which by rapine, power, and stealth,<br /> + Audaciously they vent’re ye;<br /> +They lay their consciences aside,<br /> +And turn with every wind and tide,<br /> +Puff’d on by ignorance and pride,<br /> + And all to look like gentry.</p> +<p class="poetry">Crimes are not punish’d ’cause +they’re crimes,<br /> + But cause they’re low and little:<br /> +Mean men for mean faults in these times<br /> + Make satisfaction to tittle;<br /> +While those in office and in power<br /> +Boldly the underlings devour,<br /> + Our cobweb laws can’t hold ’em;<br /> +They sell for many a thousand crown<br /> +Things which were never yet their own,<br /> +And this is law and custom grown,<br /> + ’Cause those do judge who sold ’em.</p> +<p class="poetry">Brothers still with brothers brawl,<br /> + And for trifles sue ’em;<br /> +For two pronouns that spoil all<br /> + Contentious <i>meum</i> and <i>tuum</i>.<br /> +The wary lawyer buys and builds<br /> +While the client sells his fields<br /> + To sacrifice his fury;<br /> +And when he thinks t’ obtain his right,<br /> +He’s baffled off or beaten quite<br /> +By the judge’s will, or lawyer’s slight,<br /> + Or ignorance of the jury.</p> +<p class="poetry">See the tradesman how he thrives<br /> + With perpetual trouble:<br /> +How he cheats and how he strives,<br /> + His estate t’ enlarge and double;<br /> +<a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 96</span>Extort, +oppress, grind and encroach,<br /> +To be a squire and keep a coach,<br /> + And to be one o’ th’ quorum;<br /> +Who may with’s brother-worships sit,<br /> +And judge without law, fear, or wit,<br /> +Poor petty thieves, that nothing get,<br /> + And yet are brought before ’em.</p> +<p class="poetry">And his way to get all this<br /> + Is mere dissimulation;<br /> +No factious lecture does he miss,<br /> + And ’scape no schism that’s in +fashion:<br /> +But with short hair and shining shoes,<br /> +He with two pens and note-book goes,<br /> + And winks and writes at random;<br /> +Thence with short meal and tedious grace,<br /> +In a loud tone and public place,<br /> +Sings wisdom’s hymns, that trot and pace<br /> + As if Goliah scann’d ’em.</p> +<p class="poetry">But when Death begins his threats,<br /> + And his conscience struggles<br /> +To call to mind his former cheats,<br /> + Then at Heaven he turns and juggles:<br /> +And out of all’s ill-gotten store<br /> +He gives a dribbling to the poor;<br /> + An hospital or school-house;<br /> +And the suborn’d priest for his hire<br /> +Quite frees him from th’ infernal fire,<br /> +And places him in th’ angel’s quire:<br /> + Thus these Jack-puddings fool us!</p> +<p class="poetry">All he gets by’s pains i’ th’ +close,<br /> + Is, that he dy’d worth so much;<br /> +Which he on’s doubtful seed bestows,<br /> + That neither care nor know much:<br /> +<a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>Then +fortune’s favourite, his heir,<br /> +Bred base and ignorant and bare,<br /> + Is blown up like a bubble:<br /> +Who wondering at’s own sudden rise,<br /> +By pride, simplicity, and vice,<br /> +Falls to his sports, drink, drabs, and dice,<br /> + And make all fly like stubble.</p> +<p class="poetry">And the Church, the other twin,<br /> + Whose mad zeal enraged us,<br /> +Is not purified a pin<br /> + By all those broils in which th’ engaged +us:<br /> +We our wives turn’d out of doors,<br /> +And took in concubines and whores,<br /> + To make an alteration;<br /> +Our pulpitors are proud and bold,<br /> +They their own wills and factions hold,<br /> +And sell salvation still for gold,<br /> + And here’s our <i>reformation</i>!</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis a madness then to make<br /> + Thriving our employment,<br /> +And lucre love for lucre’s sake,<br /> + Since we’ve possession, not enjoyment:<br /> +Let the times run on their course,<br /> +For oppression makes them worse,<br /> + We ne’er shall better find ’em;<br /> +Let grandees wealth and power engross,<br /> +And honour, too, while we sit close,<br /> +And laugh and take our plenteous dose<br /> + Of sack, and never mind ’em.</p> +<h3><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>UPON +THE GENERAL PARDON PASSED BY THE RUMP.</h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Rejoice</span>, rejoice, ye +Cavaliers,<br /> +For here comes that dispels your fears;<br /> +A general pardon is now past,<br /> +What was long look’d for, comes at last.</p> +<p class="poetry">It pardons all that are undone;<br /> +The Pope ne’er granted such a one:<br /> +So long, so large, so full, so free,<br /> +Oh what a glorious State have we!</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet do not joy too much, my friends,<br /> +First see how well this pardon ends;<br /> +For though it hath a glorious face,<br /> +I fear there’s in’t but little grace.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis said the mountains once brought +forth,—<br /> +And what brought they? a mouse, in troth;<br /> +Our States have done the like, I doubt,<br /> +In this their pardon now set out.</p> +<p class="poetry">We’ll look it o’er, then, if you +please,<br /> +And see wherein it brings us ease:<br /> +And first, it pardons words, I find,<br /> +Against our State—words are but wind.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hath any pray’d for th’ King of +late,<br /> +And wish’d confusion to our State?<br /> +And call’d them rebels? He may come in<br /> +And plead this pardon for that sin.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>Has any call’d King Charles that’s dead<br +/> +A martyr—he that lost his head?<br /> +And villains those that did the fact?<br /> +That man is pardon’d by this Act.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hath any said our Parliament<br /> +I such a one as God ne’er sent?<br /> +Or hath he writ, and put in print,<br /> +That he believes the devil’s in’t?</p> +<p class="poetry">Or hath he said there never were<br /> +Such tyrants anywhere as here?<br /> +Though this offence of his be high,<br /> +He’s pardon’d for his blasphemy.</p> +<p class="poetry">You see how large this pardon is,<br /> +It pardons all our <i>Mercuries</i>, <a name="citation37"></a><a +href="#footnote37" class="citation">[37]</a><br /> +And poets too, for you know they<br /> +Are poor, and have not aught to pay.</p> +<p class="poetry">For where there’s money to be got,<br /> +I find this pardon pardons not;<br /> +Malignants that were rich before,<br /> +Shall not be pardon’d till they’re poor.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hath any one been true to th’ Crown,<br +/> +And for that paid his money down,<br /> +By this new Act he shall be free,<br /> +And pardon’d for his loyalty.</p> +<p class="poetry">Who have their lands confiscate quite,<br /> +For not compounding when they might;<br /> +If that they know not how to dig,<br /> +This pardon gives them leave to beg.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +100</span>Before this Act came out in print,<br /> +We thought there had been comfort in’t;<br /> +We drank some healths to the higher powers,<br /> +But now we’ve seen’t they’d need drink +ours.</p> +<p class="poetry">For by this Act it is thought fit<br /> +That no man shall have benefit,<br /> +Unless he first engage to be<br /> +A rebel to eternity.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus, in this pardon it is clear<br /> +That nothing’s here and nothing’s there:<br /> +I think our States do mean to choke us<br /> +With this new Act of <i>hocus pocus</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Well, since this Act’s not worth a +pin,<br /> +We’ll pray our States to call it in,<br /> +For most men think it ought to be<br /> +Burnt by the hand of Gregory.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then, to conclude, here’s little joy<br +/> +For those that pray <i>Vive le Roy</i>!<br /> +But since they’ll not forget our crimes,<br /> +We’ll keep our mirth till better times.</p> +<h3>AN OLD SONG ON OLIVER’S COURT.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">Written in the year 1654, by Samuel +Butler.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">He</span> that would a new +courtier be<br /> +And of the late coyn’d gentry;<br /> +A brother of the prick-eared crew,<br /> +Half a presbyter, half a Jew,<br /> +<a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>When he +is dipp’d in Jordan’s flood,<br /> +And wash’d his hands in royal blood,<br /> + Let him to our court repair,<br /> + Where all trades and religions are.</p> +<p class="poetry">If he can devoutly pray,<br /> +Feast upon a fasting day,<br /> +Be longer blessing a warm bit<br /> +Than the cook was dressing it;<br /> +With covenants and oaths dispense,<br /> +Betray his lord for forty pence,<br /> + Let him, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">If he be one of the eating tribe,<br /> +Both a Pharisee and a Scribe,<br /> +And hath learn’d the snivelling tone<br /> +Of a flux’d devotion;<br /> +Cursing from his sweating tub<br /> +The Cavaliers to Beelzebub,<br /> + Let him, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Who sickler than the city ruff,<br /> +Can change his brewer’s coat to buff,<br /> +His dray-cart to a coach, the beast<br /> +Into Flanders mares at least;<br /> +Nay, hath the art to murder kings,<br /> +Like David, only with his slings,<br /> + Let him, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">If he can invert the word,<br /> +Turning his ploughshare to a sword,<br /> +His cassock to a coat of mail;<br /> +’Gainst bishops and the clergy rail;<br /> +<a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>Convert +Paul’s church into the mews;<br /> +Make a new colonel of old shoes,<br /> + Let him, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Who hath commission to convey<br /> +Both sexes to <i>Jamaica</i>,<br /> +There to beget new babes of grace<br /> +On wenches hotter than the place,<br /> +Who carry in their tails a fire<br /> +Will rather scorch than quench desire,<br /> + Let him, etc.</p> +<h3>THE PARLIAMENT ROUTED,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR</span><br /> +HERE’S A HOUSE TO BE LET.</h3> +<p class="poetry">I hope that England, after many jarres,<br /> +Shall be at peace, and give no way to warres:<br /> +O Lord, protect the generall, that he<br /> +May be the agent of our unitie.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune of “Lucina, or, +Merrily and Cherrily.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Cheare</span> up, kind +countrymen, be not dismay’d,<br /> + True news I can tell ye concerning the nation;<br /> +Hot spirits are quench’d, the tempest is layd,<br /> + (And now we may hope for a good reformation).<br /> +<a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 103</span>The +Parliament bold and the counsell of state<br /> + Doe wish them beyond sea, or else at Virginie;<br /> +For now all their orders are quite out of date,<br /> + Twelve Parliament men shall be sold for peny.</p> +<p class="poetry">Full twelve years and more these rooks they +have sat,<br /> + To gull and to cozen all true-hearted people;<br /> +Our gold and our silver has made them so fat,<br /> + That they lookt more big and mighty than +Paul’s steeple.<br /> +The freedome of subject they much did pretend,<br /> + But since they bore sway we never had any;<br /> +For every member promoted self-end,<br /> + Twelve Parliament men are now sold for one peny.</p> +<p class="poetry">Their acts and their orders which they have +contrived,<br /> + Was still in conclusion to multiply riches:<br /> +The Common-wealth sweetly by these men have thrived,<br /> + As Lancashire did with the juncto of witches. <a +name="citation38"></a><a href="#footnote38" +class="citation">[38]</a><br /> +<a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 104</span>Oh! our +freedome was chain’d to the Egyptian yoak,<br /> + As it hath been felt and endured by many,<br /> +Still making religion their author and cloak,<br /> + Twelve Parliament men shall be sold for a peny.</p> +<p class="poetry">Both citie and countrey are almost undone<br /> + By these caterpillars, which swarm’d in the +nation;<br /> +Their imps and their goblins did up and downe run,<br /> + Excise-men, I meane, all knaves of a fashion:<br /> +For all the great treasure that dayly came in,<br /> + The souldier wants pay, ’tis well knowne by a +many;<br /> +To cheat and to cozen they held it no sinne,<br /> + Twelve Parliament men shall be sold for a peny.</p> +<p class="poetry">The land and the livings which these men have +had,<br /> + ’Twould make one admire what use they’ve +made of it,<br /> +With plate and with jewels they have bin well clad,<br /> + The souldier fared hard whilst they got the +profit.<br /> +<a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 105</span>Our gold +and our silver to Holland they sent,<br /> + But being found out, this is knowne by a many,<br /> +That no one would owne it for feare of a shent,<br /> + Twelve Parliament men are sold for a peny.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis judged by most people that they were +the cause<br /> + Of England and Holland, their warring together, <a +name="citation39"></a><a href="#footnote39" +class="citation">[39]</a><br /> +Both friends and dear lovers to break civill lawes,<br /> + And in cruell manner to kill one another.<br /> +What cared they how many did lose their dear lives,<br /> + So they by the bargain did get people’s +money,<br /> +Sitting secure like bees in their hives?<br /> + But twelve Parliament men are now sold for a +peny.</p> +<h4>THE SECOND PART</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">To the same tune.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">They</span> voted, unvoted, +as fancy did guide,<br /> + To passe away time, but increasing their treasure<br +/> +(When Jack is on cock-horse hee’l galloping ride,<br /> + But falling at last, hee’l repent it at +leisure).<br /> +The widow, the fatherlesse, gentry and poore,<br /> + The tradesman and citizen, with a great many,<br /> +Have suffer’d full dearly to heap up their store;<br /> + But twelve Parliament men shall be sold for a +peny.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +106</span>These burdens and grievances England hath felt,<br /> + So long and so heavy, our hearts are e’en +broken,<br /> +Our plate, gold and silver, to themselves they’ve dealt<br +/> + (All this is too true, in good time be it +spoken).<br /> +For a man to rise high and at last to fall low,<br /> + It is a discredit: this lot fals to many,<br /> +But ’tis no great matter these men to serve so,<br /> + Twelve Parliament men now are sold for a peny.</p> +<p class="poetry">The generall <a name="citation40"></a><a +href="#footnote40" class="citation">[40]</a> perceiving their +lustfull desire<br /> + To covet more treasure, being puft with ambition,<br +/> +By their acts and their orders to set all on fire,<br /> + Pretending religion to rout superstition:<br /> +He bravely commanded the souldiers to goe<br /> + In the Parliament-house, in defiance of any;<br /> +To which they consented, and now you doe know<br /> + That twelve Parliament men may be sold for a +peny.</p> +<p class="poetry">The souldiers undaunted laid hold on the +mace,<br /> + And out of the chaire they removed the speaker:<br +/> +The great ones was then in a pittifull case,<br /> + And Tavee cryd out, All her cold must forsake her. +<a name="citation41"></a><a href="#footnote41" +class="citation">[41]</a><br /> +Thus they were routed, pluckt out by the eares,<br /> + The House was soone empty and rid of a many<br /> +Usurpers, that sate there this thirteen long yeares;<br /> + Twelve Parliament men may be sold for a peny.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +107</span>To the Tower of London away they were sent,<br /> + As they have sent others by them captivated;<br /> +Oh what will become of this old Parliament<br /> + And all their compeers, that were royally stated.<br +/> +What they have deserved I wish they may have,<br /> + And ’tis the desire I know of a many;<br /> +For us to have freedome, oh that will be brave!<br /> + But twelve Parliament men may be sold for a +peny.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let’s pray for the generall and all his +brave traine,<br /> + He may be an instrument for England’s +blessing,<br /> +Appointed in heaven to free us againe,—<br /> + For this is the way of our burdens redressing:<br /> +For England to be in glory once more,<br /> + It would satisfy, I know, a great many;<br /> +But ending I say, as I said before,<br /> + Twelve Parliament men now are sold for a peny.</p> +<h3>A CHRISTMAS SONG WHEN THE RUMP WAS FIRST DISSOLVED.</h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Tune—“I tell thee, +Dick.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">This</span> Christmas time +’tis fit that we<br /> +Should feast, and sing, and merry be.<br /> + It is a time of mirth;<br /> +<a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>For +never since the world began<br /> +More joyful news was brought to man<br /> + Than at our Saviour’s +birth.</p> +<p class="poetry">But such have been these times of late,<br /> +That holidays are out of date,<br /> + And holiness to boot;<br /> +For they that do despise and scorn<br /> +To keep the day that Christ was born,<br /> + Want holiness no doubt.</p> +<p class="poetry">That Parliament that took away<br /> +The observation of that day,<br /> + We know it was not free;<br /> +For if it had, such acts as those<br /> +Had ne’er been seen in verse or prose,<br /> + You may conclude with me.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Twas that Assembly did maintain<br /> +’Twas law to kill their sovereign,<br /> + Who by that law must die;<br /> +Though God’s anointed ones are such,<br /> +Which subjects should not dare to touch,<br /> + Much less to crucify.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Twas that which turn’d our bishops +out<br /> +Of house and home, both branch and root,<br /> + And gave no reason why;<br /> +And all our clergy did expel,<br /> +That would not do like that rebel—<br /> + This no man can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">It was that Parliament that took<br /> +Out of our churches our <i>Service book</i>,<br /> + A book without compare;<br /> +<a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 109</span>And made +God’s house (to all our griefs),<br /> +That house of prayer, a den of thiefs’<br /> + Both here and everywhere.</p> +<p class="poetry">They had no head for many years,<br /> +Nor heart (I mean the House of Peers),<br /> + And yet it did not die;<br /> +Of these long since it was bereft,<br /> +And nothing but the tail was left,<br /> + You know as well as I.</p> +<p class="poetry">And in this tail was a tongue,<br /> +Lenthal <a name="citation42"></a><a href="#footnote42" +class="citation">[42]</a> I mean, whose fame hath rung<br /> + In country and in city;<br /> +Not for his worth or eloquence,<br /> +But for a rebel to his prince,<br /> + And neither wise nor witty.</p> +<p class="poetry">This Speaker’s words must needs be +wind,<br /> +Since they proceeded from behind;<br /> + Besides, you way remember,<br /> +From thence no act could be discreet,<br /> +Nor could the sense o’ the House be sweet<br /> + Where Atkins was a member.</p> +<p class="poetry">This tale’s now done, the Speaker’s +dumb,<br /> +Thanks to the trumpet and the drum;<br /> + And now I hope to see<br /> +A Parliament that will restore<br /> +All things that were undone before,<br /> + That we may Christians be.</p> +<h3><a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span>A +FREE PARLIAMENT LITANY.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From the King’s Pamphlets, +British Museum.—(A. D. 1655.)<br /> +To the tune of “An Old Courtier of the +Queen’s.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">More</span> +ballads!—here’s a spick and span new supplication,<br +/> +By order of a Committee for the Reformation,<br /> +To be read in all churches and chapels of this nation,<br /> +Upon pain of slavery and sequestration.<br /> + From fools and knaves in our Parliament free,<br /> + + +<i>Libera nos</i>, <i>Domine</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">From those that ha’ more religion and +less conscience than their fellows;<br /> +From a representative that’s fearful and zealous;<br /> +From a starting jadish people that is troubled with the +yellows,<br /> +And a priest that blows the coal (a crack in his bellows);<br /> + + +From fools and knaves, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From shepherds that lead their flocks into the +briars,<br /> +And then fleece ’em; from vow-breakers and king-tryers;<br +/> +Of Church and Crown lands, from both sellers and buyers;<br /> +From the children of him that is the father of liars;<br /> + + +From fools and knaves, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From the doctrine and discipline of <i>now and +anon</i>,<br /> +Preserve us and our wives from John T. and Saint John,<br /> +<a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>Like +master like man, every way but one,—<br /> +The master has a large conscience, and the man has none;<br /> + + +From fools and knaves, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From major-generals, army officers, and that +phanatique crew;<br /> +From the parboil’d pimp Scot, and from Good-face the +Jew;<br /> +From old Mildmay, that in Cheapside mistook his queu,<br /> +And from him that won’t pledge—Give the devil his +due;<br /> + + +From fools and knaves, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From long-winded speeches, and not a wise +word;<br /> +From a gospel ministry settled by the sword;<br /> +From the act of a Rump, that stinks when ’tis +stirr’d;<br /> +From a knight of the post, and a cobbling lord;<br /> + + +From fools and knaves, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From all the rich people that ha’ made us +poor;<br /> +From a Speaker that creeps to the House by a back-door;<br /> +From that badger, Robinson (that limps and bites sore);<br /> +And that dog in a doublet, Arthur—that will do so no +more;<br /> + + +From fools and knaves, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From a certain sly knave with a beastly +name;<br /> +From a Parliament that’s wild, and a people that’s +tame;<br /> +<a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 112</span>From +Skippon, Titchbourne, Ireton,—and another of the same;<br +/> +From a dung-hill cock, and a hen of the game;<br /> + + +From fools and knaves, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From all those that sat in the High Court of +Justice;<br /> +From usurpers that style themselves the people’s +trustees;<br /> +From an old Rump, in which neither profit nor gust is,<br /> +And from the recovery of that which now in the dust is;<br /> + + +From fools and knaves, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From a backsliding saint that pretend t’ +acquiesce;<br /> +From crossing of proverbs (let ’um hang that confess);<br +/> +From a sniveling cause, in a pontificall dress,<br /> +And two lawyers, with the devil and his dam in a mess;<br /> + + +From fools and knaves, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From those that trouble the waters to mend the +fishing,<br /> +And fight the Lord’s battles under the devil’s +commission,<br /> +Such as eat up the nation, whilst the government’s +a-dishing;<br /> +And from a people when it should be doing, stands wishing;<br /> + + +From fools and knaves, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +113</span>From an everlasting mock-parliament—and from +<i>none</i>;<br /> +From Strafford’s old friends—Harry, Jack, and +John;<br /> +From our solicitor’s wolf-law deliver our King’s +son;<br /> +And from the resurrection of the Rump that is dead and gone;<br +/> + + +From fools and knaves, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From foreign invasion and commotions at +home;<br /> +From our present distraction, and from work to come;<br /> +From the same hand again Smectymnus, or the bum,<br /> +And from taking Geneva in our way to Rome;<br /> + + +From fools and knaves, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From a hundred thousand pound tax to keep +knaves by the score<br /> +(But it is well given to these that turn’d those out of +door);<br /> +From undoing ourselves in plaistering old sores;<br /> +He that set them a-work, let him pay their scores;<br /> + + +From fools and knaves, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From saints and tender consciences in buff;<br +/> +From Mounson in a foam, and Haslerig in a huff;<br /> +From both men and women that think they never have enough;<br /> +And from a fool’s head that looks through a chain and a +duff;<br /> + + +From fools and knaves, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +114</span>From those that would divide the gen’ral and the +city;<br /> +From Harry Martin’s girl, that was neither sweet nor +pretty;<br /> +From a faction that has neither brain nor pity:<br /> +From the mercy of a phanatique committee;<br /> + + +From fools and knaves, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Preserve us, good Heaven, from entrusting +those<br /> +That ha’ much to get and little to lose;<br /> +That murther’d the father, and the son would depose<br /> +(Sure they can’t be our friends that are their +country’s foes);<br /> + + +From fools and knaves, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From Bradshaw’s presumption, and from +Hoyle’s despairs;<br /> +From rotten members, blind guides, preaching aldermen, and false +may’rs;<br /> +From long knives, long ears, long parliaments, and long +pray’rs;<br /> +In mercy to this nation—Deliver us and our heirs;<br /> + + +From fools and knaves, etc.</p> +<h3>THE MOCK SONG.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">By T. J. With a reply by +Alex. Brome.—(A.D. 1657.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Hold</span>, hold, quaff no +more,<br /> + But restore<br /> +If you can what you’ve lost by your drinking:<br /> + <a name="page115"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 115</span>Three kingdoms and crowns,<br /> + With their cities and towns,<br /> + While the King and his progeny’s sinking.<br +/> +The studs in your cheeks have obscured his star, boys,<br /> +Your drinking miscarriages in the late war, boys,<br /> +Have brought his prerogative now to the war, boys.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Throw, throw down the +glass!<br /> + He’s an ass<br /> + That extracts all his worth from Canary;<br /> + That valour will shrink<br /> + That’s only good in +drink;<br /> + ’Twas the cup made the camp to miscarry.<br /> +You thought in the world there’s no power could tame ye,<br +/> +You tippled and whored till the foe overcame ye;<br /> +God’s nigs and Ne’er stir, sirs, has vanquish’d +God damn me.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Fly, fly from the coast,<br +/> + Or you’re lost,<br /> + And the water will run where the drink went;<br /> + From hence you must slink,<br /> + If you have no chink,<br /> + ’Tis the course of the royal delinquent;<br /> +You love to see beer-bowls turn’d over the thumb well,<br +/> +You like three fair gamesters, four dice, and a drum well,<br /> +But you’d as lief see the devil as Fairfax or Cromwell.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Drink, drink not the +round,<br /> + You’ll be drown’d<br +/> + In the source of your sack and your sonnets;<br /> + <a name="page116"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 116</span>Try once more your fate<br /> + For the King against the State,<br +/> + And go barter your beavers for bonnets.<br /> +You see how they’re charm’d by the King’s +enchanters,<br /> +And therefore pack hence to Virginia for planters,<br /> +For an act and two red-coats will rout all the ranters.</p> +<h3>THE ANSWER.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">By Alex. Brome.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Stay</span>, stay, prate no more,<br /> + Lest thy brain, like thy purse, run the score,<br /> + Though thou +strain’st it;<br /> + Those are traitors in grain<br /> + That of sack do complain,<br /> + And rail by its +own power against it.<br /> +Those kingdoms and crowns which your poetry pities,<br /> +Are fall’n by the pride and hypocrisy of cities,<br /> +And not by those brains that love sack and good ditties;<br /> +The K. and his progeny had kept them from sinking,<br /> +Had they had no worse foes than the lads that love drinking,<br +/> +We that tipple ha’ no leisure for plotting or thinking.</p> +<p class="poetry"> He is an ass<br /> + That doth throw down himself with a glass<br /> + <a +name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>Of +Canary;<br /> + He that’s quiet will think<br /> + Much the better of drink,<br /> + ’Cause the +cups made the camp to miscarry.<br /> +You whore while we tipple, and there, my friend, you lie,<br /> +Your sports did determine in the month of July;<br /> +There’s less fraud in plain damme than your sly by my +truly;<br /> +’Tis sack makes our bloods both purer and warmer,<br /> +We need not your priest or the feminine charmer,<br /> +For a bowl of Canary’s a whole suit of armour.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Hold, hold, not so fast,<br +/> + Tipple on, for there is no such haste<br /> + To be going;<br +/> + We drowning may fear,<br /> + But your end will be there<br /> + Where there is +neither swimming nor rowing.<br /> +We were gamesters alike, and our stakes were both down, boys,<br +/> +But Fortune did favour you, being her own, boys;<br /> +And who would not venture a cast for a crown, boys?<br /> +Since we wear the right colours, he the worst of our foes is<br +/> +That goes to traduce, and fondly supposes<br /> +That Cromwell’s an enemy to sack and red noses.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then, then, quaff it +round,<br /> + No deceit in a brimmer is found;<br /> + Here’s no +swearing:<br /> + Beer and ale makes you prate<br /> + Of the Church and the State,<br /> + Wanting other +discourse worth the hearing.<br /> +<a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span>This +strumpet your muse is, to ballad or flatter,<br /> +Or rail, and your betters with froth to bespatter,<br /> +And your talk’s all dismals and gunpowder matter;<br /> +But we, while old sack does divinely inspire us,<br /> +Are active to do what our rulers require us,<br /> +And attempt such exploits as the world shall admire us.</p> +<h3>AS CLOSE AS A GOOSE.</h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> close as a +goose<br /> +Sat the Parliament-house,<br /> + To hatch the royal gull;<br /> +After much fiddle-faddle<br /> +The egg proved addle,<br /> + And Oliver came forth <i>Noll</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet old Queen Madge, <a +name="citation43"></a><a href="#footnote43" +class="citation">[43]</a><br /> +Though things do not fadge,<br /> + Will serve to be queen of a May-pole;<br /> +Two Princes of Wales, <a name="citation44"></a><a +href="#footnote44" class="citation">[44]</a><br /> +For Whitsun-ales,<br /> + And her grace, Maid Marion Claypole. <a +name="citation45"></a><a href="#footnote45" +class="citation">[45]</a></p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +119</span>In a robe of cow hide<br /> +Sat yeasty Pride, <a name="citation46"></a><a href="#footnote46" +class="citation">[46]</a><br /> + With his dagger and his sling;<br /> +He was the pertinenst peer<br /> +Of all that were there,<br /> + T’ advise with such a king.</p> +<p class="poetry">A great philosopher<br /> +Had a goose for his lover<br /> + That follow’d him day and night:<br /> +If it be a true story,<br /> +Or but an allegory,<br /> + It may be both ways right.</p> +<p class="poetry">Strickland <a name="citation47"></a><a +href="#footnote47" class="citation">[47]</a> and his son,<br /> +Both cast into one,<br /> + Were meant for a single baron;<br /> +But when they came to sit,<br /> +There was not wit<br /> + Enough in them both to serve for one.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wherefore ’twas thought good<br /> +To add Honeywood,<br /> + But when they came to trial<br /> +Each one proved a fool,<br /> +Yet three knaves in the whole,<br /> + And that made up a <i>pair-royal</i>.</p> +<h3><a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 120</span>THE +PRISONERS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">Written when O. C. attempted to be +King. By Alex. Brome.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span>, a brimmer (my +bullies), drink whole ones or nothing,<br /> + Now healths have been voted down;<br /> +’Tis sack that can heat us, we care not for clothing,<br /> + A gallon’s as warm as a gown;<br /> + ’Cause the +Parliament sees<br /> + Nor the former +nor these<br /> +Could engage us to drink their health,<br /> + They may vote +that we shall<br /> + Drink no healths +at all,<br /> +Not to King nor to Commonwealth,<br /> +So that now we must venture to drink ’em by stealth.</p> +<p class="poetry">But we’ve found out a way that’s +beyond all their thinking;<br /> + To keep up good fellowship still,<br /> +We’ll drink their destruction that would destroy +drinking,—<br /> + Let ’um vote <i>that</i> a health if they +will.<br /> + Those men that +did fight,<br /> + And did pray day +and night<br /> +For the Parliament and its attendant,<br /> + Did make all +that bustle<br /> + The King out to +justle,<br /> +And bring in the Independent,<br /> +But now we all clearly see what was the end on’t.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +121</span>Now their idols thrown down with their sooter-kin +also,<br /> + About which they did make such a pother;<br /> +And tho’ their contrivance did make one thing to fall +so,<br /> + We have drank ourselves into another;<br /> + And now (my +lads) we<br /> + May still +Cavaliers be,<br /> +In spite of the Committee’s frown;<br /> + We will drink +and we’ll sing,<br /> + And each health +to our King<br /> +Shall be loyally drunk in the ‘<i>Crown</i>,’<br /> +Which shall be the standard in every town.</p> +<p class="poetry">Their politick would-be’s do but show +themselves asses<br /> + That other men’s calling invade;<br /> +We only converse with pots and with glasses,<br /> + Let the rulers alone with their trade;<br /> + The Lyon of the +Tower<br /> + There estates +does devour,<br /> +Without showing law for’t or reason;<br /> + Into prison we +get<br /> + For the crime +called debt,<br /> +Where our bodies and brains we do season,<br /> +And that is ne’er taken for murder or treason.</p> +<p class="poetry">Where our ditties still be, Give’s more +drink, give’s more drink, boys.<br /> + Let those that are frugal take care;<br /> +Our gaolers and we will live by our chink, boys,<br /> + While our creditors live by the air;<br /> + Here we live at +our ease,<br /> + And get craft +and grease,<br /> +<a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +122</span>’Till we’ve merrily spent all our store;<br +/> + Then, as drink +brought us in,<br /> + ’Twill +redeem us agen;<br /> +We got in because we were poor,<br /> +And swear ourselves out on the very same score.</p> +<h3>THE PROTECTING BREWER.</h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p class="poetry">Some Christian kings began to quake,<br /> +And said With the brewer no quarrel we’ll make,<br /> +We’ll let him alone; as he brews let him bake;<br /> + + +Which nobody can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">He had a strong and a very stout heart,<br /> +And thought to be made an Emperor for’t,<br /> + + +* * * * *<br /> + + +Which nobody can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">Brewer</span> may be a +burgess grave,<br /> +And carry the matter so fine and so brave,<br /> +That he the better may play the knave,<br /> + + +Which nobody can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">A brewer may put on a Nabal face,<br /> +And march to the wars with such a grace<br /> +That he may get a captain’s place;<br /> + + +Which nobody, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">A brewer may speak so wondrous well<br /> +That he may rise (strange things to tell),<br /> +And so be made a colonel;<br /> + + +Which nobody, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +123</span>A brewer may make his foes to flee,<br /> +And rise his fortunes, so that he<br /> +Lieutenant-general may be;<br /> + + +Which nobody, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">A brewer may be all in all,<br /> +And raise his powers, both great and small,<br /> +That he may be a lord general;<br /> + + +Which nobody, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">A brewer may be like a fox in a cub,<br /> +And teach a lecture out of a tub,<br /> +And give the wicked world a rub;<br /> + + +Which nobody, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">A brewer, by’s excise and rate,<br /> +Will promise his army he knows what,<br /> +And set upon the college-gate;<br /> + + +Which nobody, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Methinks I hear one say to me,<br /> +Pray why may not a brewer be<br /> +Lord Chancellor o’ the University?<br /> + + +Which nobody, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">A brewer may be as bold as Hector,<br /> +When as he had drank his cup o’ Nectar,<br /> +And a brewer may be a Lord Protector;<br /> + + +Which nobody, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now here remains the strangest thing,<br /> +How this brewer about his liquor did bring<br /> +To be an emperor or a king;<br /> + + +Which nobody, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +124</span>A brewer may do what he will,<br /> +And rob the Church and State, to sell<br /> +His soul unto the devil in hell;<br /> + + +Which nobody, etc.</p> +<h3>THE ARRAIGNMENT OF THE DEVIL FOR STEALING AWAY PRESIDENT +BRADSHAW.</h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune of “Well-a-day, +well-a-day.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">If</span> you’ll hear +news that’s ill,<br /> + Gentlemen, gentlemen,<br /> +Against the devil, I will<br /> + Be the relator;<br /> +Arraigned he must be,<br /> +For that feloniously,<br /> +’Thout due solemnity,<br /> + He took a traitor.</p> +<p class="poetry">John Bradshaw was his name,<br /> + How it stinks! how it stinks!<br /> +Who’ll make with blacker fame<br /> + Pilate unknown.<br /> +<a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>This +worse than worse of things<br /> +Condemn’d the best of kings,<br /> +And, what more guilt yet brings,<br /> + Knew ’twas his own.</p> +<p class="poetry">Virtue in Charles did seem<br /> + Eagerly, eagerly,<br /> +And villainy in him<br /> + To vye for glory.<br /> +Majesty so compleat<br /> +And impudence so great<br /> +Till that time never met:—<br /> + But to my story.</p> +<p class="poetry">Accusers there will be,<br /> + Bitter ones, bitter ones,<br /> +More than one, two, or three,<br /> + All full of spight;<br /> +Hangman and tree so tall,<br /> +Bridge, tower, and city-wall,<br /> +Kite and crow, which were all<br /> + Robb’d of their right.</p> +<p class="poetry">But judges none are fit,<br /> + Shame it is, shame it is,<br /> +That twice seven years did sit<br /> + To give hemp-string dome;<br /> +The friend they would befriend,<br /> +That he might in the end<br /> +To them like favour lend,<br /> + In his own kingdome.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sword-men, it must be you,<br /> + Boldly to’t, boldly to’t,<br /> +<a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 126</span>Must +give the diver his due;<br /> + Do it not faintly,<br /> +But as you raised by spell<br /> +Last Parliament from hell,<br /> +And it again did quell<br /> + Omnipotently.</p> +<p class="poetry">The charge they wisely frame<br /> + (On with it, on with it)<br /> +In that yet unknown name<br /> + Of supream power;<br /> +While six weeks hence by vote<br /> +Shall be or it shall not,<br /> +When Monk’s to London got <a name="citation48"></a><a +href="#footnote48" class="citation">[48]</a><br /> + In a good hour.</p> +<p class="poetry">But twelve good men and true,<br /> + Caveliers, Caveliers,<br /> +He excepts against you;<br /> + Justice he fears.<br /> +From bar and pulpit hee<br /> +Craves such as do for fee<br /> +Serve all turns, for he’l be<br /> + Try’d by his peers.</p> +<p class="poetry">Satan, y’ are guilty found<br /> + By your peers, by your peers,<br /> +And must die above ground!<br /> + Look for no pity;<br /> +Some of our ministry,<br /> +Whose spir’ts with yours comply,<br /> +<a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>As Owen, +Caryl, Nye, <a name="citation49"></a><a href="#footnote49" +class="citation">[49]</a><br /> + For death shall fit ’ee.</p> +<p class="poetry">Dread judges, mine own limb<br /> + I but took, I but took,<br /> +I was forced without him<br /> + To use a crutch;<br /> +Some of the robe can tell<br /> +How to supply full well<br /> +His place here, but in hell<br /> + I had none such.</p> +<p class="poetry">Divel, you are an asse,<br /> + Plain it is, plain it is,<br /> +And weakly plead the case;<br /> + Your wits are lost.<br /> +Some lawyers will outdo’t,<br /> +When shortly they come to’t;<br /> +Your craft, our gold to boot,<br /> + They have ingross’d.</p> +<p class="poetry">Should all men take their right,<br /> + Well-a-day, well-a-day,<br /> +We were in a sad plight,<br /> + O’ th’ holy party!<br /> +<a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 128</span>Such +practise hath a scent<br /> +Of kingly government,<br /> +Against it we are bent,<br /> + Out of home char’ty.</p> +<p class="poetry">But if I die, who am<br /> + King of hell, King of hell,<br /> +You will not quench its flame,<br /> + But find it worse:<br /> +Confused anarchy<br /> +Will a new torment be;<br /> +Ne’r did these kingdoms three<br /> + Feel such a curse.</p> +<p class="poetry">To our promotion, sir,<br /> + There as here, there as here,<br /> +Through some confused stir<br /> + Doth the high-road lie;<br /> +In hell we need not fear<br /> +Nor King nor Cavalier,<br /> +Who then shall dominere<br /> + But we the godly?</p> +<p class="poetry">Truth, then, sirs, which of old<br /> + Was my shame, was my shame,<br /> +Shall now to yours be told:<br /> + You caused his death;<br /> +The house being broken by<br /> +Yourselves (there’s burglary),<br /> +Wrath enter’d forcibly,<br /> + And stopt his breath.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sir, as our president,<br /> + Taught by you, taught by you,<br /> +’Gainst the King away went<br /> + Most strange and new;<br /> +<a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>Charging +him with the guilt<br /> +Of all the blond we spilt,<br /> +With swords up to the hilt,<br /> + So we’le serve you.</p> +<p class="poetry">For mercy then I call,<br /> + Good my lords, good my lords,<br /> +And traytors I’le leave all<br /> + Duly to end it;<br /> +Sir, sir, ’tis frivolous,<br /> +As well for you as us,<br /> +To beg for mercy thus,—<br /> + Our crimes transcend it.</p> +<p class="poetry">You must die out of hand,<br /> + Satanas, Satanas:<br /> +This our decree shall stand<br /> + Without controll;<br /> +And we for you will pray,<br /> +Because the Scriptures say,<br /> +When some men curse you, they<br /> + Curse their own soul.</p> +<p class="poetry">The fiend to Tiburn’s gone,<br /> + There to die, there to die;<br /> +Black is the north, anon<br /> + Great storms will be;<br /> +Therefore together now<br /> +I leave him and th’ gallow,—<br /> +So, newes-man, take ’em now,<br /> + Soon they’l take thee.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Finis, Fustis, Funis.</p> +<h3><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 130</span>A +NEW BALLAD TO AN OLD TUNE,—TOM OF BEDLAM.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">January 17th, 1659.—From the +King’s Ballads, British Museum.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Make</span> room for an +honest red-coat<br /> + (And that you’ll say’s a wonder),<br /> + The gun and the blade<br /> + Are the tools, and his trade<br /> + Is, for <i>pay</i>, to <i>kill</i> and +<i>plunder</i>.<br /> + Then away with the laws,<br /> + And the “Good old +Cause;”<br /> + Ne’er talk of the Rump or the Charter;<br /> + ’Tis the cash does the +feat,<br /> + All the rest’s but a +cheat,<br /> +Without <i>that</i> there’s no faith nor quarter.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis the mark of our coin “<i>God +with us</i>,”<br /> + And the grace of the Lord goes along +with’t.<br /> + When the <i>Georges</i> are +flown<br /> + Then the Cause goes down,<br /> + For the Lord has departed from it.<br /> + + +Then away, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">For Rome, or for Geneva,<br /> + For the table or the altar,<br /> + This spawn of a vote,<br /> + He cares not a groat—<br /> + For the <i>pence</i> he’s your dog in a +halter,<br /> + + +Then away, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +131</span>Tho’ the name of King or Bishop<br /> + To nostrils pure may be loathsome,<br /> + Yet many there are<br /> + That agree with the +May’r,<br /> + That their lands are wondrous toothsome.<br /> + + +Then away, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">When our masters are poor we leave +’em,<br /> + ’Tis the Golden Calf we bow to;<br /> + We kill and we slay<br /> + Not for conscience, but pay;<br /> + Give us <i>that</i>, we’ll fight for you +too.<br /> + + +Then away, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Twas <i>that</i> first turn’d the +King out;<br /> + The Lords next; then the Commons:<br /> + ’Twas that kept up Noll,<br +/> + Till the Devil fetch’d his +soul,<br /> + And then it set the <i>Rump</i> on’s.<br /> + + +Then away, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Drunken Dick was a lame Protector,<br /> + And Fleetwood a back-slider;<br /> + These we served as the rest,<br /> + But the City’s the beast<br +/> + That will never cast her rider.<br /> + + +Then away, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">When the Mayor holds the stirrup<br /> + And the Shrieves cry, God save your honours;<br /> + Then ’tis but a jump<br /> + And up goes the Rump,<br /> + That will spur to the Devil upon us.<br /> + + +Then away, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +132</span>And now for fling at your thimbles,<br /> + Your bodkins, rings, and whistles;<br /> + In truck for your toys<br /> + We’ll fit you with boys<br +/> + (’Tis the doctrine of Hugh’s +<i>Epistles</i>).<br /> + + +Then away, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">When your plate is gone, and your jewels,<br /> + You must be next entreated<br /> + To part with your bags,<br /> + And to strip you to rags,<br /> + And yet not think you’re cheated.<br /> + + +Then away, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">The truth is, the town deserves it,<br /> + ’Tis a brainless, heartless monster:<br /> + At a club they may bawl,<br /> + Or declare at their hall,<br /> + And yet at a push not one stir.<br /> + + +Then away, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sir Arthur vow’d he’ll treat +’em<br /> + Far worse than the men of Chester;<br /> + He’s bold now they’re +cow’d,<br /> + But he was nothing so loud<br /> + When he lay in the ditch at Lester.<br /> + + +Then away, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Lord has left John Lambert,<br /> + And the spirit, Feak’s anointed;<br /> + But why, O Lord,<br /> + Hast thou sheath’d thy +sword?<br /> + Lo! thy saints are disappointed.<br /> + + +Then away, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +133</span>Though Sir Henry be departed,<br /> + Sir John makes good the place now;<br /> + And to help out the work<br /> + Of the glorious Kirk,<br /> + Our brethren march apace too.<br /> + + +Then away, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Whilst divines and statesmen wrangle,<br /> + Let the Rump-ridden nation bite on’t;<br /> + There are none but we<br /> + That are sure to go free,<br /> + For the soldier’s still in the right +on’t.<br /> + + +Then away, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">If our masters won’t supply us<br /> + With money, food, and clothing,<br /> + Let the State look to’t,<br +/> + We’ll find one that will +do’t,<br /> + Let him live—we will not damn.<br /> + + +Then away, etc.</p> +<h3>SAINT GEORGE AND THE DRAGON,<br /> +ANGLICE MERCURIUS POETICUS.</h3> +<p>“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 <a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +134</span>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune of “The Old +Courtier of the Queen’s,” etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">News</span>! news! +here’s the occurrences and a new Mercurius,<br /> +A dialogue betwixt Haselrigg the baffled and Arthur the +furious;<br /> +With Ireton’s <a name="citation50"></a><a +href="#footnote50" class="citation">[50]</a> readings upon +legitimate and spurious,<br /> +Proving that a saint may be the son of a whore, for the +satisfaction of the curious.<br /> + From a Rump +insatiate as the sea,<br /> + Libera nos, +Domine.</p> +<p class="poetry">Here’s the true reason of the +citie’s infatuation,<br /> +Ireton has made it drunk with the cup of abomination;<br /> +That is, the cup of the whore, after the Geneva +Interpretation,<br /> +Which with the juyce of Titchburn’s grapes <a +name="citation51"></a><a href="#footnote51" +class="citation">[51]</a> must needs cause intoxication.<br /> + From a Rump, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +135</span>Here’s the Whipper whipt by a friend to George, +that whipp’d Jack, <a name="citation52"></a><a +href="#footnote52" class="citation">[52]</a> that whipp’d +the breech,<br /> +That whipp’d the nation as long as it could stand over +it—after which<br /> +It was itself re-jerk’d by the sage author of this +speech:<br /> +“Methinks a Rump should go as well with a Scotch spur as +with a switch.”<br /> + From a Rump, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">This Rump hath many a rotten and unruly +member;<br /> +“Give the generall the oath!” cries one (but his +conscience being a little tender);<br /> +<a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +136</span>“I’ll abjure you with a pestilence!” +quoth George, “and make you remember<br /> +The ’leaventh of February <a name="citation53"></a><a +href="#footnote53" class="citation">[53]</a> longer than the +fifth of November!”<br /> + From a Rump, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">With that, Monk leaves (in Rump assembled) the +three estates,<br /> +But oh! how the citizens hugg’d him for breaking down their +gates,<br /> +For tearing up their posts and chaynes, and for clapping up their +mates <a name="citation54"></a><a href="#footnote54" +class="citation">[54]</a><br /> +(When they saw that he brought them plasters for their broken +pates).<br /> + From a Rump, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">In truth this ruffle put the town in great +disorder,<br /> +Some knaves (in office) smiled, expecting ’twould go +furder;<br /> +But at the last, “My life on’t! George is no +Rumper,” said the Recorder,<br /> +“For there never was either honest man or monk of that +order.”<br /> + From a Rump, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +137</span>And so it proved; for, “Gentlemen,” says +the general, “I’ll make you amends;<br /> +Our greeting was a little untoward, but we’ll part +friends;<br /> +A little time shall show you which way my design tends,<br /> +And that, besides the good of Church and State, I have no other +ends.”<br /> + From a Rump, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">His Excellence had no sooner pass’d this +declaration and promise,<br /> +But in steps Secretary Scot, the Rump’s man Thomas,<br /> +With Luke, their lame evangelist (the Devil keep ’um from +us!) <a name="citation55"></a><a href="#footnote55" +class="citation">[55]</a><br /> +To shew Monk what precious members of Church and State the Bumm +has.<br /> + From a Rump, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">And now comes the supplication of the members +under the rod:<br /> +“Nay, my Lord!” cryes the brewer’s clerk; +“good, my Lord, for the love of God!<br /> +Consider yourself, us, and this poor nation, and that tyrant +abroad;<br /> +Don’t leave us:”—but George gave him a shrugg +instead of a nodd.<br /> + From a Rump, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +138</span>This mortal silence was followed with a most hideous +noyse,<br /> +Of free Parliament bells and Rump-confounding boyes,<br /> +Crying, “Cut the rogues! singe their tayles!” when, +with a low voyce,<br /> +“Fire and sword! by this light,” cryes Tom, +“Lets look to our toyes!”<br /> + From a Rump, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Never were wretched members in so sad a +plight;<br /> +Some were broyl’d, some toasted, others burnt outright; <a +name="citation56"></a><a href="#footnote56" +class="citation">[56]</a><br /> +Nay against Rumps so pittylesse was their rage and spite,<br /> +That not a citizen would kisse his wife that night.<br /> + From a Rump, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +139</span>By this time death and hell appear’d in the +ghastly looks<br /> +Of Scot and Robinson (those legislative rooks);<br /> +And it must needs put the Rump most damnably off the hooks<br /> +To see that when God has sent meat the Devil should send +cooks.<br /> + From a Rump, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">But Providence, their old friend, brought these +saints off at last,<br /> +And through the pikes and the flames undismember’d they +past,<br /> +Although (God wet) with many struglings and much hast,—<br +/> +For, members, or no members, was but a measuring cast.<br /> + From a Rump, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Being come to Whitehall, there’s the +dismal mone,<br /> +“Let Monk be damn’d!” cries Arthur in a +terrible tone <a name="citation57"></a><a href="#footnote57" +class="citation">[57]</a>—<br /> +“That traytor, and those cuckoldy rogues that set him +on!”<br /> +(But tho’ the knight spits blood, ’tis observed that +he draws none.)<br /> + From a Rump, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +140</span>“The plague bawle you!” cries Harry Martin, +“you have brought us to this condition, <a +name="citation58"></a><a href="#footnote58" +class="citation">[58]</a><br /> +You must be canting and be plagued, with your Barebones petition, +<a name="citation59"></a><a href="#footnote59" +class="citation">[59]</a><br /> +And take in that bull-headed, splay-footed member of the +circumcision,<br /> +That bacon-faced Jew, Corbet, <a name="citation60"></a><a +href="#footnote60" class="citation">[60]</a> that son of +perdition!”<br /> + From a Rump, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +141</span>Then in steps driv’ling Mounson to take up the +squabble,<br /> +That lord which first taught the use of the woodden dagger and +ladle: <a name="citation61"></a><a href="#footnote61" +class="citation">[61]</a><br /> +He that out-does Jack Pudding <a name="citation62"></a><a +href="#footnote62" class="citation">[62]</a> at a custard or a +caudle,<br /> +And were the best foole in Europe but that he wants a bauble.<br +/> + From a Rump, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +142</span>More was said to little purpose,—the next news +is, a declaration<br /> +From the Rump, for a free state according to the covenant of the +nation,<br /> +And a free Parliament under oath and qualification,<br /> +Where none shall be elect but members of reprobation.<br /> + From a Rump, +&c.</p> +<p class="poetry">Here’s the tail firk’d, a piece +acted lately with great applause,<br /> +With a plea for the prerogative breech and the Good old Cause,<br +/> +Proving that Rumps and members are antienter than laws,<br /> +And that a bumme divided is never the worse for the flawes.<br /> + From a Rump, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">But all things have their period and fate,<br +/> +An Act of Parliament dissolves a Rump of state,<br /> +Members grow weak, and tayles themselves run out of date,<br /> +And yet thou shalt not dye (dear breech), thy fame I’ll +celebrate.<br /> + From a Rump, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +143</span>Here lies a pack of saints that did their souls and +country sell<br /> +For dirt, the Devil was their good lord, him they served well;<br +/> +By his advice they stood and acted, and by his president they +fell<br /> +(Like Lucifer), making but one step betwixt heaven and hell.<br +/> + From a Rump +insatiate as the sea<br /> + Liberasti nos, +Domine.</p> +<h3>THE SECOND PART OF ST GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune of “To drive the +cold winter away.”<br /> +(March 7, 1659.)</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Now</span> the Rump is confounded<br /> + There’s an end of the Roundhead,<br /> +Who hath been such a bane to our nation;<br /> + He hath now play’d his part,<br /> + And’s gone out like a f—,<br /> +Together with his reformation;<br /> + For by his good favour<br /> + He hath left a bad savour;<br /> +But’s no matter, we’ll trust him no more.<br /> + Kings and queens may appear<br /> + Once again in our sphere,<br /> +Now the knaves are turn’d out of door,<br /> + And drive the cold winter away.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page144"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 144</span>Scot, Nevil, and Vane,<br /> + With the rest of that train,<br /> +Are into Oceana <a name="citation63"></a><a href="#footnote63" +class="citation">[63]</a> fled;<br /> + Sir Arthur the brave,<br /> + That’s as arrant a knave,<br /> +Has Harrington’s Rota in’s head; <a +name="citation64"></a><a href="#footnote64" +class="citation">[64]</a><br /> + But hee’s now full of cares<br /> + For his foals and his mares,<br /> +As when he was routed before;<br /> + But I think he despairs,<br /> + By his arms or his prayers,<br /> +To set up the Rump any more,<br /> + And drive the cold winter away.</p> +<p class="poetry"> I should never have +thought<br /> + That a monk could have wrought<br /> +Such a reformation so soon;<br /> + That House which of late<br /> + Was the jakes of our state<br /> +Will ere long be a house of renown.<br /> + How good wits did jump<br /> + In abusing the Rump,<br /> +Whilst the House was prest by the rabble;<br /> + <a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +145</span>But our Hercules, Monk,<br /> + Though it grievously stunk,<br /> +Now hath cleansed that Augean stable,<br /> + And drive the cold winter away.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And now Mr Prynne <a +name="citation65"></a><a href="#footnote65" +class="citation">[65]</a><br /> + With the rest may come in,<br /> +And take their places again;<br /> + For the House is made sweet<br /> + For those members to meet,<br /> +Though part of the Rump yet remain;<br /> + Nor need they to fear,<br /> + Though his breeches be there,<br /> +Which were wrong’d both behind and before;<br /> + For he saith ’twas a chance,<br /> + And forgive him this once,<br /> +And he swears he will do so no more,<br /> + And drive the cold winter away.</p> +<p class="poetry"> ’Tis true there are +some<br /> + Who are still for the Bum;<br /> +Such tares will grow up with the wheat;<br /> + And there they will be, till a Parliament come<br /> + That can give them a total defeat.<br /> +But yet I am told<br /> + That the Rumpers do hold<br /> + That the saints may swim with the tyde;<br /> + <a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +146</span>Nor can it be treason,<br /> + But Scripture and reason,<br /> +Still to close with the stronger side,<br /> + And drive the cold winter away.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Those lawyers o’ +th’ House—<br /> + As Baron Wild-goose, <a name="citation66"></a><a +href="#footnote66" class="citation">[66]</a><br /> +With Treason Hill, Whitlock, and Say—<br /> + Were the bane of our laws<br /> + And our Good old Cause,<br /> +And ’twere well if such were away.<br /> + Some more there are to blame,<br /> + Whom I care not to name,<br /> +That are men of the very same ranks;<br /> + ’Mongst whom there is one,<br /> + That to Devil Barebone<br /> +For his ugly petition gave thanks,<br /> + And drive the cold winter +away.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But I hope by this time<br /> + He’ll confess ’twas a crime<br /> +To abet such a damnable crew;<br /> + <a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +147</span>Whose petition was drawn<br /> + By Alcoran Vane,<br /> +Or else by Corbet the Jew. <a name="citation67"></a><a +href="#footnote67" class="citation">[67]</a><br /> + By it you may know<br /> + What the Rump meant to do,<br /> +And what a religion to frame;<br /> + So ’twas time for St George<br /> + That Rump to disgorge,<br /> +And to send it from whence it first came;<br /> + Then drive the cold winter +away.</p> +<h3>A NEW-YEAR’S GIFT FOR THE RUMP.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(January 1659–60.)—From +a broadside, vol. xv. in the King’s Pamphlets.</p> +<blockquote><p>“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.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +148</span><span class="smcap">You</span> may have heard of the +politique snout,<br /> +Or a tale of a tub with the bottom out,<br /> +But scarce of a Parliament in a dirty clout,<br /> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Twas Atkins <a name="citation68"></a><a +href="#footnote68" class="citation">[68]</a> first served this +Rump in with mustard—<br /> +The sauce was a compound of courage and custard;<br /> +Sir Vane bless’d the creature, Noll snuffled and +bluster’d,<br /> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">The right was as then in old Oliver’s +nose;<br /> +But when the Devil of that did dispose,<br /> +It descended from thence to the Rump in the close,<br /> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor is it likely there to stay long,<br /> +The retentive faculties being gone,<br /> +The juggle is stale, and money there’s none,<br /> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">The secluded members made a trial<br /> +To enter, but them the Rump did defy all<br /> +By the ordinance of self-denial,<br /> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">Our politique doctors do us teach<br /> +That a blood-sucking red-coat’s as good as a leech<br /> +To relieve the head, if applied to the breech,<br /> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">But never was such a worm as Vane;<br /> +When the State scour’d last, it voided him then,<br /> +Yet now he’s crept into the Rump again,<br /> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +149</span>Ludlow’s f— was a prophetique trump <a +name="citation69"></a><a href="#footnote69" +class="citation">[69]</a><br /> +(There never was anything so jump),<br /> +’Twas the very type of a vote of this Rump,<br /> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">They say ’tis good luck when a body +rises<br /> +With the rump upward, but he that advises<br /> +To live in that posture is none of the wisest,<br /> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">The reason is worse, though the rime be +untoward,<br /> +When things proceed with the wrong end forward;<br /> +But they say there’s sad news to the Rump from the +Nor’ward; <a name="citation70"></a><a href="#footnote70" +class="citation">[70]</a><br /> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis a wonderfull thing, the strength of +that part;<br /> +At a blast it will take you a team from a cart,<br /> +And blow a man’s head away with a f—,<br /> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">When our brains are sunck below the middle,<br +/> +And our consciences steer’d by the hey-down-diddle,<br /> +Then things will go round without a fiddle,<br /> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +150</span>You may order the city with hand-granado,<br /> +Or the generall with a bastonado,—<br /> +But no way for a Rump like a carbonado,<br /> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">To make us as famous in council as wars,<br /> +Here’s Lenthal a speaker for mine—<br /> +And Fleetwood is a man of Mars,<br /> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis pitty that Nedham’s <a +name="citation71"></a><a href="#footnote71" +class="citation">[71]</a> fall’n into disgrace,<br /> +For he orders a bum with a marvellous grace,<br /> +And ought to attend the Rump by his place,<br /> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet this in spight of all disasters,<br /> +Although he hath broken the heads of his masters,<br /> +’Tis still his profession to give ’em all +plasters,<br /> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Rump’s an old story, if well +understood;<br /> +’Tis a thing dress’d up in a Parliament’s +hood,<br /> +And like ’t, but the tayl stands where the head should,<br +/> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Twould make a man scratch where it does +not itch,<br /> +To see forty fools’ heads in one politique breech,<br /> +And that, hugging the nation, as the devil did the witch;<br /> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span>From rotten members preserve our wives!<br /> +From the mercy of a Rump, our estates and our lives!<br /> +For they must needs go whom the Devil drives,<br /> + Which no body can deny.</p> +<h3>A PROPER NEW BALLAD ON THE OLD PARLIAMENT;<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR,</span><br /> +THE SECOND PART OF KNAVE OUT OF DOORS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune of</p> +<blockquote><p>“Hei ho, my honey, my heart shall never +rue,<br /> +Four-and-twenty now for your mony, and yet a hard penny-worth +too.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">(Dec. 11th, 1659.)—From the +King’s Pamphlets, British Museum.</p> +<blockquote><p>“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 <a name="page152"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 152</span>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.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Good-morrow</span>, my +neighbours all, what news is this I heard tell<br /> +As I past through Westminster-hall by the House that’s neck +to hell?<br /> +They told John Lambert <a name="citation72"></a><a +href="#footnote72" class="citation">[72]</a> was there with his +bears, and deeply he swore<br /> +(As Cromwell had done before) those vermin should sit there no +more.<br /> + <a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +153</span>Sing hi ho, Wil. Lenthall, <a name="citation73"></a><a +href="#footnote73" class="citation">[73]</a> who shall our +general be?<br /> + For the House to the Devil is sent all, and follow, +good faith, mun ye!<br /> + Sing hi ho, my honey, my heart shall never rue,<br +/> + Here’s all pickt ware for the money, and yet a +hard pennyworth too.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then, Muse, strike up a sonnet, come, piper, +and play us a spring,<br /> +For now I think upon it, these R’s turn’d out their +King;<br /> +But now is come about, that once again they must turn out,<br /> +And not without justice and reason, that every one home to his +prison.<br /> + Sing hi ho, Harry Martin, <a +name="citation74"></a><a href="#footnote74" +class="citation">[74]</a> a burgess of the bench,<br /> + There’s nothing here is certain, you must back +and leave your wench.<br /> + Sing, hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">He there with the buffle head is called lord +and of the same House,<br /> +Who (as I have heard it said) was chastised by his ladye +spouse;<br /> +<a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>Because +he ran at sheep, she and her maid gave him the whip,<br /> +And beat his head so addle, you’d think he had a knock in +the cradle.<br /> + Sing hi ho, Lord Munson, <a name="citation75"></a><a +href="#footnote75" class="citation">[75]</a> you ha’ got a +park of the King’s;<br /> + One day you’l hang like a hounson, for this +and other things,<br /> + Sing hi, ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">It was by their master’s orders at first +together they met,<br /> +Whom piously they did murder, and since by their own they did +set.<br /> +The cause of this disaster is ’cause they were false to +their master;<br /> +Nor can they their gens-d’armes blame for serving them the +same.<br /> + Sing hi ho, Sir Arthur, <a name="citation76"></a><a +href="#footnote76" class="citation">[76]</a> no more in the House +you shall prate;<br /> + For all you kept such a quarter, <a +name="citation77"></a><a href="#footnote77" +class="citation">[77]</a> you are out of the councell of +state.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Old Noll once gave them a purge (forgetting +OCCIDISTI),<br /> +(The furies be his scourge!) so of the cure must he;<br /> +<a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>And yet +the drug he well knew it, for he gave it to Dr Huit; <a +name="citation78"></a><a href="#footnote78" +class="citation">[78]</a><br /> +Had he given it them, he had done it, and they had not +turn’d out his son yet;<br /> + Sing hi ho, brave Dick, Lenthall, and Lady Joane,<br +/> + Who did against lovalty kick is now for a +new-year’s gift gone.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">For had Old Noll been alive, he had +pull’d them out by the ears,<br /> +Or else had fired their hive, and kickt them down the staires;<br +/> +Because they were so bold to vex his righteous soul,<br /> +When he so deeply had swore that there they should never sit +more.<br /> + But hi ho, Noll’s dead, and stunk long since +above ground,<br /> + Though lapt in spices and lead that cost us many a +pound.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Indeed, brother burgess, your ling did never +stink half so bad,<br /> +Nor did your habberdin when it no pease-straw had;<br /> +Ye both were chose together, ’cause ye wore stuff cloaks in +hard weather,<br /> +And Cambridge needs would have a burgess fool and knave.<br /> + <a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +156</span>Sing hi ho, John Lowry, <a name="citation79"></a><a +href="#footnote79" class="citation">[79]</a> concerning +habberdin,<br /> + No member spake before ye, yet you ne’re spoke +againe.<br /> + Sing hi, ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ned Prideaux <a name="citation80"></a><a +href="#footnote80" class="citation">[80]</a> he went post to tell +the Protector the news,<br /> +That Fleetwood ruld the rost, having tane off Dicke’s +shoes.<br /> +And that he did believe, Lambert would him deceive<br /> +As he his brother had gull’d, and Cromwell Fairfax +bull’d.<br /> + Sing hi ho, the attorney was still at your +command;<br /> + In flames together burn ye, still dancing hand in +hand!<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Who’s that would hide his face, and his +neck from the collar pull?<br /> +He must appear in this place, if his cap be made of wool.<br /> +Who is it? with a vengeance! it is the good Lord St Johns, <a +name="citation81"></a><a href="#footnote81" +class="citation">[81]</a><br /> +Who made God’s house to fall, to build his own withall.<br +/> + <a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +157</span>Sing hi ho, who comes there? who ’tis I must not +say;<br /> + But by his dark lanthorn, I sweare he’s as +good in the night as day.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Edge, brethren, room for one that looks as big +as the best;<br /> +’Tis pity to leave him alone, for he is as good as the +rest;<br /> +No picklock of the laws, he builds among the daws,<br /> +If you ha’ any more kings to murder, for a President look +no further.<br /> + Sing hi ho, John Bradshaw, in blood none further +engages;<br /> + The Devil from whom he had’s law, will shortly +pay him his wages.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Next, Peagoose Wild, <a +name="citation82"></a><a href="#footnote82" +class="citation">[82]</a> come in to show your weesle face,<br /> +And tell us Burley’s sin, whose blood bought you your +place;<br /> +When loyalty was a crime, he lived in a dangerous time,<br /> +Was forced to pay his neck to make you baron of the cheque.<br /> + <a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +158</span>Sing hi ho, Jack Straw, we’ll put it in the +margent,<br /> + ’Twas not for justice or law that you were +made a sergeant.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Noll served not Satan faster, nor with him did +better accord;<br /> +For he was my good master, and the Devil was his good lord.<br /> +Both Slingsby, Gerard, and Hewet, <a name="citation83"></a><a +href="#footnote83" class="citation">[83]</a> were sure enough to +go to it,<br /> +According to his intent, that chose me President.<br /> + Sing hi ho, Lord Lisle, <a name="citation84"></a><a +href="#footnote84" class="citation">[84]</a> sure law had got a +wrench,<br /> + And where was justice the while, when you sate on +the bench.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Next comes the good Lord Keble, of the +Triumvirate,<br /> +Of the seal in the law but feeble, though on the bench he +sate;<br /> +<a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 159</span>For when +one puts him a case, I wish him out of the place,<br /> +And, if it were not a sin, an able lawyer in.<br /> + Sing, give the seal about, I’de have it so the +rather,<br /> + Because we might get out the knave, my lord, my +father.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Pull out the other three, it is Nathaniel Fines +<a name="citation85"></a><a href="#footnote85" +class="citation">[85]</a><br /> +(Who Bristol lost for fear), we’ll not leave him +behind’s;<br /> +’Tis a chip of that good old block, who to loyalty gave the +first knock,<br /> +Then stole away to Lundey, whence the foul fiend fetches him one +day.<br /> + Sing hi ho, canting Fines, you and the rest to mend +’um,<br /> + Would ye were served in your kinds with an <i>ense +rescidendum</i>.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">He that comes down-stairs, is Lord Chief +Justice Glin; <a name="citation86"></a><a href="#footnote86" +class="citation">[86]</a><br /> +If no man for him cares, he cares as little again:<br /> +<a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 160</span>The +reason too I know’t, he helpt cut Strafford’s +throat,<br /> +And take away his life, though with a cleaner knife.<br /> + Sing hi ho, Britain bold, straight to the bar you +get,<br /> + Where it is not so cold as where your justice +set.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">He that will next come in, was long of the +Council of State,<br /> +Though hardly a hair on his chin when first in the council he +sate;<br /> +He was sometime in Italy, and learned their fashions prettily,<br +/> +Then came back to’s own nation, to help up reformation.<br +/> + Sing hi ho, Harry Nevil, <a name="citation87"></a><a +href="#footnote87" class="citation">[87]</a> I prythee be not too +rash<br /> + With atheism to court the Divel, you’re too +bold to be his bardash.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +161</span>He there with ingratitude blackt is one Cornelius +Holland, <a name="citation88"></a><a href="#footnote88" +class="citation">[88]</a><br /> +Who, but for the King’s house, lackt wherewith to appease +his colon;<br /> +The case is well amended since that time, as I think,<br /> +When at court gate he tended with a little stick and a short +link.<br /> + Sing hi ho, Cornelius, your zeal cannot delude +us;<br /> + The reason pray now tell ye us why thus you +play’d the Judas.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">At first he was a grocer who now we Major +call,<br /> +Although you would think no, Sir, if you saw him in Whitehall,<br +/> +Where he has great command, and looks for cap in hand,<br /> +And if our eggs be not addle, shall be of the next new moddel.<br +/> + Sing hi ho, Mr Salloway, <a name="citation89"></a><a +href="#footnote89" class="citation">[89]</a> the Lord in heaven +doth know<br /> + When that from hence you shall away, where to the +Devil you’l go.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +162</span>Little Hill, <a name="citation90"></a><a +href="#footnote90" class="citation">[90]</a> since set in the +House, is to a mountain grown;<br /> +Not that which brought forth the mouse, but thousands the year of +his own.<br /> +The purchase that I mean, where else but at Taunton Dean;<br /> +Five thousand pounds per annum, a sum not known to his +grannam.<br /> + Sing hi, the Good old Cause, <a +name="citation91"></a><a href="#footnote91" +class="citation">[91]</a> ’tis old enough not true<br /> + You got more by that then the laws, so a good old +cause to you.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +163</span>Master Cecil, <a name="citation92"></a><a +href="#footnote92" class="citation">[92]</a> pray come behind, +because on your own accord<br /> +The other House you declined, you shall be no longer a lord;<br +/> +The reason, as I guess, you silently did confess,<br /> +Such lords deserved ill the other House to fill.<br /> + Sing hi ho, Mr Cecil, your honour now is gone;<br /> + Such lords are not worth a whistle, we have made +better lords of our own.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Luke Robinson <a name="citation93"></a><a +href="#footnote93" class="citation">[93]</a> shall go before ye, +that snarling northern tyke;<br /> +Be sure he’ll not adore ye, for honour he doth not like;<br +/> +He cannot honour inherit, and he knows he can never merit,<br /> +And therefore he cannot bear it that any one else should wear +it.<br /> + <a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +164</span>Sing hi ho, envious lown, you’re of the +beagle’s kind,<br /> + Who always bark’d at the moon, because in the +dark it shined.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis this that vengeance rouses, that, +while you make long prayers,<br /> +You eat up widows’ houses, and drink the orphan’s +tears;<br /> +Long time you kept a great noise, of God and the Good old +Cause;<br /> +But if God to you be so kind, then I’me of the +Indian’s mind.<br /> + Sing hi ho, Sir Harry, <a name="citation94"></a><a +href="#footnote94" class="citation">[94]</a> we see, by your +demeanour,<br /> + If longer here you tarry, you’ll be Sir Harry +Vane, Senior.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now if your zeal do warme ye, pray loud for +fairer weather;<br /> +Swear to live and die with the army, for these birds are flown +together;<br /> +The House is turn’d out a doe, (and I think it was no sin, +too);<br /> +If we take them there any more, we’ll throw the House out +of the window.<br /> + Sing hi ho, Tom Scot, <a name="citation95"></a><a +href="#footnote95" class="citation">[95]</a> you lent the Devil +your hand;<br /> + <a name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +165</span>I wonder he helpt you not, but suffred you t’ be +trapand.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">They’re once again conduced, and we freed +from the evil<br /> +To which we long were used; God blesse us next from the Devil!<br +/> +If they had not been outed the array had been routed,<br /> +And then this rotten Rump had sat until the last trump.<br /> + But, hi ho, Lambert’s here, the +Protector’s instrument bore,<br /> + And many there be who swear that he will do it no +more.<br /> + Sing hi ho, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come here, then, honest Peters, <a +name="citation96"></a><a href="#footnote96" +class="citation">[96]</a> say grace for the second course,<br /> +So long as these your betters must patience have upon force,<br +/> +Long time he kept a great noise with God and the Good old +Cause,<br /> +But if God own such as these, then where’s the +Devil’s fees?<br /> + Sing hi ho, Hugo, I hear thou art not dead;<br /> + Where now to the Devil will you go, your patrons +being fled?<br /> + Sing hi ho, my honey, my heart shall never rue,<br +/> + Four-and-twenty now for a penny, and into the +bargain Hugh.</p> +<h3><a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 166</span>THE +TALE OF THE COBBLER AND THE VICAR OF BRAY.</h3> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">Rara est concordia +fratrum. Ovid.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">By Samuel Butler.</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> Bedfordshire +there dwelt a knight,<br /> + Sir Samuel by name,<br /> +Who by his feats in civil broils<br /> + Obtain’d a mighty fame.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor was he much less wise and stout,<br /> + But fit in both respects<br /> +To humble sturdy Cavaliers,<br /> + And to support the sects.</p> +<p class="poetry">This worthy knight was one that swore<br /> + He would not cut his beard<br /> +Till this ungodly nation was<br /> + From kings and bishops clear’d:</p> +<p class="poetry">Which holy vow he firmly kept,<br /> + And most devoutly wore<br /> +<a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 167</span>A grizly +meteor on his face<br /> + Till they were both no more.</p> +<p class="poetry">His worship was, in short, a man<br /> + Of such exceeding worth,<br /> +No pen or pencil can describe,<br /> + Or rhyming bard set forth.</p> +<p class="poetry">Many and mighty things he did<br /> + Both sober and in liquor,—<br /> +Witness the mortal fray between<br /> + The Cobbler and the Vicar;</p> +<p class="poetry">Which by his wisdom and his power<br /> + He wisely did prevent,<br /> +And both the combatants at once<br /> + In wooden durance pent.</p> +<p class="poetry">The manner how these two fell out<br /> + And quarrell’d in their ale,<br /> +I shall attempt at large to show<br /> + In the succeeding tale.</p> +<p class="poetry">A strolling cobbler, who was wont<br /> + To trudge from town to town,<br /> +Happen’d upon his walk to meet<br /> + A vicar in his gown.</p> +<p class="poetry">And as they forward jogg’d along,<br /> + The vicar, growing hot,<br /> +First asked the cobbler if he knew<br /> + Where they might take a pot?</p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, marry that I do, quoth he;<br /> + Here is a house hard by,<br /> +That far exceeds all Bedfordshire<br /> + For ale and landlady.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +168</span>Thither let’s go, the vicar said;<br /> + And when they thither came,<br /> +He liked the liquor wondrous well,<br /> + But better far the dame.</p> +<p class="poetry">And she, who, like a cunning jilt,<br /> + Knew how to please her guest,<br /> +Used all her little tricks and arts<br /> + To entertain the priest.</p> +<p class="poetry">The cobbler too, who quickly saw<br /> + The landlady’s design,<br /> +Did all that in his power was<br /> + To manage the divine.</p> +<p class="poetry">With smutty jests and merry songs<br /> + They charm’d the vicar so,<br /> +That he determined for that night<br /> + No further he would go.</p> +<p class="poetry">And being fixt, the cobbler thought<br /> + ’Twas proper to go try<br /> +If he could get a job or two<br /> + His charges to supply.</p> +<p class="poetry">So going out into the street,<br /> + He bawls with all his might,—<br /> +If any of you tread awry<br /> + I’m here to set you right.</p> +<p class="poetry">I can repair your leaky boots,<br /> + And underlay your soles;<br /> +Backsliders, I can underprop<br /> + And patch up all your holes.</p> +<p class="poetry">The vicar, who unluckily<br /> + The cobbler’s outcry heard,<br /> +<a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 169</span>From off +the bench on which he sat<br /> + With mighty fury rear’d.</p> +<p class="poetry">Quoth he, What priest, what holy priest<br /> + Can hear this bawling slave,<br /> +But must, in justice to his coat,<br /> + Chastise the saucy knave?</p> +<p class="poetry">What has this wretch to do with souls,<br /> + Or with backsliders either,<br /> +Whose business only is his awls,<br /> + His lasts, his thread, and leather?</p> +<p class="poetry">I lose my patience to be made<br /> + This strolling varlet’s sport;<br /> +Nor could I think this saucy rogue<br /> + Could serve me in such sort.</p> +<p class="poetry">The cobbler, who had no design<br /> + The vicar to displease,<br /> +Unluckily repeats again,—<br /> + I’m come your soals to ease:</p> +<p class="poetry">The inward and the outward too<br /> + I can repair and mend;<br /> +And all that my assistance want,<br /> + I’ll use them like a friend.</p> +<p class="poetry">The country folk no sooner heard<br /> + The honest cobbler’s tongue,<br /> +But from the village far and near<br /> + They round about him throng.</p> +<p class="poetry">Some bring their boots, and some their +shoes,<br /> + And some their buskins bring:<br /> +The cobbler sits him down to work,<br /> + And then begins to sing.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +170</span>Death often at the cobbler’s stall<br /> + Was wont to make a stand,<br /> +But found the cobbler singing still,<br /> + And on the mending hand;</p> +<p class="poetry">Until at length he met old Time,<br /> + And then they both together<br /> +Quite tear the cobbler’s aged sole<br /> + From off the upper leather.</p> +<p class="poetry">Even so a while I may old shoes<br /> + By care and art maintain,<br /> +But when the leather’s rotten grown<br /> + All art and care is vain.</p> +<p class="poetry">And thus the cobbler stitched and sung,<br /> + Not thinking any harm;<br /> +Till out the angry vicar came<br /> + With ale and passion warm.</p> +<p class="poetry">Dost thou not know, vile slave! quoth he,<br /> + How impious ’tis to jest<br /> +With sacred things, and to profane<br /> + The office of a priest?</p> +<p class="poetry">How dar’st thou, most audacious +wretch!<br /> + Those vile expressions use,<br /> +Which make the souls of men as cheap<br /> + As soals of boots and shoes?</p> +<p class="poetry">Such reprobates as you betray<br /> + Our character and gown,<br /> +And would, if you had once the power,<br /> + The Church itself pull down.</p> +<p class="poetry">The cobbler, not aware that he<br /> + Had done or said amiss,<br /> +<a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +171</span>Reply’d, I do not understand<br /> + What you can mean by this.</p> +<p class="poetry">Tho’ I but a poor cobbler be,<br /> + And stroll about for bread,<br /> +None better loves the Church than I<br /> + That ever wore a head.</p> +<p class="poetry">But since you are so good at names,<br /> + And make so loud a pother,<br /> +I’ll tell you plainly I’m afraid<br /> + You’re but some cobbling brother.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come, vicar, tho’ you talk so big,<br /> + Our trades are near akin;<br /> +I patch and cobble outward soals<br /> + As you do those within.</p> +<p class="poetry">And I’ll appeal to any man<br /> + That understands the nation,<br /> +If I han’t done more good than you<br /> + In my respective station.</p> +<p class="poetry">Old leather, I must needs confess,<br /> + I’ve sometimes used as new,<br /> +And often pared the soal so near<br /> + That I have spoil’d the shoe.</p> +<p class="poetry">You vicars, by a different way,<br /> + Have done the very same;<br /> +For you have pared your doctrines so<br /> + You made religion lame.</p> +<p class="poetry">Your principles you’ve quite +disown’d,<br /> + And old ones changed for new,<br /> +That no man can distinguish right<br /> + Which are the false or true.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +172</span>I dare be bold, you’re one of those<br /> + Have took the Covenant;<br /> +With Cavaliers are Cavalier,<br /> + And with the saints a saint.</p> +<p class="poetry">The vicar at this sharp rebuke<br /> + Begins to storm and swear;<br /> +Quoth he, Thou vile apostate wretch!<br /> + Dost thou with me compare?</p> +<p class="poetry">I that have care of many souls,<br /> + And power to damn or save,<br /> +Dar’st thou thyself compare with me,<br /> + Thou vile, ungodly knave!</p> +<p class="poetry">I wish I had thee somewhere else,<br /> + I’d quickly make thee know<br /> +What ’tis to make comparisons,<br /> + And to revile me so.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou art an enemy to the State,<br /> + Some priest in masquerade,<br /> +That, to promote the Pope’s designs,<br /> + Has learnt the cobbling trade:</p> +<p class="poetry">Or else some spy to Cavaliers,<br /> + And art by them sent out<br /> +To carry false intelligence,<br /> + And scatter lies about.</p> +<p class="poetry">But whilst the vicar full of ire<br /> + Was railing at this rate,<br /> +His worship, good Sir Samuel,<br /> + O’erlighted at the gate.</p> +<p class="poetry">And asking of the landlady<br /> + Th’ occasion of the stir;<br /> +<a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 173</span>Quoth +she, If you will give me leave<br /> + I will inform you, Sir.</p> +<p class="poetry">This cobbler happening to o’ertake<br /> + The vicar in his walk,<br /> +In friendly sort they forward march,<br /> + And to each other talk.</p> +<p class="poetry">Until the parson first proposed<br /> + To stop and take a whet;<br /> +So cheek by jole they hither came<br /> + Like travellers well met.</p> +<p class="poetry">A world of healths and jests went round,<br /> + Sometimes a merry tale;<br /> +Till they resolved to stay all night,<br /> + So well they liked my ale.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus all things lovingly went on,<br /> + And who so great as they;<br /> +Before an ugly accident<br /> + Began this mortal fray.</p> +<p class="poetry">The case I take it to be this,—<br /> + The vicar being fixt,<br /> +The cobbler chanced to cry his trade,<br /> + And in his cry he mixt</p> +<p class="poetry">Some harmless words, which I suppose<br /> + The vicar falsely thought<br /> +Might be design’d to banter him,<br /> + And scandalize his coat.</p> +<p class="poetry">If that be all, quoth he, go out<br /> + And bid them both come in;<br /> +A dozen of your nappy ale<br /> + Will set ’em right again.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +174</span>And if the ale should chance to fail,<br /> + For so perhaps it may,<br /> +I have it in my powers to try<br /> + A more effectual way.</p> +<p class="poetry">These vicars are a wilful tribe,<br /> + A restless, stubborn crew;<br /> +And if they are not humbled quite,<br /> + The State they will undo.</p> +<p class="poetry">The cobbler is a cunning knave,<br /> + That goes about by stealth,<br /> +And would, instead of mending shoes,<br /> + Repair the Commonwealth.</p> +<p class="poetry">However, bid ’em both come in,<br /> + This fray must have an end;<br /> +Such little feuds as these do oft<br /> + To greater mischiefs tend.</p> +<p class="poetry">Without more bidding out she goes<br /> + And told them, by her troth,<br /> +There was a magistrate within<br /> + That needs must see ’em both.</p> +<p class="poetry">But, gentlemen, pray distance keep,<br /> + And don’t too testy be;<br /> +Ill words good manners still corrupt<br /> + And spoil good company.</p> +<p class="poetry">To this the vicar first replies,<br /> + I fear no magistrate;<br /> +For let ’em make what laws they will,<br /> + I’ll still obey the State.</p> +<p class="poetry">Whatever I can say or do,<br /> + I’m sure not much avails;<br /> +<a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>I stall +still be Vicar of Bray<br /> + Whichever side prevails.</p> +<p class="poetry">My conscience, thanks to Heaven, is come<br /> + To such a happy pass,<br /> +That I can take the Covenant<br /> + And never hang an ass.</p> +<p class="poetry">I’ve took so many oaths before,<br /> + That now without remorse<br /> +I take all oaths the State can make,<br /> + As meerly things of course.</p> +<p class="poetry">Go therefore, dame, the justice tell<br /> + His summons I’ll obey;<br /> +And further you may let him know<br /> + I Vicar am of Bray.</p> +<p class="poetry">I find indeed, the cobbler said,<br /> + I am not much mistaken;<br /> +This vicar knows the ready way<br /> + To save his reverend bacon. <a +name="citation97"></a><a href="#footnote97" +class="citation">[97]</a></p> +<p class="poetry">This is a hopeful priest indeed,<br /> + And well deserves a rope;<br /> +Rather than lose his vicarage<br /> + He’d swear to Turk or Pope.</p> +<p class="poetry">For gain he would his God deny,<br /> + His country and his King;<br /> +Swear and forswear, recant and lye,<br /> + Do any wicked thing.</p> +<p class="poetry">At this the vicar set his teeth,<br /> + And to the cobbler flew;<br /> +<a name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 176</span>And with +his sacerdotal fist<br /> + Gave him a box or two.</p> +<p class="poetry">The cobbler soon return’d the blows,<br +/> + And with both head and heel<br /> +So manfully behaved himself,<br /> + He made the vicar reel.</p> +<p class="poetry">Great was the outcry that was made,<br /> + And in the woman ran<br /> +To tell his worship that the fight<br /> + Betwixt them was began.</p> +<p class="poetry">And is it so indeed? quoth he;<br /> + I’ll make the slaves repent:<br /> +Then up he took his basket hilt,<br /> + And out enraged he went.</p> +<p class="poetry">The country folk no sooner saw<br /> + The knight with naked blade,<br /> +But for his worship instantly<br /> + An open lane was made;</p> +<p class="poetry">Who with a stern and angry look<br /> + Cry’d out, What knaves are these<br /> +That in the face of justice dare<br /> + Disturb the public peace?</p> +<p class="poetry">Vile rascals! I will make you know<br /> + I am a magistrate,<br /> +And that as such I bear about<br /> + The vengeance of the State.</p> +<p class="poetry">Go, seize them, Ralph, and bring them in,<br /> + That I may know the cause,<br /> +That first induced them to this rage,<br /> + And thus to break the laws.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +177</span>Ralph, who was both his squire and clerk,<br /> + And constable withal,<br /> +I’ th’ name o’ th’ Commonwealth aloud<br +/> + Did for assistance bawl.</p> +<p class="poetry">The words had hardly pass’d his mouth<br +/> + But they secure them both;<br /> +And Ralph, to show his furious zeal<br /> + And hatred to the cloth,</p> +<p class="poetry">Runs to the vicar through the crowd,<br /> + And takes him by the throat:<br /> +How ill, says he, doth this become<br /> + Your character and coat!</p> +<p class="poetry">Was it for this not long ago<br /> + You took the Covenant,<br /> +And in most solemn manner swore<br /> + That you’d become a saint?</p> +<p class="poetry">And here he gave him such a pinch<br /> + That made the vicar shout,—<br /> +Good people, I shall murder’d be<br /> + By this ungodly lout.</p> +<p class="poetry">He gripes my throat to that degree<br /> + I can’t his talons bear;<br /> +And if you do not hold his hands,<br /> + He’ll throttle me, I fear.</p> +<p class="poetry">At this a butcher of the town<br /> + Steps up to Ralph in ire,—<br /> +What, will you squeeze his gullet through,<br /> + You son of blood and fire?</p> +<p class="poetry">You are the Devil’s instrument<br /> + To execute the laws;<br /> +<a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 178</span>What, +will you murther the poor man<br /> + With your phanatick claws?</p> +<p class="poetry">At which the squire quits his hold,<br /> + And lugging out his blade,<br /> +Full at the sturdy butcher’s pate<br /> + A furious stroke he made.</p> +<p class="poetry">A dismal outcry then began<br /> + Among the country folk;<br /> +Who all conclude the butcher slain<br /> + By such a mortal stroke.</p> +<p class="poetry">But here good fortune, that has still<br /> + A friendship for the brave,<br /> +I’ th’ nick misguides the fatal blow,<br /> + And does the butcher save.</p> +<p class="poetry">The knight, who heard the noise within,<br /> + Runs out with might and main,<br /> +And seeing Ralph amidst the crowd<br /> + In danger to be slain,</p> +<p class="poetry">Without regard to age or sex<br /> + Old basket-hilt so ply’d,<br /> +That in an instant three or four<br /> + Lay bleeding at his side.</p> +<p class="poetry">And greater mischiefs in his rage<br /> + This furious knight had done,<br /> +If he had not prevented been<br /> + By Dick, the blacksmith’s son,</p> +<p class="poetry">Who catch’d his worship on the hip,<br /> + And gave him such a squelch,<br /> +That he some moments breathless lay<br /> + Ere he was heard to belch.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +179</span>Nor was the squire in better case,<br /> + By sturdy butcher ply’d,<br /> +Who from the shoulder to the flank<br /> + Had soundly swinged his hide.</p> +<p class="poetry">Whilst things in this confusion stood,<br /> + And knight and squire disarm’d,<br /> +Up comes a neighbouring gentleman<br /> + The outcry had alarm’d;</p> +<p class="poetry">Who riding up among the crowd,<br /> + The vicar first he spy’d,<br /> +With sleeveless gown and bloody band<br /> + And hands behind him ty’d.</p> +<p class="poetry">Bless me, says he, what means all this?<br /> + Then turning round his eyes,<br /> +In the same plight, or in a worse,<br /> + The cobbler bleeding spies.</p> +<p class="poetry">And looking further round he saw,<br /> + Like one in doleful dump,<br /> +The knight, amidst a gaping mob,<br /> + Sit pensive on his rump.</p> +<p class="poetry">And by his side lay Ralph his squire,<br /> + Whom butcher fell had maul’d;<br /> +Who bitterly bemoan’d his fate,<br /> + And for a surgeon call’d.</p> +<p class="poetry">Surprised at first he paused awhile,<br /> + And then accosts the knight,—<br /> +What makes you here, Sir Samuel,<br /> + In this unhappy plight?</p> +<p class="poetry">At this the knight gave’s breast a +thump,<br /> + And stretching out his hand,—<br /> +<a name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 180</span>If you +will pull me up, he cried,<br /> + I’ll try if I can stand.</p> +<p class="poetry">And then I’ll let you know the cause;<br +/> + But first take care of Ralph,<br /> +Who in my good or ill success<br /> + Doth always stand my half.</p> +<p class="poetry">In short, he got his worship up<br /> + And led him in the door;<br /> +Where he at length relates the tale<br /> + As I have told before.</p> +<p class="poetry">When he had heard the story out,<br /> + The gentleman replies,—<br /> +It is not in my province, sir,<br /> + Your worship to advise.</p> +<p class="poetry">But were I in your worship’s place,<br /> + The only thing I’d do,<br /> +Was first to reprimand the fools,<br /> + And then to let them go.</p> +<p class="poetry">I think it first advisable<br /> + To take them from the rabble,<br /> +And let them come and both set forth<br /> + The occasion of the squabble.</p> +<p class="poetry">This is the Vicar, Sir, of Bray,<br /> + A man of no repute,<br /> +The scorn and scandal of his tribe,<br /> + A loose, ill-manner’d brute.</p> +<p class="poetry">The cobbler’s a poor strolling wretch<br +/> + That mends my servants’ shoes;<br /> +And often calls as he goes by<br /> + To bring me country news.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +181</span>At this his worship grip’d his beard,<br /> + And in an angry mood,<br /> +Swore by the laws of chivalry<br /> + That blood required blood.</p> +<p class="poetry">Besides, I’m by the Commonwealth<br /> + Entrusted to chastise<br /> +All knaves that straggle up and down<br /> + To raise such mutinies.</p> +<p class="poetry">However, since ’tis your request,<br /> + They shall be call’d and heard;<br /> +But neither Ralph nor I can grant<br /> + Such rascals should be clear’d.</p> +<p class="poetry">And so, to wind the tale up short,<br /> + They were call’d in together;<br /> +And by the gentlemen were ask’d<br /> + What wind ’twas blew them thither.</p> +<p class="poetry">Good ale and handsome landladies<br /> + You might have nearer home;<br /> +And therefore ’tis for something more<br /> + That you so far are come.</p> +<p class="poetry">To which the vicar answer’d +first,—<br /> + My living is so small,<br /> +That I am forced to stroll about<br /> + To try and get a call.</p> +<p class="poetry">And, quoth the cobbler, I am forced<br /> + To leave my wife and dwelling,<br /> +T’ escape the danger of being press’d<br /> + To go a colonelling.</p> +<p class="poetry">There’s many an honest jovial lad<br /> + Unwarily drawn in,<br /> +<a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 182</span>That I +have reason to suspect<br /> + Will scarce get out again.</p> +<p class="poetry">The proverb says, <i>Harm watch harm +catch</i>,<br /> + I’ll out of danger keep,<br /> +For he that sleeps in a whole skin<br /> + Doth most securely sleep.</p> +<p class="poetry">My business is to mend bad soals<br /> + And stitch up broken quarters:<br /> +A cobbler’s name would look but odd<br /> + Among a list of martyrs.</p> +<p class="poetry">Faith, cobbler, quoth the gentleman,<br /> + And that shall be my case;<br /> +I will neither party join,<br /> + Let what will come to pass.</p> +<p class="poetry">No importunities or threats<br /> + My fixt resolves shall rest;<br /> +Come here, Sir Samuel, where’s his health<br /> + That loves old England best.</p> +<p class="poetry">I pity those unhappy fools<br /> + Who, ere they were aware,<br /> +Designing and ambitious men<br /> + Have drawn into a snare.</p> +<p class="poetry">But, vicar, to come to the case,—<br /> + Amidst a senseless crowd,<br /> +What urged you to such violence,<br /> + And made you talk so loud?</p> +<p class="poetry">Passion I’m sure does ill become<br /> + Your character and cloath,<br /> +And, tho’ the cause be ne’er so just,<br /> + Brings scandal upon both.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +183</span>Vicar, I speak it with regret,<br /> + An inadvertent priest<br /> +Renders himself ridiculous,<br /> + And every body’s jest.</p> +<p class="poetry">The vicar to be thus rebuked<br /> + A little time stood mute;<br /> +But having gulp’d his passion down,<br /> + Replies,—That cobbling brute</p> +<p class="poetry">Has treated me with such contempt,<br /> + Such vile expressions used,<br /> +That I no longer could forbear<br /> + To hear myself abused.</p> +<p class="poetry">The rascal had the insolence<br /> + To give himself the lie,<br /> +And to aver h’ had done more good<br /> + And saved more soals than I.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, further, Sir, this miscreant<br /> + To tell me was so bold,<br /> +Our trades were very near of kin,<br /> + But his was the more old.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, Sir, I will to you appeal<br /> + On such a provocation,<br /> +If there was not sufficient cause<br /> + To use a little passion?</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, quoth the cobbler, with your leave,<br /> + I’ll prove it to his face,<br /> +All this is mere suggestion,<br /> + And foreign to the case.</p> +<p class="poetry">And since he calls so many names<br /> + And talks so very loud,<br /> +<a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 184</span>I will +be bound to make it plain<br /> + ’Twas he that raised the crowd.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, further, I will make ’t appear<br /> + He and the priests have done<br /> +More mischief than the cobblers far<br /> + All over Christendom.</p> +<p class="poetry">All Europe groans beneath their yoke,<br /> + And poor Great Britain owes<br /> +To them her present miseries,<br /> + And dread of future woes.</p> +<p class="poetry">The priests of all religions are<br /> + And will be still the same,<br /> +And all, tho’ in a different way,<br /> + Are playing the same game.</p> +<p class="poetry">At this the gentleman stood up,—<br /> + Cobbler, you run too fast;<br /> +By thus condemning all the tribe<br /> + You go beyond your last.</p> +<p class="poetry">Much mischief has by priests been done,<br /> + And more is doing still;<br /> +But then to censure all alike<br /> + Must be exceeding ill.</p> +<p class="poetry">Too many, I must needs confess,<br /> + Are mightily to blame,<br /> +Who by their wicked practices<br /> + Disgrace the very name.</p> +<p class="poetry">But, cobbler, still the major part<br /> + The minor should conclude;<br /> +To argue at another rate’s<br /> + Impertinent and rude.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +185</span>By this time all the neighbours round<br /> + Were flock’d about the door,<br /> +And some were on the vicar’s side,<br /> + But on the cobbler’s more.</p> +<p class="poetry">Among the rest a grazier, who<br /> + Had lately been at town<br /> +To sell his oxen and his sheep,<br /> + Brim-full of news came down.</p> +<p class="poetry">Quoth he, The priests have preach’d and +pray’d,<br /> + And made so damn’d a pother,<br /> +That all the people are run mad<br /> + To murther one another.</p> +<p class="poetry">By their contrivances and arts<br /> + They’ve play’d their game so long,<br /> +That no man knows which side is right,<br /> + Or which is in the wrong.</p> +<p class="poetry">I’m sure I’ve Smithfield market +used<br /> + For more than twenty year,<br /> +But never did such murmurings<br /> + And dreadful outcries hear.</p> +<p class="poetry">Some for a church, and some a tub,<br /> + And some for both together;<br /> +And some, perhaps the greater part,<br /> + Have no regard for either.</p> +<p class="poetry">Some for a king, and some for none;<br /> + And some have hankerings<br /> +To mend the Commonwealth, and make<br /> + An empire of all kings.</p> +<p class="poetry">What’s worse, old Noll is marching +off,<br /> + And Dick, his heir-apparent,<br /> +<a name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 186</span>Succeeds +him in the government,<br /> + A very lame vicegerent.</p> +<p class="poetry">He’ll reign but little time, poor +fool,<br /> + But sink beneath the State,<br /> +That will not fail to ride the fool<br /> + ’Bove common horseman’s weight.</p> +<p class="poetry">And rulers, when they lose the power,<br /> + Like horses overweigh’d,<br /> +Must either fall and break their knees,<br /> + Or else turn perfect jade.</p> +<p class="poetry">The vicar to be twice rebuked<br /> + No longer could contain;<br /> +But thus replies,—To knaves like you<br /> + All arguments are vain.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Church must use her arm of flesh,<br /> + The other will not do;<br /> +The clergy waste their breath and time<br /> + On miscreants like you.</p> +<p class="poetry">You are so stubborn and so proud,<br /> + So dull and prepossest,<br /> +That no instructions can prevail<br /> + How well soe’er addrest.</p> +<p class="poetry">Who would reform such reprobates,<br /> + Must drub them soundly first;<br /> +I know no other way but that<br /> + To make them wise or just.</p> +<p class="poetry">Fie, vicar, fie, his patron said,<br /> + Sure that is not the way;<br /> +You should instruct your auditors<br /> + To suffer or obey.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +187</span>Those were the doctrines that of old<br /> + The learned fathers taught;<br /> +And ’twas by them the Church at first<br /> + Was to perfection brought.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come, vicar, lay your feuds aside,<br /> + And calmly take your cup;<br /> +And let us try in friendly wise<br /> + To make the matter up.</p> +<p class="poetry">That’s certainly the wiser course,<br /> + And better too by far;<br /> +All men of prudence strive to quench<br /> + The sparks of civil war.</p> +<p class="poetry">By furious heats and ill advice<br /> + Our neighbours are undone,<br /> +Then let us timely caution take<br /> + From their destruction.</p> +<p class="poetry">If we would turn our heads about,<br /> + And look towards forty-one,<br /> +We soon should see what little jars<br /> + Those cruel wars begun.</p> +<p class="poetry">A one-eyed cobbler then was one<br /> + Of that rebellious crew,<br /> +That did in Charles the martyr’s blood<br /> + Their wicked hands imbrue.</p> +<p class="poetry">I mention this not to deface<br /> + This cobbler’s reputation,<br /> +Whom I have always honest found,<br /> + And useful in his station.</p> +<p class="poetry">But this I urge to let you see<br /> + The danger of a fight<br /> +<a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 188</span>Between +a cobbler and a priest,<br /> + Though he were ne’er so right.</p> +<p class="poetry">The vicars are a numerous tribe,<br /> + So are the cobblers too;<br /> +And if a general quarrel rise,<br /> + What must the country do?</p> +<p class="poetry">Our outward and our inward soals<br /> + Must quickly want repair;<br /> +And all the neighbourhood around<br /> + Would the misfortune share.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sir, quoth the grazier, I believe<br /> + Our outward soals indeed<br /> +May quickly want the cobbler’s help<br /> + To be from leakings freed.</p> +<p class="poetry">But for our inward souls, I think<br /> + They’re of a worth too great<br /> +To be committed to the care<br /> + Of any holy cheat,</p> +<p class="poetry">Who only serves his God for gain,<br /> + Religion is his trade;<br /> +And ’tis by such as these our Church<br /> + So scandalous is made.</p> +<p class="poetry">Why should I trust my soul with one<br /> + That preaches, swears, and prays,<br /> +And the next moment contradicts<br /> + Himself in all he says?</p> +<p class="poetry">His solemn oaths he looks upon<br /> + As only words of course!<br /> +Which like their wives our fathers took<br /> + For better or for worse.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +189</span>But he takes oaths as some take w—s,<br /> + Only to serve his ease;<br /> +And rogues and w—s, it is well known,<br /> + May part whene’er they please.</p> +<p class="poetry">At this the cobbler bolder grew,<br /> + And stoutly thus reply’d,—<br /> +If you’re so good at drubbing, Sir,<br /> + Your manhood shall be try’d.</p> +<p class="poetry">What I have said I will maintain,<br /> + And further prove withal—<br /> +I daily do more good than you<br /> + In my respective call.</p> +<p class="poetry">I know your character, quoth he,<br /> + You proud insulting vicar,<br /> +Who only huff and domineer<br /> + And quarrel in your liquor.</p> +<p class="poetry">The honest gentleman, who saw<br /> + ’Twould come again to blows,<br /> +Commands the cobbler to forbear,<br /> + And to the vicar goes.</p> +<p class="poetry">Vicar, says he, for shame give o’er<br /> + And mitigate your rage;<br /> +You scandalize your cloth too much<br /> + A cobbler to engage.</p> +<p class="poetry">All people’s eyes are on your tribe,<br +/> + And every little ill<br /> +They multiply and aggravate<br /> + And will because they will.</p> +<p class="poetry">But now let’s call another cause,<br /> + So let this health go round;<br /> +<a name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 190</span>Be peace +and plenty, truth and right,<br /> + In good old England found.</p> +<p class="poetry">Quoth Ralph, All this is empty talk<br /> + And only tends to laughter;<br /> +If these two varlets should be spared,<br /> + Who’d pity us hereafter?</p> +<p class="poetry">Your worship may do what you please,<br /> + But I’ll have satisfaction<br /> +For drubbing and for damages<br /> + In this ungodly action.</p> +<p class="poetry">I think that you can do no less<br /> + Than send them to the stocks;<br /> +And I’ll assist the constable<br /> + In fixing in their hocks.</p> +<p class="poetry">There let ’em sit and fight it out,<br /> + Or scold till they are friends;<br /> +Or, what is better much than both,<br /> + Till I am made amends.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ralph, quoth the knight, that’s well +advised,<br /> + Let them both hither go,<br /> +And you and the sub-magistrate<br /> + Take care that it be so.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let them be lock’d in face to face,<br /> + Bare buttocks on the ground;<br /> +And let them in that posture sit<br /> + Till they with us compound.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus fixt, well leave them for a time,<br /> + Whilst we with grief relate,<br /> +How at a wake this knight and squire<br /> + Got each a broken pate.</p> +<h3><a name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>THE +GENEVA BALLAD.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From Samuel Butler’s +Posthumous Works.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Of</span> all the factions +in the town<br /> + Moved by French springs or Flemish wheels,<br /> +None turns religion upside down,<br /> + Or tears pretences out at heels,<br /> +Like <i>Splaymouth</i> with his brace of caps,<br /> +Whose conscience might be scann’d perhaps<br /> +By the dimensions of his chaps;</p> +<p class="poetry">He whom the sisters do adore,<br /> + Counting his actions all divine,<br /> +Who when the spirit hints can roar,<br /> + And, if occasion serves, can whine;<br /> +Nay, he can bellow, bray, or bark;<br /> +Was ever <i>sike a Beauk-learn’d</i> clerk<br /> +That speaks all linguas of the ark?</p> +<p class="poetry">To draw the hornets in like bees,<br /> + With pleasing twangs he tones his prose;<br /> +He gives his handkerchief a squeeze,<br /> + And draws John Calvin thro’ his nose;<br /> +Motive on motive he obtrudes,<br /> +With slip-stocking similitudes,<br /> +Eight uses more, and so concludes.</p> +<p class="poetry">When monarchy began to bleed,<br /> + And treason had a fine new name;<br /> +When Thames was balderdash’d with Tweed,<br /> + And pulpits did like beacons flame;<br /> +<a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 192</span>When +Jeroboam’s calves were rear’d,<br /> +And Laud was neither loved nor fear’d,<br /> +This gospel-comet first appear’d.</p> +<p class="poetry">Soon his unhallow’d fingers stript<br /> + His sovereign-liege of power and land;<br /> +And, having smote his master, slipt<br /> + His sword into his fellow’s hand;<br /> +But he that wears his eyes may note<br /> +Oft-times the butcher binds a goat,<br /> +And leaves his boy to cut her throat.</p> +<p class="poetry">Poor England felt his fury then<br /> + Outweigh’d Queen Mary’s many grains;<br +/> +His very preaching slew more men<br /> + Than Bonnar’s faggots, stakes, and chains:<br +/> +With dog-star zeal, and lungs like Boreas,<br /> +He fought, and taught, and, what’s notorious,<br /> +Destroy’d his Lord to make him glorious.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet drew for King and Parliament,<br /> + As if the wind could stand north-south;<br /> +Broke Moses’ law with blest intent,<br /> + Murther’d, and then he wiped his mouth:<br /> +Oblivion alters not his case,<br /> +Nor clemency nor acts of grace<br /> +Can blanch an Ethiopian’s face.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ripe for rebellion, he begins<br /> + To rally up the saints in swarms;<br /> +He bawls aloud, Sir, leave your sins,<br /> + But whispers, Boys, stand to your arms:<br /> +Thus he’s grown insolently rude,<br /> +Thinking his gods can’t be subdued—<br /> +<i>Money</i>, I mean, and <i>multitude</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +193</span>Magistrates he regards no more<br /> + Than St George or the King of Colon,<br /> +Vowing he’ll not conform before<br /> + The old wives wind their dead in woollen:<br /> +He calls the bishop gray-hair’d coff,<br /> +And makes his power as mere a scoff<br /> +As Dagon when his hands were off.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hark! how he opens with full cry,<br /> + Halloo, my hearts, beware of Rome!<br /> +Cowards that are afraid to die<br /> + Thus make domestic brawls at home.<br /> +How quietly great Charles might reign,<br /> +Would all these Hotspurs cross the main<br /> +And preach down Popery in Spain.</p> +<p class="poetry">The starry rule of Heaven is fixt,<br /> + There’s no dissension in the sky;<br /> +And can there be a mean betwixt,<br /> + Confusion and conformity?<br /> +A place divided never thrives,<br /> +’Tis bad when hornets dwell in hives,<br /> +But worse when children play with knives.</p> +<p class="poetry">I would as soon turn back to mass,<br /> + Or change my praise to <i>Thee</i> and +<i>Thou</i>;<br /> +Let the Pope ride me like an ass,<br /> + And his priests milk me like a cow!<br /> +As buckle to Smectymnian laws,<br /> +The bad effects o’ th’ Good old Cause,<br /> +That have dove’s plumes, but vulture’s claws.</p> +<p class="poetry">For ’twas the holy Kirk that nursed,<br +/> + The Brownists and the ranters’ crew;<br /> +<a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>Foul +error’s motley vesture first<br /> + Was oaded <a name="citation98"></a><a +href="#footnote98" class="citation">[98]</a> in a northern +blue;<br /> +And what’s th’ enthusiastick breed,<br /> +Or men of Knipperdolin’s creed,<br /> +But Cov’nanters run up to seed!</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet they all cry they love the King,<br /> + And make boast of their innocence:<br /> +There cannot be so vile a thing<br /> + But may be cover’d with pretence;<br /> +Yet when all’s said, one thing I’ll swear,<br /> +No subject like th’ old Cavalier,<br /> +No traytor like <i>Jack-Presbyter</i>.</p> +<h3>THE DEVIL’S PROGRESS ON EARTH,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR</span><br /> +HUGGLE DUGGLE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From Durfey’s “Pills to +Purge Melancholy.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Frier Bacon</i> walks again,<br /> + And Doctor <i>Forster</i> <a +name="citation99"></a><a href="#footnote99" +class="citation">[99]</a> too;<br /> +<i>Prosperine</i> and <i>Pluto</i>,<br /> + And many a goblin crew:<br /> +With that a merry devil,<br /> + To make the <i>Airing</i>, vow’d;<br /> + Huggle Duggle, Ha! ha! ha!<br /> + The Devil laugh’d aloud.</p> +<p class="poetry">Why think you that he laugh’d?<br /> + Forsooth he came from court;<br /> +<a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 195</span>And +there amongst the gallants<br /> + Had spy’d such pretty sport;<br /> +There was such cunning jugling,<br /> + And ladys gon so proud;<br /> + Huggle Duggle, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">With that into the city<br /> + Away the Devil went;<br /> +To view the merchants’ dealings<br /> + It was his full intent:<br /> +And there along the brave Exchange<br /> + He crept into the croud.<br /> + Huggle Duggle, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">He went into the city<br /> + To see all there was well;<br /> +Their scales were false, their weights were light,<br /> + Their conscience fit for hell;<br /> +And <i>Panders</i> chosen magistrates,<br /> + And <i>Puritans</i> allow’d.<br /> + Huggle Duggle, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">With that unto the country<br /> + Away the Devil goeth;<br /> +For there is all plain dealing,<br /> + For that the Devil knoweth:<br /> +But the rich man reaps the gains<br /> + For which the poor man plough’d.<br /> + Huggle Duggle, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">With that the Devil in haste<br /> + Took post away to hell,<br /> +And call’d his fellow furies,<br /> + And told them all on earth was well:<br /> +<a name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 196</span>That +falsehood there did flourish,<br /> + Plain dealing was in a cloud.<br /> + Huggle Duggle, Ha! ha! ha!<br /> + The devils laugh’d aloud.</p> +<h3>A BOTTLE DEFINITION OF THAT FALLEN ANGEL, CALLED A WHIG.</h3> +<p>From a collection of Historical and State Poems, Satyrs, +Songs, and Epigrams, by Ned Ward, <span class="GutSmall">A. +D.</span> 1717.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> is a +Whig? A cunning rogue<br /> +That once was in, now out of vogue:<br /> +A rebel to the Church and throne,<br /> +Of Lucifer the very spawn.</p> +<p class="poetry">A tyrant, who is ne’er at rest<br /> +In power, or when he’s dispossess’d;<br /> +A knave, who foolishly has lost<br /> +What so much blood and treasure cost.</p> +<p class="poetry">A lying, bouncing desperado,<br /> +A bomb, a stink-pot, a granado;<br /> +That’s ready primed, and charged to break,<br /> +And mischief do for mischief’s sake:</p> +<p class="poetry">A comet, whose portending phiz<br /> +Appears more dreadful than it is;<br /> +But now propitious stars repel<br /> +Those ills it lastly did fortel.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Twill burst with unregarded spight,<br +/> +And, since the Parliament proves right,<br /> +Will turn to smoke, which shone of late<br /> +So bright and flaming in the State.</p> +<h3><a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 197</span>THE +DESPONDING WHIG.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From Ned Ward’s Works, vol. +iv. 1709.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> owles are +strip’d of their disguise,<br /> + And wolves of shepherd’s cloathing,<br /> +Those birds and beasts that please our eyes<br /> + Will then beget our loathing;<br /> +When foxes tremble in their holes<br /> + At dangers that they see,<br /> +And those we think so wise prove fools,<br /> + Then low, boys, down go we.</p> +<p class="poetry">If those designs abortive prove<br /> + We’ve been so long in hatching,<br /> +And cunning knaves are forced to move<br /> + From home for fear of catching;<br /> +The rabble soon will change their tone<br /> + When our intrigues they see,<br /> +And cry God save the Church and Throne,<br /> + Then low, boys, down go we.</p> +<p class="poetry">The weaver then no more must leave<br /> + His loom and turn a preacher,<br /> +Nor with his cant poor fools deceive<br /> + To make himself the richer.<br /> +Our leaders soon would disappear<br /> + If such a change should be,<br /> +Our scriblers too would stink for fear,<br /> + Then low, boys, down go we.</p> +<p class="poetry">No canvisars would dare to shew<br /> + Their postures and grimaces,<br /> +Or proph’sy what they never knew,<br /> + By dint of ugly faces.<br /> +<a name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 198</span>But +shove the tumbler through the town,<br /> + And quickly banish’d be,<br /> +For none must teach without a gown,<br /> + Then low, boys, down go we.</p> +<p class="poetry">If such unhappy days should come,<br /> + Our virtue, moderation,<br /> +Would surely be repaid us home<br /> + With double compensation;<br /> +For as we never could forgive,<br /> + I fear we then should see<br /> +That what we lent we must receive,<br /> + Then low, boys, down go we.</p> +<p class="poetry">Should honest brethren once discern<br /> + Our knaveries, they’d disown us,<br /> +And bubbl’d fools more wit should learn,<br /> + The Lord have mercy on us;<br /> +Let’s guard against that evil day,<br /> + Least such a time should be,<br /> +And tackers should come into play,<br /> + Then low, boys, down go we.</p> +<p class="poetry">Tho’ hitherto we’ve play’d +our parts<br /> + Like wary cunning foxes,<br /> +And gain’d the common people’s hearts<br /> + By broaching het’rodoxes,—<br /> +But they’re as fickle as the winds,<br /> + With nothing long agree,<br /> +And when they change their wav’ring minds,<br /> + Then low, boys, down go we.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let’s preach and pray, but spit our +gall<br /> + On those that do oppose us,<br /> +And cant of grace, in spite of all<br /> + The shame the Devil owes us:<br /> +<a name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 199</span>The +just, the loyal, and the wise<br /> + With us shall Papists be,<br /> +For if the <i>High Church</i> once should rise,<br /> + Then, <i>Low Church</i>, down go we.</p> +<h3>PHANATICK ZEAL,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR</span><br /> +A LOOKING-GLASS FOR THE WHIGS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From a Collection of 180 Loyal +Songs.<br /> +Tune, “A Swearing we will go.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Who</span> would not be a +Tory<br /> + When the loyal are call’d so:<br /> +And a Whig now is known<br /> + To be the nation’s foe?<br /> + So a Tory I will be, will be,<br +/> + And a Tory I will be.</p> +<p class="poetry">With little band precise,<br /> + Hair Presbyterian cut,<br /> +Whig turns up hands and eyes<br /> + Though smoking hot from slut.<br /> + So a Tory I will be, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Black cap turn’d up with white,<br /> + With wolfish neck and face,<br /> +And mouth with nonsense stuft,<br /> + Speaks Whig a man of grace,<br /> + And a Tory I will be, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +200</span>The sisters go to meetings<br /> + To meet their gallants there;<br /> +And oft mistake for my Lord,<br /> + And snivel out my dear.<br /> + And a Tory I will be, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Example, we do own,<br /> + Than precept better is;<br /> +For Creswell she was safe,<br /> + When she lived a private Miss.<br /> + And a Tory I will be, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Whigs, though ne’er so proud,<br /> + Sometimes have been as low,<br /> +For there are some of note<br /> + Have long a raree-show.<br /> + And a Tory I will be, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">These mushrooms now have got<br /> + Their champion turn-coat hick;<br /> +But if the naked truth were known<br /> + They’re assisted by old Nick.<br /> + And a Tory I will be, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">To be and to be not<br /> + At once is in their power;<br /> +For when they’re in, they’re guilty,<br /> + But clear when out o’ the tower.<br /> + And a Tory I will be, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">To carry their designs,<br /> + Though ’t contradicts their sense;<br /> +They’re clear a Whiggish traytor<br /> + Against clear evidence.<br /> + And a Tory I will be, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +201</span>The old proverb doth us tell,<br /> + Each dog will have his day;<br /> +And Whig has had his too,<br /> + For which he’ll soundly pay;<br /> + And a Tory I will be, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">For bodkins and for thimbles<br /> + Now let your tubsters cant;<br /> +Their confounded tired cause<br /> + Had never yet more want.<br /> + So a Tory I will be, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">For ignoramus Toney<br /> + Has left you in the lurch;<br /> +And you have spent your money,<br /> + So, faith, e’en come to Church;<br /> + For a Tory I will be, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">They are of no religion,<br /> + Be it spoken to their glories,<br /> +For St Peter and St Paul<br /> + With them both are Tories;<br /> + And a Tory I will be, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">They’re excellent contrivers,<br /> + I wonder what they’re not,<br /> +For something they can make<br /> + Of nothing and a plot.<br /> + And a Tory I will be, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">But now your holy cheat<br /> + Is known throughout the nation;<br /> +And a Whig is known to be<br /> + A thing quite out of fashion.<br /> + And a Tory I will be, etc.</p> +<h3><a name="page202"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 202</span>A +NEW GAME AT CARDS:<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR,</span><br /> +WIN AT FIRST AND LOSE AT LAST.</h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Tune, “Ye gallants that +delight to play.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ye</span> merry hearts that +love to play<br /> +At cards, see who hath won the day;<br /> +You that once did sadly sing<br /> +The knave of clubs hath won the king;<br /> +Now more happy times we have,<br /> +The king hath overcome the knave.</p> +<p class="poetry">Not long ago a game was play’d,<br /> +When three crowns at the stakes were laid;<br /> +England had no cause to boast,<br /> +Knaves won that which kings had lost:<br /> +Coaches gave the way to carts,<br /> +And clubs were better cards than hearts.</p> +<p class="poetry">Old Noll was the knave o’ clubs,<br /> +And dad of such as preach in tubs;<br /> +Bradshaw, Ireton, and Pride<br /> +Were three other knaves beside;<br /> +And they play’d with half the pack,<br /> +Throwing out all cards but black.</p> +<p class="poetry">But the just Fates threw these four out,<br /> +Which made the loyal party shout;<br /> +The Pope would fain have had the stock,<br /> +And with these cards have whipt his dock.<br /> +But soon the Devil these cards snatches<br /> +To dip in brimstone, and make matches.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +203</span>But still the sport for to maintain,<br /> +Bold Lambert, Haslerigg, and Vane,<br /> +With one-eyed Hewson, took their places,<br /> +Knaves were better cards than aces;<br /> +But Fleetwood he himself did save,<br /> +Because he was more fool than knave.</p> +<p class="poetry">Cromwell, though he so much had won,<br /> +Yet he had an unlucky son;<br /> +He sits still, and not regards,<br /> +Whilst cunning gamesters set the cards;<br /> +And thus, alas! poor silly Dick,<br /> +He play’d awhile, and lost his trick.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Rumpers that had won whole towns,<br /> +The spoils of martyrs and of crowns,<br /> +Were not contented, but grew rough,<br /> +As though they had not won enough;<br /> +They kept the cards still in their hands,<br /> +To play for tithes and college lands.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Presbyters began to fret<br /> +That they were like to lose the sett;<br /> +Unto the Rump they did appeal,<br /> +And said it was their turn to deal;<br /> +Then dealt with Presbyterians, but<br /> +The army swore that they would cut.</p> +<p class="poetry">The foreign lands began to wonder,<br /> +To see what gallants we lived under,<br /> +That they, which Christians did forswear,<br /> +Should follow gaming all the year,—<br /> +Nay more, which was the strangest thing,<br /> +To play so long without a king.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +204</span>The bold phanatics present were,<br /> +Like butlers with their boxes there,<br /> +Not doubting but that every game<br /> +Some profit would redound to them;<br /> +Because they were the gamesters’ minions,<br /> +And every day broach’d new opinions.</p> +<p class="poetry">But Cheshire men (as stories say)<br /> +Began to show them gamester’s play;<br /> +Brave Booth and all his army strives<br /> +To save the stakes, or lose their lives;<br /> +But, oh sad fate! they were undone<br /> +By playing of their cards too soon.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus all the while a club was trump,<br /> +There’s none could ever beat the Rump,<br /> +Until a noble general came,<br /> +And gave the cheaters a clear slam;<br /> +His finger did outwit their noddy,<br /> +And screw’d up poor Jack Lambert’s body.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Haslerigg began to scowl,<br /> +And said the general play’d foul.<br /> +Look to him, partners, for I tell ye,<br /> +This Monk has got a king in’s belly.<br /> +Not so, quoth Monk, but I believe<br /> +Sir Arthur has a knave in’s sleeve.</p> +<p class="poetry">When General Monk did understand<br /> +The Rump were peeping into’s hand,<br /> +He wisely kept his cards from sight,<br /> +Which put the Rump into a fright;<br /> +He saw how many were betray’d<br /> +That show’d their cards before they play’d.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +205</span>At length, quoth he, some cards we lack,<br /> +I will not play with half a pack;<br /> +What you cast out I will bring in,<br /> +And a new game we will begin:<br /> +With that the standers-by did say<br /> +They never yet saw fairer play.</p> +<p class="poetry">But presently this game was past,<br /> +And for a second knaves were cast;<br /> +All new cards, not stain’d with spots,<br /> +As was the Rumpers and the Scots,—<br /> +Here good gamesters play’d their parts<br /> +And turn’d up the king of hearts.</p> +<p class="poetry">After this game was done, I think<br /> +The standers-by had cause to drink,<br /> +And all loyal subjects sing,<br /> +Farewell knaves, and welcome King;<br /> +For, till we saw the King return’d,<br /> +We wish’d the cards had all been burn’d.</p> +<h3>THE CAVALEERS LITANY.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(March 25th, 1660.)—From the +King’s Pamphlets, British Museum.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">From</span> pardons which +extend to woods,<br /> +Entitle thieves to keep our goods,<br /> +Forgive our rents as well as bloods,<br /> + + +God bless, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +206</span>From judges who award that none<br /> +Of our oppressours should attone<br /> +(The losses sure were not their own),<br /> + + +God bless, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From Christians which can soon forget<br /> +Our injuries, but not one bit<br /> +Of self-concernment would remit,<br /> + + +God bless, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From duresse, and their dolefull tale,<br /> +Who, famisht by a lawless sale,<br /> +Compounded it for cakes and ale,<br /> + + +God bless, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From persons still to tread the stage,<br /> +Who did the drudgeries of our age<br /> +(Such counsells are, I fear, too sage),<br /> + + +God bless, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From maximes which (to make all sure)<br /> +With great rewards the bad allure,<br /> +’Cause of the good they are secure,<br /> + + +God bless, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From cunning gamesters, who, they say,<br /> +Are sure to winne, what-e’re they play;<br /> +In April Lambert, Charles in May,<br /> + + +God bless, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From neuters and their leven’d lump,<br +/> +Who name the King and mean the Rump,<br /> +Or care not much what card is trump,<br /> + + +God bless, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +207</span>From midnight-birds, who lye at catch<br /> +Some plume from monarchy to snatch,<br /> +And from fond youths that cannot watch,<br /> + + +God bless, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From brethren who must still dissent,<br /> +Whose froward gospell brooks no Lent,<br /> +And who recant, but ne’er repent,<br /> + + +God bless, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From Levites void of truth and shame,<br /> +Who to the time their pulpits frame,<br /> +And keep the style but change the name,<br /> + + +God bless, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From men by heynous crimes made rich,<br /> +Who (though their hopes are in the ditch)<br /> +Have still th’ old fornicatours itch,<br /> + + +God bless, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">From such as freely paid th’ arrears<br +/> +Of the State-troops for many years,<br /> +But grudge one tax for Cavaleers,<br /> + + +God bless, etc.</p> +<h3>THE SECOND PART.</h3> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">crown</span> of gold +without allay,<br /> +Not here provided for one day,<br /> +But framed above to last for aye!<br /> + + +God send, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +208</span>A Queen to fill the empty place,<br /> +And multiply his noble race,<br /> +Wee all beseech the throne of grace<br /> + + +To send, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">A people still as true and kind<br /> +As late (when for their King they pin’d),<br /> +Not fickle as the tide or wild,<br /> + + +God send, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">A fleet like that in fifty-three,<br /> +To re-assert our power at sea,<br /> +And make proud Flemings bend their knee,<br /> + + +God send, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Full magazines and cash in store,<br /> +That such as wrought his fate before<br /> +May hope to do the same no more,<br /> + + +God send, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">A searching judgement to divine,<br /> +Of persons whether they do joyn<br /> +For love, for fear, or for design,<br /> + + +God send, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">A well-complexion’d Parliament,<br /> +That shall (like Englishmen) resent<br /> +What loyall subjects underwent,<br /> + + +God send, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Review of statutes lately past,<br /> +Made in such heat, pen’d in such hast,<br /> +That all events were not forecast,<br /> + + +God send, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +209</span>Dispatch of businesse, lawes upright,<br /> +And favour where it stands with right,<br /> +(Be their purses ne’er so light),<br /> + + +God send, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">A raven to supply their need,<br /> +Whose martyrdom (like noble seed)<br /> +Sprung up at length and choak’t the weed,<br /> + + +God send, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">The King and kingdom’s debts +defray’d,<br /> +And those of honest men well pay’d,<br /> +To which their vertue them betray’d,<br /> + + +God send, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Increase of customes to the King<br /> +May our increase of traffick bring,<br /> +’Tis that will make the people sing<br /> + + +Long live, etc.</p> +<p>London, printed for Robert Crofts, at the Crown, in Chancery +Lane, 1661.</p> +<h3>THE CAVALIER’S COMPLAINT.</h3> +<p>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.)</p> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune of “I tell thee, +Dick.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span>, Jack, +let’s drink a pot of ale,<br /> +And I shall tell thee such a tale<br /> + Will make thine ears to ring;<br /> +<a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 210</span>My coyne +is spent, my time is lost,<br /> +And I this only fruit can boast,<br /> + That once I saw my King.</p> +<p class="poetry">But this doth most afflict my mind:<br /> +I went to Court in hope to find<br /> + Some of my friends in place;<br /> +And walking there, I had a sight<br /> +Of all the crew, but, by this light!<br /> + I hardly knew one face.</p> +<p class="poetry">’S’life! of so many noble +sparkes,<br /> +Who on their bodies bear the markes<br /> + Of their integritie;<br /> +And suffer’d ruine of estate,<br /> +It was my damn’d unhappy fate<br /> + That I not one could see.</p> +<p class="poetry">Not one, upon my life, among<br /> +My old acquaintance all along<br /> + At Truro and before;<br /> +And I suppose the place can show<br /> +As few of those whom thou didst know<br /> + At Yorke or Marston-moore.</p> +<p class="poetry">But truly there are swarmes of those<br /> +Who lately were our chiefest foes,<br /> + Of pantaloons and muffes;<br /> +Whilst the old rusty Cavaleer<br /> +Retires, or dares not once appear,<br /> + For want of coyne and cuffes.</p> +<p class="poetry">When none of these I could descry,<br /> +Who better far deserv’d then I,<br /> + Calmely I did reflect;<br /> +<a name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +211</span>“Old services (by rule of State)<br /> +Like almanacks grow out of date,—<br /> + What then can I expect?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Troth! in contempt of Fortune’s frown,<br +/> +I’ll get me fairly out of town,<br /> + And in a cloyster pray;<br /> +That since the starres are yet unkind<br /> +To Royalists, the King may find<br /> + More faithfull friends than they.</p> +<h3>AN ECHO TO THE CAVALIER’S COMPLAINT.</h3> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">marvel</span>, Dick, that +having been<br /> +So long abroad, and having seen<br /> + The world as thou hast done,<br /> +Thou should’st acquaint mee with a tale<br /> +As old as Nestor, and as stale<br /> + As that of Priest and Nunne. <a +name="citation100"></a><a href="#footnote100" +class="citation">[100]</a></p> +<p class="poetry">Are we to learn what is a Court?<br /> +A pageant made for fortune’s sport,<br /> + Where merits scarce appear;<br /> +For bashfull merit only dwells<br /> +In camps, in villages, and cells;<br /> + Alas! it dwells not there.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page212"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +212</span>Desert is nice in its addresse,<br /> +And merit ofttimes doth oppresse<br /> + Beyond what guilt would do;<br /> +But they are sure of their demands<br /> +That come to Court with golden hands,<br /> + And brazen faces, too.</p> +<p class="poetry">The King, they say, doth still professe<br /> +To give his party some redresse,<br /> + And cherish honestie;<br /> +But his good wishes prove in vain,<br /> +Whose service with his servants’ gain<br /> + Not alwayes doth agree.</p> +<p class="poetry">All princes (be they ne’er so wise)<br /> +Are fain to see with others’ eyes,<br /> + But seldom hear at all;<br /> +And courtiers find their interest<br /> +In time to feather well their nest,<br /> + Providing for their fall.</p> +<p class="poetry">Our comfort doth on time depend,<br /> +Things when they are at worst will mend;<br /> + And let us but reflect<br /> +On our condition th’ other day,<br /> +When none but tyrants bore the sway,<br /> + What did we then expect?</p> +<p class="poetry">Meanwhile a calm retreat is best,<br /> +But discontent (if not supprest)<br /> + Will breed disloyaltie;<br /> +This is the constant note I sing,<br /> +I have been faithful to the King,<br /> + And so shall ever be.</p> +<p>London, printed for Robert Crofts, at the Crown, in Chancery +Lane, 1661.</p> +<h3><a name="page213"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 213</span>A +RELATION.</h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">The tune is “Come let us +drinke, the time invites.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Hee</span> that can impose +a thing,<br /> + And shew forth a reason<br /> +For what was done against the King,<br /> + From the palace to the prison;<br /> +Let him here with me recite,<br /> +For my pen is bent to write<br /> + The horrid facts of treason.</p> +<p class="poetry">Since there is no learned scribe<br /> + Nor arithmaticion<br /> +Ever able to decide<br /> + The usurp’d base ambition,<br /> +Which in truth I shall declare,<br /> +Traytors here which lately were,<br /> + Who wanted a phisitian.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +214</span>For the grand disease that bred<br /> + Nature could not weane it;<br /> +From the foot unto the head,<br /> + Was putrefacted treason in it;<br /> +Doctors could no cure give,<br /> +Which made the squire then beleeve<br /> + That he must first begin it.</p> +<p class="poetry">And the phisick did compose,<br /> + Within a pound of reason;<br /> +First to take away the cause,<br /> + Then to purge away the treason,<br /> +With a dosse of hemp made up,<br /> +Wrought as thickly as a rope,<br /> + And given them in due season.</p> +<p class="poetry">The doctors did prescribe at last<br /> + To give ’um this potation,<br /> +A vomit or a single cast,<br /> + Well deserved, in purgation;<br /> +After that to lay them downe,<br /> +And bleed a veine in every one,<br /> + As traytors of the nation.</p> +<p class="poetry">So when first the physicke wrought,<br /> + The thirteenth of October, <a +name="citation101"></a><a href="#footnote101" +class="citation">[101]</a><br /> +The patient on a sledge was brought,<br /> + Like a rebell and a rover,<br /> +<a name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 215</span>To the +execution tree;<br /> +Where with much dexterity<br /> + Was gently turned over.</p> +<h4>THE SECOND PART.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">To the same tune.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Monday</span> was the +fifteenth day,<br /> + As Carew then did follow, <a +name="citation102"></a><a href="#footnote102" +class="citation">[102]</a><br /> +Of whom all men I thinke might say<br /> + In tyranny did deeply wallow;<br /> +Traytor proved unto the King,<br /> +Which made him on the gallowes swing,<br /> + And all the people hallow.</p> +<p class="poetry">Tuesday, after Peters, Cooke, <a +name="citation103"></a><a href="#footnote103" +class="citation">[103]</a><br /> + Two notorious traytors,<br /> +That brought our soveraigne to the blocke,<br /> + For which were hang’d and cut in quarters;<br +/> +’Twas Cooke which wrought the bloody thing<br /> +To draw the charge against our King,<br /> + That ever blessed martyr.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +216</span>Next, on Wednesday, foure came,<br /> + For murthur all imputed,<br /> +There to answer for the same,<br /> + Which in judgement were confuted.<br /> +Gregorie Clement, Jones, and Scot,<br /> +And Scroop together, for a plot, <a name="citation104"></a><a +href="#footnote104" class="citation">[104]</a><br /> + Likewise were executed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thursday past, and Friday then,<br /> + To end the full conclusion,<br /> +And make the traytors just up ten,<br /> + That day were brought to execution,<br /> +Hacker and proud Axtell he, <a name="citation105"></a><a +href="#footnote105" class="citation">[105]</a><br /> +At Tyburne for their treachery<br /> + Received their absolution.</p> +<p class="poetry">Being against the King and States,<br /> + The Commons all condemn’d ’um,<br /> +And their quarters on the gates<br /> + Hangeth for a memorandum<br /> +<a name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +217</span>’Twixt the heavens and the earth;<br /> +Traytors are so little worth,<br /> + To dust and smoake wee’l send ’um.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let now October warning make<br /> + To bloody-minded traytors,<br /> +That never phisicke more they take,<br /> + For in this moneth they lost their quarters;<br /> +Being so against the King,<br /> +Which to murther they did bring,<br /> + The ever blessed martyr.</p> +<p>London, printed for Fr. Coles, T. Vere, M. Wright, and W. +Gilbertson.</p> +<h3>THE GLORY OF THESE NATIONS;</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">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</span>.</p> +<p>One of the six curious broadsides found by Sir W. C. Trevelyan +in the lining of a trunk, and now in the British Museum.</p> +<p>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 <a +name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 218</span>board the +<i>Nazeby</i> on the 23rd of May. On the 25th he landed at +Dover. He made his entry into London on the 29th.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune of “When the King +enjoys his own again.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Where’s</span> those +that did prognosticate,<br /> +And did envy fair England’s state,<br /> +And said King Charles no more should reign?<br /> +Their predictions were but in vain,<br /> + For the King is now return’d,<br /> + For whom fair England mourn’d;<br /> +His nobles royally him entertain.<br /> + Now blessed be the day!<br /> + Thus do his subjects say,<br /> +That God hath brought him home again.</p> +<p class="poetry">The twenty-second of lovely May<br /> +At Dover arrived, fame doth say,<br /> +Where our most noble generall<br /> +Did on his knees before him fall,<br /> + Craving to kiss his hand,<br /> + So soon as he did land.<br /> +Royally they did him entertain,<br /> + With all their pow’r and might,<br /> + To bring him to his right,<br /> +And place him in his own again.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then the King, I understand,<br /> +Did kindly take him by the hand<br /> +And lovingly did him embrace,<br /> +Rejoycing for to see his face.<br /> + Hee lift him from the ground<br /> + With joy that did abound,<br /> +And graciously did him entertain;<br /> + Rejoycing that once more<br /> + He was o’ th’ English shore,<br /> +To enjoy his own in peace again.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +219</span>From Dover to Canterbury they past,<br /> +And so to Cobham-hall at last;<br /> +From thence to London march amain,<br /> +With a triumphant and glorious train,<br /> + Where he was received with joy,<br /> + His sorrow to destroy,<br /> +In England once more for to raign;<br /> + Now all men do sing,<br /> + God save Charles our King,<br /> +That now enjoyes his own again.</p> +<p class="poetry">At Deptford the maidens they<br /> +Stood all in white by the high-way<br /> +Their loyalty to Charles to show,<br /> +They with sweet flowers his way to strew.<br /> + Each wore a ribbin blew,<br /> + They were of comely hue,<br /> +With joy they did him entertain,<br /> + With acclamations to the skye<br /> + As the King passed by,<br /> +For joy that he receives his own again.</p> +<p class="poetry">In Wallworth-fields a gallant band<br /> +Of London ’prentices did stand,<br /> +All in white dublets very gay,<br /> +To entertain King Charles that day,<br /> + With muskets, swords, and pike;<br /> + I never saw the like,<br /> +Nor a more youthfull gallant train;<br /> + They up their hats did fling,<br /> + And cry, “God save the King!<br /> +Now he enjoys his own again.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page220"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +220</span>At Newington-Buts the Lord Mayor willed<br /> +A famous booth for to be builded,<br /> +Where King Charles did make a stand,<br /> +And received the sword into his hand;<br /> + Which his Majesty did take,<br /> + And then returned back<br /> +Unto the Mayor with love again.<br /> + A banquet they him make,<br /> + He doth thereof partake,<br /> +Then marcht his triumphant train.</p> +<p class="poetry">The King with all his noblemen,<br /> +Through Southwark they marched then;<br /> +First marched Major Generall Brown, <a name="citation106"></a><a +href="#footnote106" class="citation">[106]</a><br /> +Then Norwich Earle of great renown, <a name="citation107"></a><a +href="#footnote107" class="citation">[107]</a><br /> + With many a valiant knight<br /> + And gallant men of might,<br /> +Richly attired, marching amain,<br /> + There Lords Mordin, Gerard, and<br /> + The good Earle of Cleavland, <a +name="citation108"></a><a href="#footnote108" +class="citation">[108]</a><br /> +To bring the King to his own again.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page221"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +221</span>Near sixty flags and streamers then<br /> +Was born before a thousand men,<br /> +In plush coats and chaines of gold,<br /> +These were most rich for to behold;<br /> + With every man his page,<br /> + The glory of his age;<br /> +With courage bold they marcht amain,<br /> + Then with gladnesse they<br /> + Brought the King on his way<br /> +For to enjoy his own again.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Lichfields and Darbyes Earles, <a +name="citation109"></a><a href="#footnote109" +class="citation">[109]</a><br /> +Two of fair England’s royall pearles;<br /> +Major Generall Massey then<br /> +Commanded the life guard of men,<br /> + The King for to defend,<br /> + If any should contend,<br /> +Or seem his comming to restrain;<br /> + But also joyfull were<br /> + That no such durst appear,<br /> +Now the King enjoyes his own again.</p> +<p class="poetry">Four rich maces before them went,<br /> +And many heralds well content;<br /> +The Lord Mayor and the generall<br /> +Did march before the King withall.<br /> + <a name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +222</span>His brothers on each side<br /> + Along by him did ride;<br /> +The Southwark-waits did play amain,<br /> + Which made them all to smile<br /> + And to stand still awhile,<br /> +And then they marched on again.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then with drawn swords all men did side,<br /> +And flourishing the same, then cryed,<br /> +“Charles the Second now God save,<br /> +That he his lawfull right may have!<br /> + And we all on him attend,<br /> + From dangers him to defend,<br /> +And all that with him doth remain.<br /> + Blessed be God that we<br /> + Did live these days to see,<br /> +That the King enjoyes his own again!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The bells likewise did loudly ring,<br /> +Bonefires did burn and people sing;<br /> +London conduits did run with wine,<br /> +And all men do to Charles incline;<br /> + Hoping now that all<br /> + Unto their trades may fall,<br /> +Their famylies for to maintain,<br /> + And from wrong be free,<br /> + ’Cause we have liv’d to see<br /> +The King enjoy his own again.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">London, printed for Charles Tyns, +on London Bridge.</p> +<h3><a name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 223</span>THE +NOBLE PROGRESS,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR,</span><br /> +A TRUE RELATION OF THE LORD<br /> +GENERAL MONK’S POLITICAL<br /> +PROCEEDINGS.</h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Tune—“When first the +Scottish wars began.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Good</span> people, hearken to my call,<br /> + I’le tell you all what did befall<br /> + And hapned of late;<br /> + Our noble valiant General Monk<br /> + Came to the Rump, who lately stunk<br /> + With their council of state.<br /> +Admiring what this man would doe,<br /> +His secret mind there’s none could know,<br /> +They div’d into him as much as they could,—<br /> +George would not be won with their silver nor gold:<br /> +The sectarian saints at this lookt blew,<br /> +With all the rest of the factious crew,<br /> +They vapour’d awhile, and were in good hope,<br /> +But now they have nothing left but the rope.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Another invention then they +sought,<br /> + Which long they wrought for to be brought<br /> + To claspe him with they;<br /> + Quoth Vane and Scot, I’le tell you what,<br /> + Wee’l have a plot and he shall not,<br /> + Wee’l carry the sway:<br /> +<a name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +224</span>Let’s vote him a thousand pound a yeare,<br /> +And Hampton Court for him and his Heire.<br /> +Indeed, quoth George, ye’re Free Parliament men<br /> +To cut a thong out of another man’s skin.<br /> + The sectarian, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> They sent him then with all +his hosts<br /> + To break our posts and raise our ghosts,<br /> + Which was their intent;<br /> + To cut our gates and chain all downe<br /> + Unto the ground—this trick they found<br /> + To make him be shent:<br /> +This plot the Rump did so accord<br /> +To cast an odium on my lord,<br /> +But in the task he was hard put untoo’t,<br /> +’Twas enough to infect both his horse and his foot,<br /> + The sectarian, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But when my lord perceived +that night<br /> + What was their spight, he brought to light<br /> + Their knaveries all;<br /> + This Parliament of forty-eight,<br /> + Which long did wait, came to him straight,<br /> + To give them a fall,<br /> +And some phanatical people knew<br /> +That George would give them their fatall due;<br /> +Indeed he did requite them agen,<br /> +For he pul’d the Monster out of his den.<br /> + The sectarian, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> To the House our worthy +Parliament<br /> + With good intent they boldly went<br /> + To vote home the King,<br /> + <a name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +225</span>And many hundred people more<br /> + Stood at the doore, and waited for<br /> + Good tidings to bring;<br /> +Yet some in the House had their hands much in blood,<br /> +And in great opposition like traytors they stood;<br /> +But yet I believe it is very well known<br /> +That those that were for him were twenty to one.<br /> + But the sectarian, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> They call’d the League +and Covenant in<br /> + To read again to every man;<br /> + But what comes next?<br /> + All sequestrations null be void,<br /> + The people said none should be paid,<br /> + For this was the text.<br /> +For, as I heard all the people say,<br /> +They voted King Charles the first of May;<br /> +Bonfires burning, bells did ring,<br /> +And our streets did echo with God bless ye King.<br /> + At this the sectarian, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Our general then to Dover +goes,<br /> + In spite of foes or deadly blowes,<br /> + Saying Vive le Roy;<br /> + And all the glories of the land,<br /> + At his command they there did stand<br /> + In triumph and joy.<br /> +Good Lord, what a sumptuous sight ’twas to see<br /> +Our good Lord General fall on his knee<br /> +To welcome home his Majestie,<br /> +And own his sacred sovereignty.<br /> + But the sectarian, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page226"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 226</span>When all the worthy noble train<br +/> + Came back again with Charlemain,<br /> + Our sovereign great:<br /> + The Lord Mayor in his scarlet gown,<br /> + His chain so long, went through the town<br /> + In pompe and state.<br /> +The livery-men each line the way<br /> +Upon this great triumphant day;<br /> +Five rich maces carried before,<br /> +And my Lord himselfe the sword he bore.<br /> +Then Vive le Roy the gentry did sing,<br /> +For General Monk rode next to the King;<br /> +With acclamations, shouts, and cryes,<br /> +I thought they would have rent the skyes.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The conduits, ravished with +joy,<br /> + As I may say, did run all day<br /> + Great plenty of wine;<br /> + And every gentleman of note<br /> + In’s velvet coat that could be got<br /> + In glory did shine.<br /> +There were all the peeres and barrons bold,<br /> +Richly clad in silver and gold,<br /> +Marched through the street so brave,<br /> +No greater pompe a king could have.<br /> + At this, the sacristan, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And thus conducted all +along<br /> + Throughout the throng, still he did come<br /> + Unto White Hall;<br /> + Attended by those noble-men,<br /> + Bold heroes’ kin that brought him in<br /> + With the geneall;<br /> +Who was the man that brought him home<br /> +And placed him on his royal throne;—<br /> +<a name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +227</span>’Twas General Monk did doe the thing,<br /> +So God preserve our gracious King,<br /> + Now the sacristan, etc.</p> +<h3>ON THE KING’S RETURN.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">By Alex. Brome.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Long</span> have we waited +for a happy end<br /> + Of all our miseries and strife;—<br /> +But still in vain;—the swordmen did intend<br /> + To make them hold for term of life:<br /> +That our distempers might be made<br /> +Their everlasting livelihood and trade.</p> +<p class="poetry">They entail their swords and guns,<br /> + And pay, which wounded more,<br /> +Upon their daughters and their sons,<br /> + Thereby to keep us ever poor.</p> +<p class="poetry">But when the Civil Wars were past,<br /> + They civil government invade,<br /> +To make our taxes and our slavery last,<br /> + Both to their titles and their trade.</p> +<p class="poetry">But now we are redeem’d from all<br /> + By our indulgent King,<br /> +Whose coming does prevent our fall,<br /> + With loyal and with joyful hearts we’ll +sing:</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page228"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 228</span><span +class="GutSmall">CHORUS,</span></p> +<p class="poetry">Welcome, welcome, royal May,<br /> + Welcome, long-desired Spring.<br /> + Many Springs and Mays we’ve seen,<br /> + Have brought forth what’s gay and green;<br /> +But none is like this glorious day,<br /> + Which brings forth our gracious King.</p> +<h3>THE BRAVE BARBARY.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">A Ballad by Alex. Brome.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Old</span> England is now a +brave Barbary made,<br /> + And every one has an ambition to ride her;<br /> +King Charles was a horseman that long used the trade,<br /> + But he rode in a snaffle, and that could not guide +her.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then the hungry Scot comes with spur and with +switch,<br /> + And would teach her to run a Geneva career;<br /> +His grooms were all Puritan, Traytor, and Witch,<br /> + But she soon threw them down with their pedlary +geer.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Long Parliament next came all to the +block,<br /> + And they this untameable palfrey would ride;<br /> +<a name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 229</span>But she +would not bear all that numerous flock,<br /> + At which they were fain themselves to divide.</p> +<p class="poetry">Jack Presbyter first gets the steed by the +head,<br /> + While the reverend Bishops had hold of the +bridle;<br /> +Jack said through the nose they their flockes did not feed,<br /> + But sat still on the beast and grew aged and +idle.</p> +<p class="poetry">And then comes the Rout, with broom-sticks +inspired,<br /> + And pull’d down their graces, their sleeves, +and their train;<br /> +And sets up Sir Jack, who the beast quickly tyr’d<br /> + With a journey to Scotland and thence back +again.</p> +<p class="poetry">Jack rode in a doublet, with a yoke of +prick-ears,<br /> + A cursed splay-mouth and a Covenant spur,<br /> +Rides switching and spurring with jealousies and fears,<br /> + Till the poor famish’d beast was not able to +stir.</p> +<p class="poetry">Next came th’ Independent—a +dev’lish designer,<br /> + And got himself call’d by a holier +name—<br /> +Makes Jack to unhorse, for he was diviner,<br /> + And would make her travel as far’s +Amsterdam.</p> +<p class="poetry">But Nol, a rank-rider, gets first in the +saddle,<br /> + And made her show tricks, and curvate, and +rebound;<br /> +<a name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 230</span>She +quickly perceived that he rode widdle waddle,<br /> + And like his coach-horses threw his Highness to +ground.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then Dick, being lame, rode holding by the +pummel,<br /> + Not having the wit to get hold of the rein;<br /> +But the jade did so snort at the sight of a Cromwell,<br /> + That poor Dick and his kindred turn’d footmen +again.</p> +<p class="poetry">Next Fleetwood and Vane with their rascally +pack,<br /> + Would every one put their feet in the stirrup;<br /> +But they pull’d the saddle quite off of her back,<br /> + And were all got under her before they were up.</p> +<p class="poetry">At last the King mounts her, and then she stood +still;<br /> + As his Bucephalus, proud of this rider,<br /> +She cheerfully yields to his power and skill<br /> + Who is careful to feed her, and skilful to guide +her.</p> +<h3>A CATCH.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">By Alex. Brome. A.D. +1660.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Let’s</span> leave +off our labour, and now let’s go play,<br /> + For this is our time to be jolly;<br /> +Our plagues and our plaguers are both fled away,<br /> + To nourish our griefs is but folly:<br /> + He that +won’t drink and sing<br /> + Is a traytor +to’s King,<br /> +And so he that does not look twenty years younger;<br /> + We’ll look +blythe and trim<br /> + With rejoicing +at him<br /> +That is the restorer and will be the prolonger<br /> +Of all our felicity and health,<br /> +The joy of our hearts, and increase of our wealth.<br /> +’Tis he brings our trading, our trading brings riches,<br +/> +<a name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 231</span>Our +riches brings honour, at which every mind itches,<br /> +And our riches bring sack, and our sack brings us joy,<br /> +And our joy makes us leap and sing,<br /> + + +Vive le Roy!</p> +<h3>THE TURN-COAT.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">By Samuel Butler. 1661.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune of “London is a +fine town.”</p> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">loved</span> no King +since forty-one,<br /> + When Prelacy went down;<br /> +A cloak and band I then put on<br /> + And preach’d against the crown.<br /> +<a name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 232</span>A +turn-coat is a cunning man<br /> + That cants to admiration,<br /> +And prays for any king to gain<br /> + The people’s approbation.</p> +<p class="poetry">I show’d the paths to heaven untrod,<br +/> + From Popery to refine ’em,<br /> +And taught the people to serve God,<br /> + As if the Devil were in ’em.<br /> + A turn-coat, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">When Charles return’d into our land,<br +/> + The English Church supporter,<br /> +I shifted off my cloak and band,<br /> + And so became a courtier.<br /> + A turn-coat, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">The King’s religion I profest,<br /> + And found there was no harm in ’t;<br /> +I cogg’d and flatter’d like the rest,<br /> + Till I had got preferment.<br /> + A turn-coat, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">I taught my conscience how to cope<br /> + With honesty or evil;<br /> +And when I rail’d against the Pope<br /> + I sided with the Devil.<br /> + A turn-coat, etc.</p> +<h3><a name="page233"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 233</span>THE +CLARET DRINKER’S SONG,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR</span><br /> +THE GOOD FELLOW’S DESIGN.</h3> +<p>Being a pleasant song of the times, written by a person of +quality.—From the Roxburgh Ballads, Vol. iii.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wine the most powerfull’st of all things +on earth,<br /> +Which stifles cares and sorrows in their birth;<br /> +No treason in it harbours, nor can hate<br /> +Creep in when it bears away, to hurt the State.<br /> +Though storms grow high, so wine is to be got,<br /> +We are secure, their rage we value not;<br /> +The Muses cherish’d up such nectar, sing<br /> +Eternal joy to him that loves the King.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune of “Let +Cæsar live long.”</p> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">pox</span> of the fooling +and plotting of late,<br /> +What a pudder and stir has it kept in the State!<br /> +Let the rabble run mad with suspicions and fears,<br /> +Let ’em scuffle and rail till they go by the +ears,—<br /> +Their grievances never shall trouble my pate,<br /> +So I but enjoy my dear bottle at quiet.</p> +<p class="poetry">What coxcombs were those that would ruin their +case<br /> +And their necks for a toy, a thin wafer, and mass!<br /> +For at Tyburn they never had needed to swing<br /> +Had they been but true subjects to drink and their King:<br /> +A friend and a bottle is all my design,—<br /> +He’s no room for treason that’s top-full of wine.</p> +<p class="poetry">I mind not the members and makers of laws,<br +/> +Let them sit or prorogue as his Majesty please;<br /> +Let ’em damn us to Woolen, I’le never repine<br /> +At my usage when dead, so alive I have wine;<br /> +<a name="page234"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 234</span>Yet oft +in my drink I can hardly forbear<br /> +To blame them for making my claret so dear.</p> +<p class="poetry">I mind not grave allies who idly debate<br /> +About rights and successions, the trifles of State;<br /> +We’ve a good King already, and he deserves laughter<br /> +That will trouble his head with who shall come after:<br /> +Come, here’s to his health! and I wish he may be<br /> +As free from all cares and all troubles as we.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">SECOND +PART.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> care I how +leagues with Hollanders go,<br /> +Or intrigues ’twist Mounsieurs or Dons for to?<br /> +What concerns it my drinking if cities be sold,<br /> +If the conqueror takes them by storming or gold?<br /> +From whence claret comes is the place that I mind,<br /> +And when the fleet’s coming I pray for a wind.</p> +<p class="poetry">The bully of France that aspires to renown<br +/> +By dull cutting of throats, and by venturing his own;<br /> +Let him fight till he’s ruined, make matches, and treat,<br +/> +To afford us still news, the dull coffee-house cheat:<br /> +He’s but a brave wretch, whilst that I am more free,<br /> +More safe, and a thousand times happier than he.</p> +<p class="poetry">In spite of him, or the Pope, or the Devil,<br +/> +Or faggot, or fire, or the worst of hell’s evil,<br /> +<a name="page235"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 235</span>I still +will drink healths to the lovers of wine,<br /> +Those jovial, brisk blades that do never repine;<br /> +I’ll drink in defiance of napkin or halter,<br /> +Tho’ religion turn round still, yet mine shall ne’er +alter.</p> +<p class="poetry">But a health to good fellows shall still be my +care,<br /> +And whilst wine it holds out, no bumpers we’ll spare.<br /> +I’ll subscribe to petitions for nothing but claret,<br /> +That that may be cheap, here’s both my hands for it;<br /> +’Tis my province, and with it I only am pleased,<br /> +With the rest, scolding wives let poor cuckolds appease.</p> +<p class="poetry">No doubt ’tis the best of all drinks, or +so soon<br /> +It ne’er had been chose by the Man in the Moon, <a +name="citation110"></a><a href="#footnote110" +class="citation">[110]</a><br /> +Who drinks nothing else, both by night and by day<br /> +But claret, brisk claret, and most people say,<br /> +Whilst glasses brimful to the stars they go round,<br /> +Which makes them shine brighter with red juice still +crown’d.</p> +<p class="poetry">For all things in Nature doe live by good +drinking,<br /> +And he’s a dull fool, and not worthy my thinking, <br /> +That does not prefer it before all the treasure<br /> +The Indies contain, or the sea without measure;<br /> +’Tis the life of good fellows, for without it they pine,<br +/> +When nought can revive them but brimmers of wine.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +236</span>I know the refreshments that still it does bring,<br /> +Which have oftentimes made us as great as a king<br /> +In the midst of his armies where’er he is found,<br /> +Whilst the bottles and glasses I’ve muster’d +round;<br /> +Who are Bacchus’ warriors a conquest will gain<br /> +Without the least bloodshed, or wounded, or slain.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then here’s a good health to all those +that love peace,<br /> +Let plotters be damn’d and all quarrels now cease<br /> +Let me but have wine and I care for no more,<br /> +’Tis a treasure sufficient; there’s none can be +poor<br /> +That has Bacchus to’s friend, for he laughs at all harm,<br +/> +Whilst with high-proofed claret he does himself arm.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Printed for J. Jordan, at the +Angel, Giltspur Street.</p> +<h3>THE LOYAL SUBJECTS’ HEARTY WISHES TO KING CHARLES +II.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From Sir W. C. Trevelyan’s +Broadsides in the British Museum.</p> +<p class="poetry">He that write these verses certainly<br /> +Did serve his royal father faithfully,<br /> +Likewise himself he served at Worcester fight,<br /> +And for his loyalty was put to flight.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +237</span>But had he a haid of hair like Absolom,<br /> +And every hair as strong as was Samson,<br /> +I’d venture all for Charles the Second’s sake,<br /> +And for his Majesty my life forsake.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune “When Cannons are +roaring.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">FIRST +PART.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">True</span> subjects, all +rejoice<br /> + After long sadness,<br /> +And now with heart and voice<br /> + Show forth your gladness.<br /> +That to King Charles were true<br /> + And rebels hated,<br /> +This song only to you<br /> + Is dedicated;<br /> +For Charles our sovereign dear<br /> + Is safe returned<br /> +True subjects’ hearts to cheer,<br /> + That long have mourned:<br /> +Then let us give God praise<br /> + That doth defend him,<br /> +And pray with heart and voice,<br /> + Angels, attend him.</p> +<p class="poetry">The dangers he hath past<br /> + From vile usurpers<br /> +Now bring him joy at last,<br /> + Although some lurkers<br /> +Did seek his blood to spill<br /> + By actions evil;<br /> +But God we see is still<br /> + Above the Devil:<br /> +Though many serpents hiss<br /> + Him to devour,<br /> +God his defender is<br /> + By His strong power:<br /> +<a name="page238"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 238</span>Then let +us give him praise<br /> + That doth defend him,<br /> +And sing with heart and voice,<br /> + Angels, defend him.</p> +<p class="poetry">The joy that he doth bring,<br /> + If true confessed,<br /> +The tongues of mortal men<br /> + Cannot confess it;<br /> +He cures our drooping fears,<br /> + Being long tormented,<br /> +And his true Cavaliers<br /> + Are well contented;<br /> +For now the Protestant<br /> + Again shall flourish;<br /> +The King our nursing father<br /> + He will us cherish:<br /> +Then let us give God praise<br /> + That did defend him,<br /> +And sing with heart and voice,<br /> + Angels, attend him.</p> +<p class="poetry">Like Moses, he is meek<br /> + And tender-hearted;<br /> +And by all means doth seek<br /> + To have foes converted;<br /> +But, like the Israelites,<br /> + There are a number<br /> +That for his love to them<br /> + ’Gainst him doth murmur:<br /> +Read Exodus,—’tis true<br /> + The Israelites rather<br /> +Yield to the Egyptian crew<br /> + Than Moses their father:<br /> +<a name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 239</span>So many +phanaticks,<br /> + With hearts disloyal,<br /> +Their hearts and minds do fix<br /> + ’Gainst our King royal.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">SECOND +PART.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Like</span> holy David, +he<br /> + Past many troubles,<br /> +And by his constancy<br /> + His joys redoubles;<br /> +For now he doth bear sway<br /> + By God appointed,<br /> +For Holy Writ doth say,<br /> + Touch not mine Anointed.<br /> +He is God’s anointed sure,<br /> + Who still doth guide him<br /> +In all his wayes most pure,<br /> + Though some divide him.<br /> +Then let us give God praise<br /> + That doth defend him,<br /> +And sing with heart and voice,<br /> + Angels, attend him.</p> +<p class="poetry">Many there are, we know,<br /> + Within this nation,<br /> +Lip-love to him do show<br /> + In ’simulation;<br /> +Of such vile hereticks<br /> + There are a number,<br /> +Whose hearts and tongues, we know,<br /> + Are far asunder;<br /> +<a name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 240</span>Some do +pray for the King<br /> + Being constrained;<br /> +Who lately against him<br /> + Greatly complained;<br /> +They turn both seat and seam<br /> + To cheat poor tailors,<br /> +But the fit place for them<br /> + Is under strong jailors.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let the King’s foes admire<br /> + Who do reject him;<br /> +Seeing God doth him inspire,<br /> + And still direct him,<br /> +To heal those evil sores,<br /> + And them to cure<br /> +By his most gracious hand<br /> + And prayers pure.<br /> +Though simple people say<br /> + Doctors do as much,<br /> +None but our lawful King<br /> + Can cure with a touch;<br /> +As plainly hath been seen<br /> + Since he returned,—<br /> +Many have cured been<br /> + Which long have mourned.</p> +<p class="poetry">The poorest wretch that hath<br /> + This evil, sure<br /> +May have ease from the King<br /> + And perfect cure;<br /> +His Grace is meek and wise,<br /> + Loving and civil,<br /> +And to his enemies<br /> + Doth good for evil;<br /> +<a name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 241</span>For some +that were his foes<br /> + Were by him healed;<br /> +His liberal cause to bless<br /> + Is not concealed;<br /> +He heals both poor and rich<br /> + By God’s great power,<br /> +And his most gracious touch<br /> + Doth them all cure.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then blush, you infidels,<br /> + That late did scorn him;<br /> +And you that did rebel,<br /> + Crave pardon of him;<br /> +With speed turn a new leaf<br /> + For your transgresses;<br /> +Hear what the preacher sayes<br /> + In Ecclesiastes,—<br /> +The Scripture’s true, and shall<br /> + Ever be taught;<br /> +Curse not the King at all,<br /> + No, not in thy thought:<br /> +And holy Peter<br /> + Two commandments doth bring,—<br /> +Is first for to fear God,<br /> + And then honour the King.</p> +<p class="poetry">When that we had no King<br /> + To guide the nation,<br /> +Opinions up did spring<br /> + By toleration;<br /> +And many heresies<br /> + Were then advanced,<br /> +And cruel liberties<br /> + By old Noll granted.<br /> +<a name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 242</span>Even +able ministers<br /> + Were not esteemed;<br /> +Many false prophets<br /> + Good preachers were deemed.<br /> +The Church some hated;<br /> + A barn, house, or stable<br /> +Would serve the Quakers,<br /> + With their wicked rabble.</p> +<p class="poetry">And now for to conclude:<br /> + The God of power<br /> +Preserve and guide our King<br /> + Both day and hour;<br /> +That he may rule and reign<br /> + Our hearts to cherish;<br /> +And on his head, good Lord,<br /> + Let his crown flourish.<br /> +Let his true subjects sing<br /> + With hearts most loyal,<br /> +God bless and prosper still<br /> + Charles our King royal.<br /> +So now let’s give God praise<br /> + That doth defend him,<br /> +And sing with heart and voice,<br /> + Angels defend him.</p> +<p>London, printed for John Andrews, at the White Lion, near +Pye-Court.</p> +<h3><a name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 243</span>KING +CHARLES THE SECOND’S RESTORATION, 29<span +class="GutSmall">TH</span> MAY.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">Tune, “Where have you been, +my lovely sailor bold?”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">You</span> brave loyal +Churchmen,<br /> + That ever stood by the crown,<br /> +Have you forgot that noble prince<br /> + Great Charles of high renown,<br /> +That from his rights was banish’d<br /> + By Presbyterians, who<br /> +Most cruelty his father kill’d?—<br /> + O cursed, damned crew!<br /> + So let the bells in steeples +ring,<br /> + And music +sweetly play,<br /> + That loyal Tories mayn’t +forget<br /> + The twenty-ninth +of May.</p> +<p class="poetry">Twelve years was he banish’d<br /> + From what was his just due,<br /> +And forced to hide in fields and woods<br /> + From Presbyterian crew;<br /> +But God did preserve him,<br /> + As plainly you do see,<br /> +The blood-hounds did surround the oak<br /> + While he was in the tree.<br /> + So let, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">As Providence would have it,<br /> + The hounds did lose their scent;<br /> +<a name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 244</span>To spill +the blood of this brave prince<br /> + It was their whole intent.<br /> +While that he was in exile,<br /> + The Church they pull’d down,<br /> +The Common-prayer they burnt, sir,<br /> + And trampled on the crown.<br /> + So let, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">They plunder’d at their pleasure,<br /> + On lords’ estates they seiz’d,<br /> +The bishops they did send away,<br /> + They did just as they pleas’d.<br /> +But General Monk at last rose up,<br /> + With valiant heart so bold,<br /> +Saying, that he no longer<br /> + By them would be controul’d.<br /> + So let, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">So in great splendour<br /> + At last he did bring in,<br /> +Unto every Torie’s joy,<br /> + Great Charles our sovereign.<br /> +Then loyal hearts so merry<br /> + The royal oak did wear,<br /> +While balconies with tapestry hung—<br /> + Nothing but joy was there.<br /> + So let, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">The conduits they with wine did run,<br /> + The bonfires did blaze,<br /> +In every street likewise the skies<br /> + Did ring with loud huzzas,—<br /> +Saying, God bless our sovereign,<br /> + And send him long to reign,<br /> +<a name="page245"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 245</span>Hoping +the P—n crew<br /> + May never rule again.<br /> + So let, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Soon as great Charles<br /> + Our royal King was crown’d,<br /> +He built the Church up again,<br /> + The meetings were pull’d down.<br /> +No canting then was in the land,<br /> + The subjects were at peace,<br /> +The Church again did flourish,<br /> + And joy did then increase.<br /> + So let, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">The cursed Presbyterian crew<br /> + Was then put to the flight,<br /> +Some did fly by day,<br /> + And others run by night.<br /> +In barns and stables they did cant,<br /> + And every place they could;<br /> +He made them remember<br /> + The spilling royal blood.<br /> + So let, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">May God for ever<br /> + Bless the Church and Crown,<br /> +And never let any subject strive<br /> + The King for to dethrone.<br /> +May Churchmen ever flourish,<br /> + And peace increase again;<br /> +God for ever bless the King,<br /> + And send him long to reign.<br /> + So let, etc.</p> +<h3><a name="page246"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 246</span>THE +JUBILEE,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR</span><br /> +THE CORONATION DAY.</h3> +<p>From Thomas Jordan’s “<i>Royal Arbor of Loyal +Poesie</i>,” 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.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Let</span> every man with +tongue and pen<br /> +Rejoice that Charles is come agen,<br /> +To gain his sceptre and his throne,<br /> +And give to every man his own;<br /> + Let all men that be<br /> + Together agree,<br /> +And freely now express their joy;<br /> + Let your sweetest voices bring<br +/> + Pleasant songs unto the King,<br +/> +To crown his Coronation Day.</p> +<p class="poetry">All that do thread on English earth<br /> +Shall live in freedom, peace, and mirth;<br /> +The golden times are come that we<br /> +Did one day think we ne’er should see;<br /> + Protector and Rump<br /> + Did put us in a dump,<br /> +When they their colours did display;<br /> + But the time is come about,<br /> + We are in, and they are out,<br /> +By King Charles his Coronation Day.</p> +<h3><a name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 247</span>THE +KING ENJOYS HIS OWN AGAIN.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(1661.)—From Hogg’s +Jacobite Relics.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Whigs</span> are now such +precious things,<br /> + We see there’s not one to be found;<br /> +All roar “God bless and save the King!”<br /> + And his health goes briskly all day round.<br /> +To the soldier, cap in hand, the sneaking rascals stand,<br /> + And would put in for honest men;<br /> +But the King he well knows his friends from his foes,<br /> + And now he enjoys his own again.</p> +<p class="poetry">From this plot’s first taking air,<br /> + Like lightning all the Whigs have run;<br /> +Nay, they’ve left their topping square,<br /> + To march off with our eldest son:<br /> +They’ve left their ’states and wives to save their +precious lives,<br /> + Yet who can blame their flying, when<br /> +’Twas plain to them all, the great and the small,<br /> + That the King would have his own again?</p> +<p class="poetry">This may chance a warning be<br /> + (If e’er the saints will warning take)<br /> +To leave off hatching villany,<br /> + Since they’ve seen their brother at the +stake:<br /> +And more must mounted be (which God grant we may see),<br /> + Since juries now are honest men:<br /> +And the King lets them swing with a hey ding a ding,<br /> + Great James enjoys his own again.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page248"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +248</span>Since they have voted that his Guards<br /> + A nuisance were, which now they find,<br /> +Since they stand between the King<br /> + And the treason that such dogs design’d;<br /> +’Tis they will you maul, though it cost them a fall,<br /> + In spight of your most mighty men;<br /> +For now they are alarm’d, and all Loyalists well +arm’d,<br /> + Since the King enjoys his own again.</p> +<p class="poetry">To the King, come, bumpers round,<br /> + Let’s drink, my boys, while life doth last:<br +/> +He that at the core’s not sound<br /> + Shall be kick’d out without a taste.<br /> +We’ll fear no disgrace, but look traitors in the face,<br +/> + Since we’re case-harden’d, honest +men;<br /> +Which makes their crew mad, but us loyal hearts full glad,<br /> + That the King enjoys his own again.</p> +<h3>A COUNTRY SONG, INTITULED THE RESTORATION.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(May, 1661.)—From the +twentieth volume of the folio broadsides, King’s +Pamphlets.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Come</span>, come away<br /> + To the temple, and pray,<br /> +And sing with a pleasant strain;<br /> + The schismatick’s dead,<br /> + The liturgy’s read,<br /> +And the King enjoyes his own again.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page249"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 249</span>The vicar is glad,<br /> + The clerk is not sad,<br /> +And the parish cannot refrain<br /> + To leap and rejoyce<br /> + And lift up their voyce,<br /> +That the King enjoyes his own again.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The country doth bow<br /> + To old justices now,<br /> +That long aside have been lain;<br /> + The bishop’s restored,<br /> + God is rightly adored,<br /> +And the King enjoyes his own again.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Committee-men fall,<br /> + And majors-generall,<br /> +No more doe those tyrants reign;<br /> + There’s no sequestration,<br /> + Nor new decimation,<br /> +For the King enjoyes the sword again.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The scholar doth look<br /> + With joy on his book,<br /> +Tom whistles and plows amain;<br /> + Soldiers plunder no more<br /> + As they did heretofore,<br /> +For the King enjoyes the sword again.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The citizens trade,<br /> + The merchants do lade,<br /> +And send their ships into Spain;<br /> + No pirates at sea<br /> + To make them a prey,<br /> +For the King enjoyes the sword again.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page250"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 250</span>The old man and boy,<br /> + The clergy and lay,<br /> +Their joyes cannot contain;<br /> + ’Tis better than of late<br /> + With the Church and the State,<br /> +Now the King enjoyes the sword again.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Let’s render our +praise<br /> + For these happy dayes<br /> +To God and our sovereign;<br /> + Your drinking give ore,<br /> + Swear not as before,<br /> +For the King bears not the sword in vain.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Fanaticks, be quiet,<br /> + And keep a good diet,<br /> +To cure your crazy brain;<br /> + Throw off your disguise,<br /> + Go to church and be wise,<br /> +For the King bears not the sword in vain.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Let faction and pride<br /> + Be now laid aside,<br /> +That truth and peace may reign;<br /> + Let every one mend,<br /> + And there is an end,<br /> +For the King bears not the sword in vain.</p> +<h3><a name="page251"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +251</span>HERE’S A HEALTH UNTO HIS MAJESTY.</h3> +<p>There is only one verse to this Song. The music is +arranged for three voices in “Playford’s Musical +Companion, 1667.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Here’s</span> a +health unto his Majesty,<br /> + With a fal la la la la la la,<br /> +Confusion to his enemies,<br /> + With a fal lal la la la la la la.<br /> +And he that will not drink his health,<br /> + I wish him neither wit nor wealth,<br /> +Nor but a rope to hang himself.<br /> + With a fal lal la la la la la la la la,<br /> + With a fal lal la la la la la.</p> +<h3>THE WHIGS DROWNED IN AN HONEST TORY HEALTH.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From Col. 180 Loyal Songs.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Tune, “Hark, the thundering +canons roar.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Wealth</span> breeds care, +love, hope, and fear;<br /> +What does love or bus’ness here?<br /> +While Bacchus’ navy doth appear,<br /> + Fight on and fear not sinking;<br /> +Fill it briskly to the brim,<br /> +Till the flying top-sails swim,<br /> +We owe the first discovery to him<br /> + Of this great world of drinking.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page252"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +252</span>Brave Cabals, who states refine,<br /> +Mingle their debates with wine,<br /> +Ceres and the god o’ th’ vine<br /> + Make every great commander;<br /> +Let sober Scots small beer subdue,<br /> +The wise and valiant wine do woo,<br /> +The Stagerite had the horrors too,<br /> + To be drunk with Alexander.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Stand to your arms</i>! and now advance,<br +/> +A health to the English King of France;<br /> +And to the next of boon esperance,<br /> + By Bacchus and Apollo;<br /> +Thus in state I lead the van,<br /> +Fall in your place by the right-hand man,<br /> +Beat drum! march on! dub a dub, ran dan!<br /> + He’s a Whig that will not follow.</p> +<p class="poetry">Face about to the right again,<br /> +Britain’s admiral of the main,<br /> +York and his illustrious train<br /> + Crown the day’s conclusion;<br /> +Let a halter stop his throat<br /> +Who brought in the foremost vote,<br /> +And of all that did promote<br /> + The mystery of exclusion.</p> +<p class="poetry">Next to Denmark’s warlike prince<br /> +Let the following health commence,<br /> +To the nymph whose influence<br /> + That brought the hero hither;—<br /> +<a name="page253"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 253</span>May +their race the tribe annoy,<br /> +Who the Grandsire would destroy,<br /> +And get every year a boy<br /> + Whilst they live together.</p> +<p class="poetry">To the royal family<br /> +Let us close in bumpers three,<br /> +May the ax and halter be<br /> + The pledge of every Roundhead;<br /> +To all loyal hearts pursue,<br /> +Who to the monarch dare prove true;<br /> +But for him they call True Blue,<br /> + Let him be confounded.</p> +<h3>THE CAVALIER.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">By Alex. +Brome.—(1661–2.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">We</span> have ventured our +estates,<br /> + And our liberties and lives,<br /> +For our master and his mates,<br /> +And been toss’d by cruel fates<br /> + Where the rebellious Devil drives,<br /> + So that not one of ten survives;<br /> + We have laid all at stake<br /> + For his Majesty’s sake;<br +/> + We have fought, we have paid,<br +/> + We’ve been sold and +betray’d,<br /> +And tumbled from nation to nation;<br /> + But now those are thrown down<br +/> + That usurped the Crown,<br /> + <a name="page254"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 254</span>Our hopes were that we<br /> + All rewarded should be,<br /> +But we’re paid with a Proclamation.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now the times are turn’d about,<br /> + And the rebels’ race is run;<br /> +That many-headed beast the Rout,<br /> +That did turn the Father out,<br /> + When they saw they were undone,<br +/> + Were for bringing in the son.<br +/> + That phanatical +crew,<br /> + Which made us +all rue,<br /> + Have got so much +wealth<br /> + By their plunder +and stealth<br /> +That they creep into profit and power:<br /> + And so come what +will,<br /> + They’ll be +uppermost still;<br /> + And we that are +low<br /> + Shall still be +kept so,<br /> +While those domineer and devour.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet we will be loyal still,<br /> + And serve without reward or hire:<br /> +To be redeem’d from so much ill,<br /> +May stay our stomachs, though not still,<br /> + And if our patience do not tire,<br /> + We may in time have our desire.</p> +<h3><a name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 255</span>THE +LAMENTATION OF A BAD MARKET,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR</span><br /> +THE DISBANDED SOULDIER.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(July 17th, 1660.)—From the +King’s Pamphlets, British Museum.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span class="smcap">In</span> +red-coat raggs attired,<br /> + I wander up and down,<br /> + Since fate and foes conspired,<br /> + + +Thus to array me,<br /> + Or betray me<br +/> + To the harsh censure of the +town.<br /> +My buffe doth make me boots, my velvet coat and scarlet,<br /> +Which used to do me credit with many a wicked harlot,<br /> +Have bid me all adieu, most despicable varlet!<br /> + Alas, poor souldier, whither wilt thou march?</p> +<p class="poetry"> I’ve been in France and +Holland,<br /> + Guided by my starrs;<br /> + I’ve been in Spain and Poland,<br /> + + +<a name="page256"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +256</span>I’ve been in Hungarie,<br /> + In Greece and +Italy,<br /> + And served them in all their +wars.<br /> +Britain these eighteen years has known my desperate slaughter,<br +/> +I’ve killed ten at one blow, even in a fit of laughter,<br +/> +Gone home again and smiled, and kiss’d my landlor’s +daughter;<br /> + Alas! poor souldier, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> My valour prevailed,<br /> + Meeting with my foes,<br /> + Which strongly we assailed;<br /> + + +Oh! strange I wondred,<br /> + They were a +hundred;<br /> + Yet I routed them with few +blowes.<br /> +This fauchion by my side has kind more men, I’ll swear +it,<br /> +Than Ajax ever did, alas! he ne’er came near it,<br /> +Yea, more than Priam’s boy, or all that ere did hear it.<br +/> + Alas! poor souldier, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> For King and Parliament<br /> + I was Prester John.<br /> + Devout was my intent;<br /> + + +I haunted meetings,<br /> + Used zealous +greetings,<br /> + Crept full of devotion;<br /> +Smectymnuus won me first, then holy Nye prevail, <a +name="citation111"></a><a href="#footnote111" +class="citation">[111]</a><br /> +<a name="page257"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 257</span>Then +Captain Kiffin <a name="citation112"></a><a href="#footnote112" +class="citation">[112]</a> slops me with John of Leyden’s +tail,<br /> +Then Fox and Naylor bangs me with Jacob Beamond’s flail. <a +name="citation113"></a><a href="#footnote113" +class="citation">[113]</a><br /> + Alas! poor souldier, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> I did about this nation<br /> + Hold forth my gifts and teach,<br +/> + Maintained the tolleration<br /> + + +The common story<br /> + And Directory<br +/> + I damn’d with the word +“preach.”<br /> +Time was when all trades failed, men counterfeitly zealous<br /> +<a name="page258"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +258</span>Turn’d whining, snievling praters, or kept a +country ale-house,<br /> +Got handsome wives, turn’d cuckolds, howe’er were +very jealous.<br /> + Alas! poor souldier, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The world doth know me +well,<br /> + I ne’re did peace desire,<br +/> + Because I could not tell<br /> + + +Of what behaviour<br /> + I should +savour<br /> + In a field of thundring fire.<br +/> +When we had murdered King, confounded Church and State,<br /> +Divided parks and forests, houses, money, plate,<br /> +We then did peace desire, to keep what he had gat.<br /> + Alas! poor souldier, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Surplice was surplisage,<br +/> + We voted right or wrong,<br /> + Within that furious age,<br /> + + +Of the painted glass,<br /> + Or pictured +brass,<br /> + And liturgie we made a song.<br /> +Bishops, and bishops’ lands, were superstitious words,<br +/> +Until in souldiers’ hands, and so were kings and lords,<br +/> +But in fashion now again in spight of all our swords.<br /> + Alas! poor souldier, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Some say I am forsaken<br /> + By the great men of these +times,<br /> + And they’re no whit mistaken;<br /> + + +<a name="page259"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 259</span>It is my +fate<br /> + To be out of +date,<br /> + My masters most are guilty of such +crimes.<br /> +Like an old Almanack, I now but represent<br /> +How long since Edge-Hill fight, or the rising was in Kent,<br /> +Or since the dissolution of the first Long Parliament.<br /> + Alas! poor souldier, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Good sirs, what shall I +fancie,<br /> + Amidst these gloomy dayes?<br /> + Shall I goe court brown Nancy?<br /> + + +In a countrey town<br /> + They’l +call me clown,<br /> + If I sing them my outlandish +playes.<br /> +Let me inform their nodle with my heroick spirit,<br /> +My language and worth besides transcend unto merit;<br /> +They’l not believe one word, what mortal flesh can bear +it?<br /> + Alas! poor souldier, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Into the countrey places<br +/> + I resolve to goe,<br /> + Amongst those sun-burnt faces<br /> + + +I’le goe to plough<br /> + Or keep a +cow,<br /> + ’Tis that my masters now +again must do.<br /> +Souldiers ye see will be of each religion,<br /> +They’re but like stars, which when the true sun rise +they’re gon.<br /> +I’le to the countrey goe, and there I’le serve Sir +John;<br /> + Aye, aye, ’tis thither, and thither will I +goe.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">London, printed for Charles +Gustavus, 1660.</p> +<h3><a name="page260"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 260</span>THE +COURTIER’S HEALTH;<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR,</span><br /> +THE MERRY BOYS OF THE TIMES.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(A.D. 1672.)—From the +Roxburgh Ballads, Vol. ii.<br /> +To the tune of “Come, Boys, fill us a Bumper.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span>, boys, fill us +a bumper,<br /> + Wee’l make the nation roar,<br /> +She’s grown sick of a <i>Rumper</i>,<br /> + That sticks on the old score.<br /> +Pox on phanaticks, rout ’um,<br /> + They thirst for our blood;<br /> +Wee’l taxes raise without ’um,<br /> + And drink for the nation’s good.<br /> +Fill the pottles and the gallons,<br /> + And bring the hogshead in,<br /> +Wee’l begin with a tallen,<br /> + A brimmer to the King.</p> +<p class="poetry">Round, around, fill a fresh one,<br /> + Let no man bawk his wine,<br /> +Wee’l drink to the next in succession,<br /> + And keep it in the right line.<br /> +Bring us ten thousand glasses,<br /> + The more we drink we’re dry;<br /> +We mind not the beautiful lasses,<br /> + Whose conquest lyes all in the eye.<br /> + Fill the pottles, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">We boys are truly loyal,<br /> + For Charles wee’l venture all,<br /> +We know his blood is royal,<br /> + His name shall never fall.<br /> +<a name="page261"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 261</span>But +those that seek his ruine<br /> + May chance to dye before him,<br /> +While we that sacks are woeing<br /> + For ever will adore him.<br /> + Fill the pottles, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">I hate those strange dissenters<br /> + That strives to hawk a glass,<br /> +He that at all adventures<br /> + Will see what comes to pass:<br /> +And let the Popish nation<br /> + Disturb us if they can,<br /> +They ne’er shall breed distraction<br /> + In a true-hearted man.<br /> + Fill the pottles, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let the fanatics grumble<br /> + To see things cross their grain,<br /> +Wee’l make them now more humble<br /> + Or ease them of their pain:<br /> +They shall drink sack amain too,<br /> + Or they shall be choak’t;<br /> +Wee’l tell ’um ’tis in vain too<br /> + For us to be provok’t.<br /> + Fill the pottles, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">He that denyes the brimmer<br /> + Shall banish’d be in this isle,<br /> +And we will look more grimmer<br /> + Till he begins to smile:<br /> +Wee’l drown him in Canary,<br /> + And make him all our own,<br /> +And when his heart is merry<br /> + Hee’l drink to Charles on’s throne.<br +/> + Fill the pottles, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page262"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +262</span>Quakers and Anabaptists,<br /> + Wee’l sink them in a glass;<br /> +He deals most plain and flattest<br /> + That sayes he loves a lass:<br /> +Then tumble down Canary,<br /> + And let our brains go round,<br /> +For he that won’t be merry<br /> + He can’t at heart be sound.<br /> + Fill the pottles, etc.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Printed for P. Brooksly, at the +Golden Ball in West Smithfield, 1672.</p> +<h3>THE LOYAL TORIES’ DELIGHT;<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR,</span><br /> +A PILL FOR FANATICKS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">Being a most pleasant and new +song.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">1680.—From the Roxburgh +Ballads, Vol. iii., fol. 911.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune of “Great York +has been debar’d of late, etc.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Great</span> York has been +debar’d of late<br /> +From Court by some accursed fate;<br /> +But ere long, we do not fear,<br /> +We shall have him, have him here,<br /> + We shall have +him, have him here.</p> +<p class="poetry">The makers of the plot we see,<br /> +By damn’d old <i>Tony’s</i> treachery,<br /> +How they would have brought it about,<br /> +To have given great York the rout,<br /> + To have given, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page263"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +263</span>God preserve our gracious King,<br /> +And safe tydings to us bring,<br /> +Defend us from the <i>sham black box</i>, <a +name="citation114"></a><a href="#footnote114" +class="citation">[114]</a><br /> +And all damn’d fanatick plots,<br /> + And all +damn’d, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Here Charles’s health I drink to thee,<br +/> +And with him all prosperity;<br /> +God grant that he long time may reign,<br /> +To bring us home great York again,<br /> + To bring us +home, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">That he, in spight of all his foes<br /> +Who loyalty and laws oppose,<br /> +May long remain in health and peace,<br /> +Whilst plots and plotters all shall cease,<br /> + Whilst plots, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let Whigs go down to Erebus,<br /> +And not stay here to trouble us<br /> +With noisy cant and needless fear,<br /> +Of ills to come they know not where,<br /> + Of ills to come, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">When our chief trouble they create,<br /> +For plain we see what they’d be at;<br /> +Could they but push great York once down<br /> +They’d next attempt to snatch the crown,<br /> + They’d +next attempt, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page264"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +264</span>But Heaven preserve our gracious King,<br /> +May all good subjects loudly sing;<br /> +And Royal James preserve likewise,<br /> +From such as do against him rise,<br /> + From such as do, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then come, again fill round our glass,<br /> +And, loyal Tories, less it pass,<br /> +Fill up, fill up unto the brim,<br /> +And let each boule with necture swim,<br /> + And let each +boule, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Though <i>cloakmen</i>, that seem much +precise,<br /> +’Gainst wine exclaim with turn’d-up eyes;<br /> +Yet in a corner they’l be drunk,<br /> +With drinking healths unto the Rump,<br /> + With drinking, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">In hopes that once more they shall tear<br /> +Both Church and State, which is their prayer;<br /> +But Heaven does yet protect the throne,<br /> +Whilst Tyburn for such slaves does groan,<br /> + Whilst Tyburn, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">For now ’tis plain, most men abhor,<br /> +What some so strongly voted for;<br /> +Great York in favour does remain,<br /> +In spight of all the Whiggish train,<br /> + In spight of +all, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">And now the <i>Old Cause</i> goes to wrack,<br +/> +Sedition mauger cloath in black<br /> +Do greatly dread the triple tree,<br /> +Whilst we rejoyce in loyalty,<br /> + Whilst we +rejoyce, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page265"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +265</span>Then come, let’s take another round,<br /> +And still in loyalty abound,<br /> +And wish our King he long may reign<br /> +To bring us home great York again,<br /> + To bring us home +great York again.</p> +<h3>THE ROYAL ADMIRAL.</h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Let</span> Titus <a +name="citation115"></a><a href="#footnote115" +class="citation">[115]</a> and Patience <a +name="citation116"></a><a href="#footnote116" +class="citation">[116]</a> stir up a commotion,<br /> + Their plotting and swearing shall prosper no +more;<br /> +Now gallant old Jamie commands on the ocean,<br /> + And mighty Charles keeps them in awe on the +shore.</p> +<p class="poetry">Jamie the Valiant, the Champion Royal,<br /> + His own and the monarchy’s rival withstood;<br +/> +The bane and the terror of those the disloyal,<br /> + Who slew his loved father and thirst for his +blood.</p> +<p class="poetry">York, the great admiral,—Ocean’s +defender,<br /> + The joy of our navy, the dread of its foes,<br /> +The lawful successor,—what upstart pretender<br /> + Shall dare, in our isle, the true heir to +oppose?</p> +<p class="poetry">Jamie quelled the proud foe on the ocean,<br /> + And rode the sole conqueror over the main;<br /> +To this gallant hero let all pay devotion,<br /> + For England her admiral sees him again.</p> +<h3><a name="page266"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 266</span>THE +UNFORTUNATE WHIGS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">1682.—From the Roxburgh +Ballads.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune of “The King +enjoys his own,” &c.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> Whigs are but +small, and of no good race,<br /> + And are beloved by very few;<br /> +Old <i>Tony</i> broach’d his tap in every place,<br /> + To encourage all his factious crew.<br /> + At some great houses in this +town,<br /> + The Whigs of high renown,<br /> +And all with a true blue was their stain;<br /> + For since it is so,<br /> + They have wrought their +overthrow,<br /> +Old Tony <i>will ne’r enjoy his own</i>, <i>again</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">They all owne duty to their lawful prince,<br +/> + And loyal subjects should have been;<br /> +But their duty is worn out long since,<br /> + By the <i>Association</i> seen.<br /> + But these are the Whigs,<br /> + That have cut off some legs,<br /> +And fain would be at that sport amain;<br /> + For since it is so,<br /> + They have wrought their +overthrow,<br /> +Old Tony <i>will ne’r enjoy his own again</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">And yet they are sham-pretenders,<br /> + And they swear they’ll support our laws;<br /> +These be the great defenders of<br /> + <i>Ignoramus</i> and the <i>Old Cause</i>:<br /> + They’ll defend the King<br +/> + By swearing of the thing,<br /> +<a name="page267"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 267</span>These +are the cursed rogues in grain;<br /> + For since it is so,<br /> + They have wrought their +overthrow,<br /> +Old Tony <i>will ne’r enjoy his own again</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">The true religion that shall down,<br /> + Which so long has won the day,<br /> +And <i>Common-prayer</i> i’th’ church of ev’ry +town,<br /> + If that the Whigs could but bear the sway:<br /> + For Oates he does begin<br /> + Now for to bring them in,<br /> +As when he came mumping from Spain;<br /> + For since it is so,<br /> + They have wrought their +overthrow,<br /> +Old Tony <i>will ne’r enjoy his own again</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">How all their shamming plots they would +hide,<br /> + Yet they are ignorant, they say,<br /> +When as Old <i>Tony</i> he was try’d<br /> + And brought off with <i>Ignoramus</i> sway:<br /> + When Oates he was dumb<br /> + And could not use his tongue,<br +/> +This is the shamming rogues in grain;<br /> + For since it is so,<br /> + They have wrought their +overthrow,<br /> +Old Tony <i>will ne’r enjoy his own again</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then let all true subjects sing,<br /> + And damn the power of all those<br /> +That won’t show loyalty to their King,<br /> + And assist him against his Whiggish foes.<br /> + Then in this our happy state,<br +/> + In spight of traytors’ +hate,<br /> +<a name="page268"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 268</span>We will +all loyal still remain;<br /> + For since it is so,<br /> + They have wrought their +overthrow,<br /> +Old Tony <i>will ne’r enjoy his own again</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">God preserve our gracious King,<br /> + With the Royal Consort of his bed,<br /> +And let all loyal subjects sing<br /> + That the crown may remain on Charles’s +head;<br /> + For we will drink his health<br /> + In spight of +<i>Common-wealth</i>,<br /> +And his lawful rights we will maintain;<br /> + For since it is so,<br /> + They have wrought their +overthrow,<br /> +Old Tony <i>will ne’r enjoy his own again</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Printed for S. Maurel, in the year +1682.</p> +<h3>THE DOWNFALL OF THE GOOD OLD CAUSE.</h3> +<p>From a “Collection of One Hundred and Eighty Loyal +Songs, all written since 1678,” and published London, +1694. [Fourth Edition.]</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Tune,—“Hey, Boys, up go +we.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span> the Bad Old +Cause is tapt,<br /> + And the vessel standeth stoop’d;<br /> +The cooper may starve for want of work,<br /> + For the cask shall never be hoop’d;—<br +/> +<a name="page269"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 269</span>We will +burn the Association,<br /> + The Covenant and vow,<br /> +The public cheat of the nation,<br /> + Anthony, now, now, now</p> +<p class="poetry">No fanatick shall bear the sway<br /> + In court, city, or town,<br /> +These good kingdoms to betray,<br /> + And cry the right line down;—<br /> +Let them cry they love the King,<br /> + Yet if they hate his brother,<br /> +Remember Charles they murdered,<br /> + And so they would the other.</p> +<p class="poetry">Weavers and such like fellows<br /> + In pulpit daily prate,<br /> +Like the Covenanters,<br /> + Against the Church and State:<br /> +Yet they cry they love the King,<br /> + But their baseness will discover;<br /> +Charles the First they murdered,<br /> + And so they would the other.</p> +<p class="poetry">When these fellows go to drink,<br /> + In city or in town,<br /> +They vilify the bishops<br /> + And they cry the Stuarts down:<br /> +Still they cry they love the King,<br /> + But their baseness I’ll discover;<br /> +Charles the First they murdered,<br /> + And so they would the other.</p> +<p class="poetry">When the King wanted money,<br /> + Poor Tangier to relieve,<br /> +<a name="page270"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 270</span>They +cry’d down his revenue,<br /> + Not a penny they would give:<br /> +Still they cry’d they loved the King,<br /> + But their baseness I’ll discover;<br /> +Charles the First they murdered,<br /> + And so they would the other.</p> +<p class="poetry">The noble Marquis of Worcester,<br /> + And many such brave lord,<br /> +By the King-killing crew<br /> + They daily are abhor’d,<br /> +And called evil councellors,<br /> + When the truth they did discover;<br /> +And Charles the First they murdered,<br /> + And so they would the other.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Papists they would kill the King,<br /> + But the Phanaticks did;<br /> +Their perjuries and treacheries<br /> + Aren’t to be parallel’d:<br /> +Let them cry they love the King,<br /> + Their faults I will discover;<br /> +Charles the First they murdered,<br /> + And so they would the other.</p> +<p class="poetry">Charles the Second stands on’s guard,<br +/> + Like a good politick King;<br /> +The Phanaticks ought to be abhor’d<br /> + For all their flattering:<br /> +Let them cry they love the King,<br /> + Their faults I will discover;<br /> +Charles the First they murdered,<br /> + And so they would the other.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page271"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +271</span>Now let us all good subjects be,<br /> + That bear a loyal heart;<br /> +Stand fast for the King<br /> + And each man act his part;<br /> +And to support his Sovereign,<br /> + Religion, and the laws,<br /> +That formerly were established,<br /> + And down with the cursed cause.</p> +<h3>OLD JEMMY.</h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune of “Young +Jemmy.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Old</span> Jemmy is a +lad<br /> + Right lawfully descended;<br /> +No bastard born nor bred,<br /> + Nor for a Whig suspended;<br /> +The true and lawful heir to th’ crown<br /> + By right of birth and laws,<br /> +And bravely will maintain his own<br /> + In spight of all his foes.</p> +<p class="poetry">Old Jemmy is the top<br /> + And chief among the princes;<br /> +No <i>Mobile</i> gay fop,<br /> + With Birmingham pretences;<br /> +<a name="page272"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 272</span>A heart +and soul so wondrous great,<br /> + And such a conquering eye,<br /> +That every loyal lad fears not<br /> + In Jemmy’s cause to die.</p> +<p class="poetry">Old Jemmy is a prince<br /> + Of noble resolutions,<br /> +Whose powerful influence<br /> + Can order our confusions;<br /> +But oh! he fights with such a grace<br /> + No force can him withstand,<br /> +No god of war but must give place<br /> + When Jemmy leads the van.</p> +<p class="poetry">To Jemmy every swain<br /> + Does pay due veneration,<br /> +And Scotland does maintain<br /> + His title to the nation;<br /> +The pride of all the court he stands,<br /> + The patron of his cause,<br /> +The joy and hope of all his friends,<br /> + And terror of his foes.</p> +<p class="poetry">Maliciously they vote<br /> + To work Old Jemmy’s ruin,<br /> +And zealously promote<br /> + A Bill for his undoing;<br /> +Both Lords and Commons most agree<br /> + To pull his Highness down,<br /> +But (spight of all their policy)<br /> + Old Jemmy’s heir to th’ crown.</p> +<p class="poetry">The schismatick and saint,<br /> + The Baptist and the Atheist,<br /> +<a name="page273"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 273</span>Swear by +the Covenant,<br /> + Old Jemmy is a Papist:<br /> +Whilst all the holy crew did plot<br /> + To pull his Highness down,<br /> +Great Albany, a noble Scot<br /> + Did raise unto a crown.</p> +<p class="poetry">Great Albany, they swear,<br /> + He before any other<br /> +Shall be immediate heir<br /> + Unto his royal brother;<br /> +Who will, in spight of all his foes,<br /> + His lawful rights maintain,<br /> +And all the fops that interpose<br /> + Old Jemmy’s York again.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Whigs and zealots plot<br /> + To banish him the nation,<br /> +But the renowned Scot<br /> + Hath wrought his restoration:<br /> +With high respects they treat his Grace,<br /> + His royal cause maintain;<br /> +Brave Albany (to Scotland’s praise)<br /> + Is mighty York again.</p> +<p class="poetry">Against his envious fates<br /> + The Kirk hath taught a lesson,<br /> +A blessing on the States,<br /> + To settle the succession;<br /> +They real were, both knight and lord,<br /> + And will his right maintain,<br /> +By royal Parliament restored,<br /> + Old Jemmy’s come again.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page274"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +274</span>And now he’s come again,<br /> + In spight of all Pretenders;<br /> +Great Albany shall reign,<br /> + Amongst the Faith’s defenders.<br /> +Let Whig and Birmingham repine,<br /> + They show their teeth in vain,<br /> +The glory of the British line,<br /> + Old Jemmy’s come again.</p> +<h3>THE CLOAK’S KNAVERY.</h3> +<p>From “Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge Melancholy; being +a Collection of the best merry Ballads and Songs, old and +new.” London, 1714.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Come</span> buy my new ballad,<br /> + I have’t in my wallet,<br /> + But ’twill not I fear please every pallate;<br +/> + Then mark what ensu’th,<br +/> + I swear by my youth<br /> + That every line in my ballad is truth.<br /> +A ballad of wit, a ballad of worth,<br /> +’Tis newly printed and newly come forth;<br /> +’Twas made of a cloak that fell out with a gown,<br /> +That cramp’d all the kingdom and crippled the crown.</p> +<p class="poetry"> I’ll +tell you in brief<br /> + A story of grief,<br /> + Which happen’d when Cloak was +Commander-in-chief;<br /> + <a name="page275"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 275</span>It tore common prayers,<br /> + Imprison’d lord mayors,<br +/> + In one day it voted down prelates and prayers;<br /> +It made people perjured in point of obedience,<br /> +And the Covenant did cut off the oath of allegiance.<br /> +Then let us endeavour to pull the Cloak down<br /> +That cramp’d all the kingdom and crippled the crown.</p> +<p class="poetry"> It was a +black Cloke,<br /> + In good time be it spoke,<br /> + That kill’d many thousands but never struck +stroke;<br /> + With hatchet and rope<br /> + The forlorn hope<br /> + Did join with the Devil to pull down the Pope;<br /> +It set all the sects in the city to work,<br /> +And rather than fail ’twould have brought in the Turk.<br +/> + Then let us endeavour, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> It seized +on the tower-guns,<br /> + Those fierce demi-gorgons,<br /> + It brought in the bag-pipes, and brought in the +organs;<br /> + The pulpits did smoke,<br /> + The churches did choke,<br /> + And all our religion was turn’d to a cloak.<br +/> +It brought in lay-elders could not write nor read,<br /> +It set public faith up and pull’d down the creed.<br /> + Then let us endeavour, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> This pious +impostor<br /> + Such fury did foster,<br /> + It left us no penny nor no <i>pater-noster</i>;<br +/> + <a name="page276"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 276</span>It threw to the ground<br /> + The commandments down,<br /> + And set up twice twenty times ten of its own;<br /> +It routed the King and villains elected,<br /> +To plunder all those whom they thought disaffected.<br /> + Then let us endeavour, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> To blind +people’s eyes<br /> + This Cloak was so wise,<br /> + It took off ship-money, but set up excise;<br /> + Men brought in their plate<br /> + For reasons of state,<br /> + And gave it to Tom Trumpeter and his mate.<br /> +In pamphlets it writ many specious epistles,<br /> +To cozen poor wenches of bodkins and whistles.<br /> + Then let us endeavour, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> In pulpits +it moved,<br /> + And was much approved<br /> + For crying out, <i>Fight The Lord’s +battles</i>, <i>beloved</i>;<br /> + It bob-tayled the gown,<br /> + Put Prelacy down,<br /> + It trod on the mitre to reach at the crown;<br /> +And into the field it an army did bring,<br /> +To aim at the council but shoot at the King.<br /> + Then let us endeavour, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> It raised +up States<br /> + Whose politic fates<br /> + Do now keep their quarters on the city gates.<br /> + To father and mother,<br /> + To sister and brother,<br /> + It gave a commission to kill one another.<br /> +<a name="page277"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 277</span>It took +up men’s horses at very low rates,<br /> +And plunder’d our goods to secure our estates.<br /> + Then let us endeavour, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> This Cloak +did proceed<br /> + To damnable deed,<br /> + It made the best mirror of majesty bleed;<br /> + Tho’ Cloak did not +do’t,<br /> + He set it on foot,<br /> + By rallying and calling his journeymen +to’t.<br /> +For never had come such a bloody disaster,<br /> +If Cloak had not first drawn a sword at his master.<br /> + Then let us endeavour, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Tho’ +some of them went hence<br /> + By sorrowful sentence,<br /> + This lofty long Cloak is not moved to repentance;<br +/> + But he and his men,<br /> + Twenty thousand times ten,<br /> + Are plotting to do their tricks over again.<br /> +But let this proud Cloak to authority stoop,<br /> +Or <span class="smcap">Dun</span> will provide him a button and +loop.<br /> +Then let us endeavour to pull the Cloak down<br /> +That basely did sever the head from the crown.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Let’s +pray that the King<br /> + And his Parliament<br /> + In sacred and secular things may consent;<br /> + So righteously firm,<br /> + And religiously free,<br /> + That Papists and Atheists suppressed may be.<br /> +<a name="page278"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 278</span>And as +there’s one Deity does over-reign us,<br /> +One faith and one form and one Church may contain us.<br /> +Then peace, truth, and plenty our kingdom will crown,<br /> +And all Popish plots and their plotters shall down.</p> +<h3>THE TIME-SERVER,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR</span><br /> +A MEDLEY.</h3> +<p>From the Loyal Garland, 1686. Reprinted for the Percy +Society, and edited by J. O. Halliwell.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Room</span> for a gamester +that plays at all he sees,<br /> +Whose fickle fancy suits such times as these,<br /> +One that says Amen to every factious prayer,<br /> +From Hugh Peters’ pulpit to St Peter’s chair;<br /> +One that doth defy the Crozier and the Crown,<br /> + But yet can house with blades that carouse,<br /> +Whilst pottle pots tumble down, derry down,<br /> +One that can comply with surplice and with cloak,<br /> + Yet for his end can independ<br /> +Whilst Presbyterian broke Brittain’s yoke.</p> +<p class="poetry">This is the way to trample without +trembling,<br /> + ’Tis the sycophant’s only secure.<br /> +<a name="page279"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +279</span>Covenants and oaths are badges of dissembling,<br /> + ’Tis the politick pulls down the pure.<br /> +To profess and betray, to plunder and pray,<br /> +Is the only ready way to be great;<br /> + Flattery doth the feat;<br /> +Ne’er go, ne’er stir, sir—will venture +further<br /> +Than the greatest dons in the town,<br /> + From a coffer to a crown.</p> +<p class="poetry">I’m in a temperate humour now to think +well,<br /> +Now I’m in another humour for to drink well,<br /> +Then fill us up a beer-bowl, boys, that we<br /> +May drink it, drink it merrily;<br /> +No knavish spy shall understand,<br /> + For, if it should be known,<br /> +’Tis ten to one we shall be trepanned.</p> +<p class="poetry">I’ll drink to them a brace of quarts,<br +/> +Whose anagram is call’d true hearts;<br /> +If all were well, as I would ha’t,<br /> + And Britain cured of its tumour,<br /> +I should very well like my fate,<br /> +And drink my sack at a cheaper rate,<br /> + Without any noise or rumour,<br /> + Oh then I should fix my humour.</p> +<p class="poetry">But since ’tis no such matter, change +your hue,<br /> +I may cog and flatter, so may you;<br /> + Religion is a widgeon, and reason is treason,<br /> +And he that hath a loyal heart may bid the world adieu.</p> +<p class="poetry">We must be like the Scottish man,<br /> + Who, with intent to beat down schism,<br /> +<a name="page280"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 280</span>Brought +in the Presbyterian<br /> + With canon and with catechism.<br /> +If beuk wont do’t, then Jockey shoot,<br /> + For the Church of Scotland doth command;<br /> +And what hath been since they came in<br /> + I think we have cause to understand.</p> +<h3>THE SOLDIER’S DELIGHT.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(Made in the late times.)</p> +<p>From the Loyal Garland, 1686. Reprinted for the Percy +Society, and edited by J. O. Halliwell.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fair</span> Phydelia, tempt +no more,<br /> +I may not now thy beauty so adore,<br /> +Nor offer to thy shrine;<br /> +I serve one more divine<br /> + And greater far than you:<br /> +Hark! the trumpet calls away,<br /> + We must go, lest the foe<br /> +Get the field and win the day;<br /> + Then march bravely on,<br /> + Charge them in the van,<br /> +Our cause God’s is, though the odds is<br /> + Ten times ten to one.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Tempt no more, I may not +yield,<br /> +Although thine eyes a kingdom may surprise;<br /> +Leave off thy wanton tales,<br /> +The high-born Prince of Wales<br /> + Is mounted in the field,<br /> +<a name="page281"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 281</span>Where +the loyal gentry flock,<br /> + Though forlorn, nobly born,<br /> +Of a ne’er-decaying stock;<br /> + Cavaliers, be bold, ne’er let go your hold,<br +/> +Those that loiters are by traitors<br /> + Dearly bought and sold.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Phydelia</i>.—One kiss more, and so +farewell.<br /> +<i>Soldier</i>.—Fie, no more! I prithee fool give +o’er;<br /> +Why cloud’st thou thus thy beams?<br /> +I see by these extremes,<br /> + A woman’s heaven or hell.<br /> +Pray the King may have his own,<br /> + That the Queen may be seen<br /> +With her babes on England’s throne;<br /> + Rally up your men, one shall vanquish ten,<br /> +Victory, we come to try our valour once again.</p> +<h3>THE LOYAL SOLDIER.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From the Loyal Garland, 1686. +Reprinted for the Percy Society, and edited by J. O. +Halliwell.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> in the field of +Mars we lie,<br /> + Amongst those martial wights,<br /> +Who, never daunted, are to dye<br /> + For King and countrie’s rights;<br /> +As on Belona’s god I wait,<br /> + And her attendant be,<br /> +<a name="page282"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 282</span>Yet, +being absent from my mate,<br /> + I live in misery.</p> +<p class="poetry">When lofty winds aloud do blow,<br /> + It snoweth, hail, or rain,<br /> +And Charon in his boat doth row,<br /> + Yet stedfast I’ll remain;<br /> +And for my shelter in some barn creep,<br /> + Or under some hedge lye;<br /> +Whilst such as do now strong castles keep<br /> + Knows no such misery.</p> +<p class="poetry">When down in straw we tumbling lye,<br /> + With Morpheus’ charms asleep,<br /> +My heavy, sad, and mournful eye<br /> + In security so deep;<br /> +Then do I dream within my arms<br /> + With thee I sleeping lye,<br /> +Then do I dread or fear no harms,<br /> + Nor feel no misery.</p> +<p class="poetry">When all my joys are thus compleat,<br /> + The canons loud do play,<br /> +The drums alarum straight do beat,<br /> + Trumpet sounds, horse, away!<br /> +Awake I then, and nought can find<br /> + But death attending me,<br /> +And all my joys are vanisht quite,—<br /> + This is my misery.</p> +<p class="poetry">When hunger oftentimes I feel,<br /> + And water cold do drink,<br /> +Yet from my colours I’le not steal,<br /> + Nor from my King will shrink;<br /> +<a name="page283"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 283</span>No +traytor base shall make me yield,<br /> + But for the cause I’le be:<br /> +This is my love, pray Heaven to shield,<br /> + And farewell misery.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then to our arms we straight do fly,<br /> + And forthwith march away;<br /> +Few towns or cities we come nigh<br /> + Good liquor us deny;<br /> +In Lethe deep our woes we steep—<br /> + Our loves forgotten be,<br /> +Amongst the jovialst we sing,<br /> + Hang up all misery.</p> +<p class="poetry">Propitious fate, then be more kind,<br /> + Grim death, lend me thy dart,<br /> +O sun and moon, and eke the wind,<br /> + Great Jove, take thou our part;<br /> +That of these Roundheads and these wars<br /> + An end that we may see,<br /> +And thy great name we’ll all applaud,<br /> + And hang all misery.</p> +<h3>THE POLITITIAN.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">Upon an act of Treason made by the +Rebels, etc.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">From the Loyal Garland, 1686. +Reprinted for the Percy Society, and edited by J. O. +Halliwell.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">But</span> since it was +lately enacted high treason<br /> + For a man to speak truth ’gainst the head of a +state,<br /> +<a name="page284"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 284</span>Let +every wise man make a use of his reason<br /> + To think what he will, but take heed what he +prate;<br /> +For the proverb doth learn us,<br /> + He that stays from the battel sleeps in a whole +skin,<br /> + And our words are our own if we keep them within,<br +/> + What fools are we then that to prattle do begin<br +/> +Of things that do not concern us!</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis no matter to me whoe’er gets +the battle,<br /> + The rubs or the crosses, ’tis all one to +me;<br /> +It neither increaseth my goods nor my cattle;<br /> + A beggar’s a beggar, and so he shall be<br /> +Unless he turn traitor.<br /> + Let misers take courses to hoard up their +treasure,<br /> + Whose bounds have no limits, whose minds have no +measure,<br /> + Let me be but quiet and take a little pleasure,<br +/> +A little contents my own nature.</p> +<p class="poetry">But what if the kingdom returns to the prime +ones?<br /> + My mind is a kingdom, and so it shall be;<br /> +I’ll make it appear, if I had but the time once,<br /> + He’s as happy in one as they are in three,<br +/> +If he might but enjoy it.<br /> + He that’s mounted aloft is a mark for the +fate,<br /> + And an envy to every pragmatical pate,<br /> + Whilst he that is low is safe in his estate,<br /> +And the great ones do scorn to annoy him.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page285"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +285</span>I count him no wit that is gifted in rayling<br /> + And flurting at those that above him do sit;<br /> +Whilst they do outwit him with whipping and jailing,<br /> + His purse and his person must pay for his wit.<br /> +But ’tis better to be drinking;<br /> + If sack were reform’d to twelve-pence a +quart<br /> + I’d study for money to merchandise +for’t,<br /> + With a friend that is willing in mirth we would +sport;<br /> +Not a word, but we’d pay it with thinking.</p> +<p class="poetry">My petition shall be that Canary be cheaper,<br +/> + Without either custom or cursed excise;<br /> +That the wits may have freedom to drink deeper and deeper,<br /> + And not be undone whilst our noses we baptize;<br /> +But we’ll liquor them and drench them.<br /> + If this were but granted, who would not desire<br /> + To dub himself one of Apollo’s own quire?<br +/> + And then we will drink whilst our noses are on +fire,<br /> +And the quart pots shall be buckets to quench them.</p> +<h3>A NEW DROLL.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From the Loyal Garland, 1686. +Edited by J. O. Halliwell.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span> let’s +drink, the time invites,<br /> + Winter and cold weather;<br /> +<a name="page286"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 286</span>For to +spend away long nights,<br /> + And to keep good wits together.<br /> +Better far than cards or dice,<br /> +Isaac’s balls are quaint device,<br /> + Made up with fan and feather.</p> +<p class="poetry">Of strange actions on the seas<br /> + Why should we be jealous?<br /> +Bring us liquor that will please,<br /> + And will make us braver fellows<br /> +Than the bold Venetian fleet,<br /> +When the Turks and they do meet<br /> + Within their Dardanellos.</p> +<p class="poetry">Valentian, that famous town,<br /> + Stood the French man’s wonder;<br /> +Water they employ’d to drown,<br /> + So to cut their troops assunder;<br /> +Turein gave a helpless look,<br /> +While the lofty Spaniard took<br /> + La Ferta and his plunder.</p> +<p class="poetry">As for water, we disclaim<br /> + Mankind’s adversary;<br /> +Once it caused the world’s whole frame<br /> + In the deluge to miscarry;<br /> +And that enemy of joy<br /> +Which sought our freedom to destroy<br /> + And murder good Canary.</p> +<p class="poetry">We that drink have no such thoughts,<br /> + Black and void of reason:<br /> +We take care to fill our vaults<br /> + With good wine of every season;<br /> +<a name="page287"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 287</span>And with +many a chirping cup<br /> +We blow one another up,<br /> + And that’s our only treason.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hear the squibs and mind the bells,<br /> + The fifth of November;<br /> +The parson a sad story tells,<br /> + And with horror doth remember<br /> +How some hot-brain’d traitor wrought<br /> +Plots that would have ruin brought<br /> + To King and every member.</p> +<h3>THE ROYALIST.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">A song made in the Rebellion.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">From the Loyal Garland, 1686. +Reprinted for the Percy Society, and edited by J. O. +Halliwell.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Stay</span>, shut the +gate!<br /> +T’other quart, boys, ’tis not so late<br /> + As you are thinking;<br /> +The stars which you see in the hemisphere be<br /> + Are but studs in your cheeks by good drinking;<br /> +The sun’s gone to tipple all night in the sea, boys,<br /> +To-morrow he’ll blush that he’s paler than we, +boys;<br /> + Drink wine, give him water,<br /> + ’Tis sack makes us the boys.</p> +<p class="poetry">Fill up the glass,<br /> +To the next merry lad let it pass;<br /> + Come, away wi’t;<br /> +Let’s set foot to foot and but give our minds +to’t,<br /> + ’Tis heretical sir, that doth slay wit;<br /> +<a name="page288"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 288</span>Then +hang up good faces, let’s drink till our noses<br /> +Give’s freedom to speak what our fancy disposes,<br /> +Beneath whose protection now under the rose is.</p> +<p class="poetry">Drink off your bowl,<br /> + ’Twill enrich both your head and your soul +with Canary;<br /> +For a carbuncled face saves a tedious race,<br /> + And the Indies about us we carry;<br /> +No Helicon like to the juice of good wine is,<br /> +For Phoebus had never had wit that divine is,<br /> +Had his face not been bow-dy’d as thine is and mine is.</p> +<p class="poetry">This must go round,<br /> + Off with your hats till the pavement be +crown’d with your beavers;<br /> +A red-coated face frights a sergeant and his mace,<br /> + Whilst the constables tremble to shivers.<br /> +In state march our faces like some of that quorum,<br /> +While the . . . do fall down and the vulgar adore ’um,<br +/> +And our noses like link-boys run shining before ’um.</p> +<h3>THE ROYALIST’S RESOLVE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From the Loyal Garland, 1686. +Reprinted for the Percy Society.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span>, drawer, some +wine,<br /> +Or we’ll pull down the sign,<br /> + For we are all jovial compounders;<br /> +<a name="page289"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +289</span>We’ll make the house ring<br /> +With healths to our King,<br /> + And confusion light on his confounders.</p> +<p class="poetry">Since former committee<br /> +Afforded no pity,<br /> + Our sorrows in wine we will steep ’um;<br /> +They force us to take<br /> +Two oaths, but we’ll make<br /> + A third, that we ne’er mean to keep +’um.</p> +<p class="poetry">And next, whoe’er sees,<br /> +We’ll drink on our knees<br /> + To the King; may he thirst that repines:<br /> +A fig for those traytors<br /> +That look to our waters,<br /> + They have nothing to do with our wines.</p> +<p class="poetry">And next here’s three bowls<br /> +To all gallant souls<br /> + That for the King did and will venture;<br /> +May they flourish when those<br /> +That are his and our foes<br /> + Are hang’d, and ram’d down to the +center.</p> +<p class="poetry">And may they be found<br /> +In all to abound,<br /> + Both with Heaven and the country’s anger;<br +/> +May they never want fractions,<br /> +Doubts, fears, and distractions,<br /> + Till the gallows-tree frees them from danger.</p> +<h3><a name="page290"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +290</span>LOYALTY TURNED UP TRUMP,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR</span><br /> +THE DANGER OVER.</h3> +<p>From the Loyal Garland, reprinted from a Black-Letter copy, +printed 1686. Reprinted for the Percy society, 1850.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> vain ill men +attempt us,<br /> + Their day is out of date;<br /> +The fates do now exempt us<br /> + From what we felt of late.<br /> +The nation is grown wiser<br /> + Than to believe their shame;<br /> +He that was the deviser<br /> + Themselves begin to blame.</p> +<p class="poetry">They thought the trumps would ever<br /> + Turn on rebellion’s side,<br /> +But kinder power deliver<br /> + Us from their foolish pride;<br /> +For see, they are deceived,<br /> + And can no more prevail;<br /> +Those who the Rump believed,<br /> + Ashamed are of the tale.</p> +<h3>THE LOYALIST’S ENCOURAGEMENT.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From the Loyal Garland.<br /> +To the tune of “Now, now the fight’s done.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">You</span> Royalists all, +now rejoice and be glad,<br /> +The day is our own, there’s no cause to be sad,<br /> +<a name="page291"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 291</span>The +tumult of faction is crush’d in its pride,<br /> +And the grand promoters their noddles all hide,<br /> +For fear of a swing, which does make it appear<br /> +Though treason they loved yet for hemp they don’t care.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then let us be bold still, and baffle their +plots,<br /> +That they in the end may prove impotent sots;<br /> +And find both their wit and their malice defeated,<br /> +Nay, find how themselves and their pupils they cheated,<br /> +By heaping and thrusting to unhinge a State,<br /> +Of which Heaven’s guardian fixt is by fate.</p> +<p class="poetry">Though once they the rabble bewitch’d +with their cant,<br /> +Whilst cobler and weaver set up for a saint;<br /> +Yet now the stale cheat they can fasten no more,<br /> +The juggle’s discover’d and they must give +o’er;<br /> +Yet give them their due that such mischief did work,<br /> +Who revile Christian princes and pray for the Turk.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! give them their due, and let none of +’em want<br /> +A cup of Geneva or Turkish turbant,<br /> +That, clad in their colours, they may not deceive<br /> +The vulgar, too prone and too apt to believe<br /> +The fears they suggest on a groundless pretence,<br /> +On purpose to make ’em repine or their prince.</p> +<h3><a name="page292"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 292</span>THE +TROUPER.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From the Loyal Garland. A +pleasant song revived.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Come</span>, come, let us drink,<br /> + ’Tis vain to think<br /> +Like fools of grief or sadness;<br /> + Let our money fly<br /> + And our sorrows dye,<br /> +All worldly care is madness;<br /> + But wine and good cheer<br /> + Will, in spite of our fear,<br /> +Inspire us all with gladness.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Let the greedy clowns,<br /> + That do live like hounds,<br /> +They know neither bound nor measure,<br /> + Lament every loss,<br /> + For their wealth is their cross,<br /> +Whose delight is in their treasure;<br /> + Whilst we with our own<br /> + Do go merrily on,<br /> +And spend it at our leisure.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then trout about the bowl<br +/> + To every loyal soul,<br /> +And to his hand commend it.<br /> + A fig for chink,<br /> + ’Twas made to buy drink,<br /> +Before we depart we’ll end it.<br /> + When we’ve spent our store,<br /> + The nation yields no more,<br /> +And merrily we will spend it.</p> +<h3><a name="page293"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 293</span>ON +THE TIMES,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR</span><br /> +THE GOOD SUBJECT’S WISH.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From the Loyal Garland.<br /> +To the tune of “Young Phaon.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Good</span> days we see, +let us rejoice,<br /> + In peace and loyalty,<br /> +And still despise the factious noise<br /> + Of those that vainly try<br /> +To undermine our happiness,<br /> + That they may by it get;<br /> +Knavery has great increase<br /> + When honesty does set.</p> +<p class="poetry">But let us baffle all their tricks,<br /> + Our King and country serve;<br /> +And may he never thrive that likes<br /> + Sedition in reserve:<br /> +Then let each in his station rest,<br /> + As all good subjects should;<br /> +And he that otherwise designs,<br /> + May he remain unblest.</p> +<p class="poetry">May traytors ever be deceived<br /> + In all they undertake,<br /> +And never by good men believed;<br /> + May all the plots they make<br /> +Fall heavy on themselves, and may<br /> + They see themselves undone,<br /> +And never have a happy day,<br /> + That would the King dethrone.</p> +<h3><a name="page294"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 294</span>THE +JOVIALISTS’ CORONATION.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From the Loyal Garland.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Since</span> it must be so, +why then so let it go,<br /> +Let the giddy-brain’d times turn round;<br /> +Now we have our King, let the goblets be crowned,<br /> +And our monarchy thus we recover;<br /> +Whilst the pottles are weeping<br /> + We’ll drench our sad +souls<br /> + In big-belly’d bowls,<br /> +And our sorrows in wine shall lie steeping.<br /> +And we’ll drink till our eyes do run over,<br /> + And prove it by reason,<br /> + It can be no treason<br /> +To drink or to sing<br /> +A mournifal of healths to our new-crowned King.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let us all stand bare in the presence we +are,<br /> +Let our noses like bonfires shine;<br /> +Instead of the conduits, let pottles run wine,<br /> +To perfect this true coronation;<br /> +And we that are loyal, in drink shall be peers;<br /> + For that face that wears claret<br +/> + Can traytors defie all,<br /> +And out-stares the bores of our nation;<br /> + In sign of obedience<br /> + Our oaths of allegiance<br /> +Beer glasses shall be,<br /> +And he that tipples tends to jollitry.</p> +<p class="poetry">But if in this reign a halberdly train,<br /> +Or a constable, chance to revel,<br /> +And would with his twyvels maliciously swell,<br /> +<a name="page295"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 295</span>And +against the King’s party raise arms:<br /> +Then the drawers, like yeomen o’ the guard,<br /> + With quart-pots<br /> + Shall fuddle the sots,<br /> +Till they make ’um both cuckolds and freemen,<br /> +And on their wives beat up alarms,<br /> + Thus as the health passes,<br /> + We’ll triple our glasses,<br +/> +And count it no sin<br /> +To drink and be loyal in defence of our King.</p> +<h3>THE LOYAL PRISONER.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From the Loyal Garland.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">How</span> happy’s +that pris’ner that conquers his fate<br /> + With silence, and ne’er on bad fortune +complains,<br /> +But carelessly plays with keys on his grate,<br /> + And he makes a sweet concert with them and his +chains!<br /> +He drowns care in sack, while his thoughts are opprest,<br /> +And he makes his heart float like a cork in his breast.<br /> +Then since we are slaves, and all islanders be,<br /> +And our land a large prison enclosed by the sea,<br /> +We’ll drink off the ocean, and set ourselves free,<br /> +For man is the world’s epitomy.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let tyrants wear purple, deep-dy’d in the +blood<br /> + Of those they have slain, their scepters to sway,<br +/> +<a name="page296"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 296</span>If our +conscience be clear, and our title be good,<br /> + With the rags that hang on us we are richer than +they;<br /> +We’ll drink down at night what we beg or can borrow,<br /> +And sleep without plotting for more the next morrow.<br /> + Then since, etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let the usurer watch o’er his bags and +his house,<br /> + To keep that from robbers he rak’d from his +debtors,<br /> +Which at midnight cries thieves at the noise of a mouse,<br /> + And he looks if his trunks are fast bound to their +fetters;<br /> +When once he’s grown rich enough for a State’s +plot,<br /> +But in one hour plunders what threescore years got.<br /> + Then since, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come, drawer, fill each man a peck of old +sherry,<br /> + This brimmer shall bid all our senses good-night;<br +/> +When old Aristotle was frolic and merry,<br /> + By the juice of the grape, he stagger’d +out-right;<br /> +Copernicus once, in a drunken fit, found<br /> +By the course of’s brains that the world did turn round.<br +/> + Then since, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis sack makes our faces like comets to +shine,<br /> + And gives tincture beyond a complexion mask.<br /> +<a name="page297"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 297</span>Diogenes +fell so in love with his wine,<br /> + That when ’twas all out he dwelt in the +cask,<br /> +And being shut up within a close room,<br /> +He, dying, requested a tub for his tomb.<br /> + Then since, +etc.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let him never so privately muster his gold,<br +/> + His angels will their intelligence be;<br /> +How closely they’re prest in their canvas hold,<br /> + And they want the State-souldier to set them all +free:<br /> +Let them pine and be hanged, we’ll merrily sing,<br /> +Who hath nothing to lose, may cry, God bless the King.<br /> + Then since, +etc.</p> +<h3>CANARY’S CORONATION.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From the Loyal Garland.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span>, let’s +purge our brains<br /> +From ale and grains,<br /> + That do smell of anarchy;<br /> +Let’s chuse a King<br /> +From whose blood may spring<br /> + Such a sparkling progeny;<br /> +It will be fit, strew mine in it,<br /> + Whose flames are bright and clear;<br /> +We’ll not bind our hands with drayman’s bands,<br /> + When as we may be freer;<br /> +Why should we droop, or basely stoop<br /> + To popular ale or beer?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page298"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +298</span>Who shall be King? how comes the thing<br /> + For which we all are met?<br /> +Claret is a prince that hath long since<br /> + In the royal order set:<br /> +His face is spread with a warlike seed,<br /> + And so he loves to see men;<br /> +When he bears the sway, his subjects they<br /> + Shall be as good as freemen;<br /> +But here’s the plot, almost forgot,<br /> + ’Tis too much burnt with women.</p> +<p class="poetry">By the river of Rhine is a valiant wine<br /> + That can all other replenish;<br /> +Let’s then consent to the government<br /> + And the royal rule of Rhenish:<br /> +The German wine will warm the chine,<br /> + And frisk in every vein;<br /> +’Twill make the bride forget to chide,<br /> + And call him to’t again:<br /> +But that’s not all, he is too small<br /> + To be our sovereign.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let us never think of a noble drink,<br /> + But with notes advance on high,<br /> +Let’s proclaim good Canary’s name,—<br /> + Heaven bless his Majesty!<br /> +He is a King in everything,<br /> + Whose nature doth renounce all,<br /> +He’ll make us skip and nimbly trip<br /> + From ceiling to the groundsil;<br /> +Especially when poets be<br /> + Lords of the Privy Council.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page299"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +299</span>But a vintner will his taster be,<br /> + Here’s nothing that can him let;<br /> +A drawer that hath a good palat<br /> + Shall be squire of the gimblet.<br /> +The bar-boys shall be pages all,<br /> + A tavern well-prepared,<br /> +And nothing shall be spared;<br /> + In jovial sort shall be the court,<br /> +Wine-porters that are soldiers tall<br /> + Be yeomen of the guard.</p> +<p class="poetry">But if a cooper we with a red nose see<br /> + In any part of the town;<br /> +The cooper shall, with his aids-royal,<br /> + Bear the sceptre of the crown;<br /> +Young wits that wash away their cash<br /> + In wine and recreation,<br /> +Who hates ale and beer, shall be welcome here<br /> + To give their approbation;<br /> +So shall all you that will allow<br /> + Canary’s recreation.</p> +<h3>THE MOURNFUL SUBJECTS,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR</span><br /> +THE WHOLE NATION’S LAMENTATION,<br /> +FROM THE HIGHEST TO THE LOWEST.</h3> +<p>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 <a name="page300"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +300</span>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">From vol. i. of the Roxburgh +Ballads in Brit. Mus.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Tune, “Troy Town, or the +Duchess of Suffolk.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">True</span> subjects mourn, +and well they may,<br /> + Of each degree, both lords and earls,<br /> +Which did behold that dismal day,<br /> + The death of princely pious Charles;<br /> +Some thousand weeping tears did fall<br /> +At his most sollid funeral.</p> +<p class="poetry">He was a prince of clemency,<br /> + Whose love and mercy did abound;<br /> +His death may well lamented be<br /> + Through all the nations Europe round;<br /> +Unto the ears of Christian kings<br /> +His death unwelcome tidings brings.</p> +<p class="poetry">All those that ever thought him ill,<br /> + And did disturb him in his reign,—<br /> +Let horrour now their conscience fill,<br /> + And strive such actions to restrain;<br /> +For sure they know not what they do,<br /> +The time will come when they shall rue.</p> +<p class="poetry">How often villains did design<br /> + By cruelty his blood to spill,<br /> +Yet by the Providence divine<br /> + God would not let them have their will,<br /> +But did preserve our gracious King,<br /> +Under the shadow of his wing.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page301"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +301</span>We grieved his soul while he was here,<br /> + When we would not his laws obey;<br /> +Therefore the Lord he was severe,<br /> + And took our gracious prince away:<br /> +We were not worthy to enjoy<br /> +The prince whom subjects would annoy.</p> +<p class="poetry">In peace he did lay down his head,<br /> + The sceptre and the royal crown;<br /> +His soul is now to heaven fled,<br /> + Above the reach of mortal frown,<br /> +Where joy and glory will not cease,<br /> +In presence with the King of Peace.</p> +<p class="poetry">Alas! we had our liberty,<br /> + He never sought for to devour<br /> +By a usurping tyranny,<br /> + To rule by arbitrary power;<br /> +No, no, in all his blessed reign<br /> +We had no cause for to complain.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let mourners now lament the loss<br /> + Of him that did the scepter sway,<br /> +And look upon it as a cross<br /> + That he from us is snatch’d away;<br /> +Though he is free from care or woe,<br /> +Yet we cannot forget him so.</p> +<p class="poetry">But since it was thy blessed will<br /> + To call him from a sinful land,<br /> +Oh let us all be thankful still<br /> + That it was done by thine own hand:<br /> +No pitch of honour can be free<br /> +From Death’s usurping tyranny.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page302"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +302</span>The fourteen day of February<br /> + They did interr our gracious Charles;<br /> +His funeral solemnity,<br /> + Accompanied with lords and earls,<br /> +Four Dukes, I, and Prince George by name,<br /> +Went next the King with all his train.</p> +<p class="poetry">And thus they to the Abbey went<br /> + To lay him in his silent tomb,<br /> +Where many inward sighs were spent<br /> + To think upon their dismal doom.<br /> +Whole showers of tears afresh then fell<br /> +When they beheld his last farewell.</p> +<p class="poetry">Since it is so, that all must die,<br /> + And must before our God appear,<br /> +Oh let us have a watchful eye,<br /> + Over our conversation here;<br /> +That like great Charles, our King and friend,<br /> +We all may have a happy end.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let England by their loyalty<br /> + Repair the breach which they did make;<br /> +And let us all united be<br /> + To gracious James, for Charles his sake;<br /> +And let there be no more discord,<br /> +But love the King and fear the Lord.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Printed for F. Deacon in Guilt-Spur +Street.</p> +<h3><a name="page303"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +303</span>“MEMENTO MORI.”</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">AN ELOGY ON THE DEATH OF HIS +SACRED<br /> +MAJESTY KING CHARLES II., OF<br /> +BLESSED MEMORY.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">From the King’s Pamphlets, +British Museum.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Unwelcome</span> +news! Whitehall its sable wears,<br /> +And each good subject lies dissolved in tears!<br /> +Justly indeed; for Charles is dead, the great,<br /> +(Who can so much as such great griefs repeat?)<br /> +King Charles the good, in whom that day there fell<br /> +More than one tribe in this our Israel!<br /> +Ah! cruel Death! we find thy fatal sting<br /> +In losing him who was so good a King,—<br /> +A King so wise, so just, and he’d great part<br /> +In Solomon’s wisdom and in David’s heart;<br /> +A King! whose virtues only to rehearse<br /> +Rather requires a volume than a verse.<br /> +Sprung from the loyns of Charles of blessed fame,<br /> +A worthy son of his great father’s name,<br /> +His parent’s and his grandsire’s virtues he,<br /> +As h’ did their crown, enjoy’d <i>ex traduce</i>,<br +/> +Of th’ best and greatest of Kings the epitome.<br /> +His justice such as him none could affright<br /> +From doing t’all to God and subjects right.<br /> +Punish he could, but, like Heaven’s Majesty,<br /> +Would that a traitor should repent, not die.<br /> +His prudence to the laws due vigour gave,<br /> +He saved others and himself did save.<br /> +His valour and his courage, write who can?<br /> +Being a good souldier ere he was a man.<br /> +<a name="page304"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +304</span>Wrestling with sorrows in a land unknown,<br /> +Whilst Herod did usurp his royal throne,<br /> +Banish’d his native country, every day,<br /> +Like Moses, at the brink of death he lay.<br /> +But that storm’s over, and blest be that hand<br /> +That gave him conduct to his peaceful land;<br /> +Where this great King the Gordian knot unties,<br /> +Of Heaven’s, the kingdom’s, and his enemies;<br /> +Not with the sword, but with his grace and love,<br /> +Giving to those their lives that for his strove:<br /> +Never did person so much mercy breath<br /> +Since our blest Saviour’s and his father’s death.<br +/> +In fine, his actions may our pattern be,<br /> +His godly life, the Christian diary;<br /> +But now he’s dead, alas! our David’s gone,<br /> +And having served his generation,<br /> +Is fall’n asleep; that glorious star’s no more<br /> +That English wise men led unto the shore<br /> +Of peace, where gospel-truth’s protest<br /> +Cherished within our pious mother’s breast,<br /> +And with protection of such Kings still blest;<br /> +Blest with his piety and the nation too,<br /> +Happy in’s reign, with milk and honey flew;<br /> +Yea, blest so much with peace and nature’s store<br /> +Heaven could scarce give or we desire he more;<br /> +But yet, alas! he’s dead! Mourn, England, mourn,<br +/> +And all your scarlet into black cloth turn;<br /> +Let dust and ashes with your tears comply.<br /> +To weep, not sing, his mournful elegy;<br /> +And let your love to Charles be shown hereby<br /> +In rendering James your prayers and loyalty.<br /> +Long may Great James these kingdoms’ sceptre sway,<br /> +And may his subjects lovingly obey,<br /> +<a name="page305"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 305</span>Whilst +with joint comfort all agree to sing,<br /> +Heaven bless these kingdoms and “God save the +King!”</p> +<p>London: printed by F. Millet for W. Thackeray, at the sign of +the Angel in Duck Lane, 1685.</p> +<h3>ACCESSION OF JAMES II.</h3> +<p>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.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> means, honest +shepherd, this cloud on thy brow?<br /> +Say, where is thy mirth and thy melody now?<br /> +Thy pipe thrown aside, and thy looks full of thought,<br /> +As silent and sad as a bird newly caught.<br /> +Has any misfortune befallen thy flocks,<br /> +Some lamb been betray’d by the craft of the fox;<br /> +Or murrain, more fatal, just seized on thy herd;<br /> +Or has thy dear Phyllis let slip a cross word?</p> +<p class="poetry">The season indeed may to musing incline,<br /> +Now that grey-bearded Winter makes Autumn resign;<br /> +The hills all around us their russet put on,<br /> +And the skies seem in mourning for loss of the sun.<br /> +<a name="page306"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 306</span>The +winds make the tree, where thou sitt’st, shake its head;<br +/> +Yet tho’ with dry leaves mother earth’s lap is +spread,<br /> +Her bosom, to cheer it, is verdant with wheat,<br /> +And the woods can supply us with pastime and meat.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! no, says the shepherd, I mourn none of +these,<br /> +Content with such changes as Heaven shall please;<br /> +Tho’ now we have got the wrong side of the year,<br /> +’Twill turn up again, and fresh beauties appear:<br /> +But the loss that I grieve for no time can restore;<br /> +Our master that lov’d us so well is no more;<br /> +That oak which we hop’d wou’d long shelter us all,<br +/> +Is fallen; then well may we shake at its fall.</p> +<p class="poetry">Where find we a pastor so kind and so good,<br +/> +So careful to feed us with wholesomest food,<br /> +To watch for our safety, and drive far away<br /> +The sly prouling fox that would make us his prey?<br /> +Oh! may his remembrance for ever remain<br /> +To shame those hard shepherds who, mindful of gain,<br /> +Only look at their sheep with an eye to the fleece,<br /> +And watch ’em but so as the fox watch’d the +geese.</p> +<p class="poetry">Whom now shall I choose for the theme of my +song?<br /> +Or must my poor pipe on the willow be hung?<br /> +No more to commend that good nature and sense,<br /> +Which always cou’d please, but ne’er once gave +offence.<br /> +What honour directed he firmly pursu’d,<br /> +Yet would not his judgment on others intrude;<br /> +<a name="page307"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 307</span>Still +ready to help with his service and vote,<br /> +But ne’er to thrust oar in another man’s boat.</p> +<p class="poetry">No more, honest shepherd, these sorrows +resound,<br /> +The virtues thou praisest, so hard to be found,<br /> +Are yet not all fled, for the swain who succeeds<br /> +To his fields and his herds is true heir to his deeds;<br /> +His pattern he’ll follow, his gentleness use,<br /> +Take care of the shepherds and cherish the muse:<br /> +Then cease for the dead thy impertinent care,<br /> +Rejoice, he survives in his brother and heir.</p> +<h3><span class="GutSmall">ON THE MOST HIGH AND MIGHTY +MONARCH</span><br /> +KING JAMES,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">ON HIS EXALTATION ON THE THRONE OF +ENGLAND.</span></h3> +<p>Being an excellent new song. From a “Collection of +One Hundred and Eighty Loyal Songs, written since +1678.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">To the tune of “Hark! the +Thundering Cannons roar.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Hark</span>! the bells and +steeples ring!<br /> +A health to James our royal King;<br /> +Heaven approves the offering,<br /> + Resounding in chorus;<br /> +Let our sacrifice aspire,<br /> +Richest gems perfume the fire,<br /> +Angels and the sacred quire<br /> + Have led the way before us.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page308"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +308</span>Thro’ loud storms and tempests driven,<br /> +This wrong’d prince to us was given,<br /> +The mighty James, preserved by Heaven<br /> + To be a future blessing;<br /> +The anointed instrument,<br /> +Good great Charles to represent,<br /> +And fill our souls with that content<br /> + Which we are now possessing.</p> +<p class="poetry">Justice, plenty, wealth, and peace,<br /> +With the fruitful land’s increase,<br /> +All the treasures of the seas,<br /> + With him to us are given;<br /> +As the brother, just and good,<br /> +From whose royal father’s blood<br /> +Clemency runs like a flood,<br /> + A legacy from Heaven.</p> +<p class="poetry">Summon’d young to fierce alarms,<br /> +Born a man in midst of arms,<br /> +His good angels kept from harms—<br /> + The people’s joy and wonder;<br /> +Early laurels crown’d his brow,<br /> +And the crowd did praise allow,<br /> +Whilst against the Belgick foe<br /> + Great Jove implored his thunder.</p> +<p class="poetry">Like him none e’er fill’d the +throne,<br /> +Never courage yet was known<br /> +With so much conduct met in one,<br /> + To claim our due devotion;<br /> +Who made the Belgick lion roar,<br /> +Drove ’em back to their own shore,<br /> +To humble and encroach no more<br /> + Upon the British ocean.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page309"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +309</span>When poor Holland first grew proud,<br /> +Saucy, insolent, and loud,<br /> +Great James subdued the boisterous crowd,<br /> + The foaming ocean stemming;<br /> +His country’s glory and its good<br /> +He valued dearer than his blood,<br /> +And rid sole sovereign o’er his flood,<br /> + In spight of French or Fleming.</p> +<p class="poetry">When he the foe had overcome,<br /> +Brought them peace and conquest home,<br /> +Exiled in foreign parts to roam,<br /> + Ungrateful rebels vote him;<br /> +But spite of all their insolence,<br /> +Inspired with god-like patience,<br /> +The rightful heir, kind Providence<br /> + Did to a throne promote him.</p> +<p class="poetry">May justice at his elbow wait<br /> +To defend the Church and State,<br /> +The subject and this monarch’s date<br /> + May no storm e’er dissever:<br /> +May he long adorn this place<br /> +With his royal brother’s grace,<br /> +His mercy and his tenderness,<br /> + To rule this land for ever.</p> +<h3>IN A SUMMER’S DAY.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">From Hogg’s Jacobite +Relics.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> a summer’s +day when all was gay<br /> + The lads and lasses met<br /> +<a name="page310"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 310</span>In a +flowery mead, when each lovely maid<br /> + Was by her true love set.<br /> +Dick took the glass, and drank to his lass,<br /> +And <i>Jamie’s</i> health around did pass;<br /> +Huzza! they cried; Huzza! they all replied,<br /> + God bless our noble King.</p> +<p class="poetry">To the Queen, quothiwell; Drink it off, says +Nell,<br /> + They say she is wondrous pretty;<br /> +And the prince, says Hugh; That’s right, says Sue;<br /> + God send him home, says Katy;<br /> +May the powers above this tribe remove,<br /> +And send us back the man we love.<br /> +Huzza! they cried; Huzza! they all replied,<br /> + God bless our noble King.</p> +<p class="poetry">The liquor spent, they to dancing went,<br /> + Each gamester took his mate;<br /> +Ralph bow’d to Moll, and Hodge to Doll,<br /> + Hal took out black-eyed Kate.<br /> +Name your dance, quoth John; Bid him, says Anne,<br /> +Play, The King shall enjoy his own again.<br /> +Huzza! they cried; Huzza! they all replied,<br /> + God bless our noble King.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">THE END.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">JOHN CHILDS +AND SON, PRINTERS.</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1" +class="footnote">[1]</a> This stanza is omitted in most +collections. Walker was a colonel in the parliamentary +army; and afterwards a member of the Committee of Safety.</p> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2" +class="footnote">[2]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3" +class="footnote">[3]</a> The Earl of Thomond.</p> +<p><a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4" +class="footnote">[4]</a> 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.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5" +class="footnote">[5]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6" +class="footnote">[6]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote7"></a><a href="#citation7" +class="footnote">[7]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote8"></a><a href="#citation8" +class="footnote">[8]</a> Wren, bishop of Ely, was committed +to the Tower in 1641, accused with high +“misdemeanours” in his diocese.</p> +<p><a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9" +class="footnote">[9]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote10"></a><a href="#citation10" +class="footnote">[10]</a> Sir Francis Wortley, Bart., was +made a prisoner in 1644, at the taking of Walton House, near +Wakefield, by Sir Thomas Fairfax.</p> +<p><a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11" +class="footnote">[11]</a> Sir Edward Hales, Bart., of +Woodchurch, in Kent, had been member for Queenborough in the Isle +of Sheppey. He was not a Royalist.</p> +<p><a name="footnote12"></a><a href="#citation12" +class="footnote">[12]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote13"></a><a href="#citation13" +class="footnote">[13]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote14"></a><a href="#citation14" +class="footnote">[14]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15" +class="footnote">[15]</a> Sir John Hewet, of +Huntingdonshire, was committed to the Tower on the 28th of +January, 1645(–6).</p> +<p><a name="footnote16"></a><a href="#citation16" +class="footnote">[16]</a> 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.</p> +<blockquote><p>From Fielding and from Vavasour,<br /> + Both ill-affected men;<br /> +From Lunsford eke dilver us,<br /> + That eateth up children.<br /> + + +Loyal Songs, ed. 1731, i. 38.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: right">T. W.</p> +<p><a name="footnote17"></a><a href="#citation17" +class="footnote">[17]</a> Sir William Lewis, one of the +eleven members who had been impeached by the army.</p> +<p><a name="footnote18"></a><a href="#citation18" +class="footnote">[18]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19" +class="footnote">[19]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote20"></a><a href="#citation20" +class="footnote">[20]</a> Sir John Morley, of Newcastle, +committed to the Tower on the 18th of July, 1645.</p> +<p><a name="footnote21"></a><a href="#citation21" +class="footnote">[21]</a> King was a Royalist general, in +the north, who was slain July, 1643.</p> +<p><a name="footnote22"></a><a href="#citation22" +class="footnote">[22]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote23"></a><a href="#citation23" +class="footnote">[23]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote24"></a><a href="#citation24" +class="footnote">[24]</a> Sir Wingfield Bodenham, of the +county of Rutland, committed to the Tower on the 31st of July, +1643.</p> +<p><a name="footnote25"></a><a href="#citation25" +class="footnote">[25]</a> Sir Henry Vaughan, a Welsh +knight, committed to the Tower on the 18th July, 1645.</p> +<p><a name="footnote26"></a><a href="#citation26" +class="footnote">[26]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote27"></a><a href="#citation27" +class="footnote">[27]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote28"></a><a href="#citation28" +class="footnote">[28]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote29"></a><a href="#citation29" +class="footnote">[29]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote30"></a><a href="#citation30" +class="footnote">[30]</a> Glynn was one of the eleven +members impeached by the army.</p> +<p><a name="footnote31"></a><a href="#citation31" +class="footnote">[31]</a> It was believed at this time that +Fairfax was favourable to the restoration of the King.</p> +<p><a name="footnote32"></a><a href="#citation32" +class="footnote">[32]</a> The “Jack Ketch” of +the day.</p> +<p><a name="footnote33"></a><a href="#citation33" +class="footnote">[33]</a> The copy in the “Rump +Songs” has “Smee and his tub.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote34"></a><a href="#citation34" +class="footnote">[34]</a> 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,—</p> +<blockquote><p>—“I’ll have a bout with thee;<br +/> +Devil, or devil’s dam, I’ll conjure thee:<br /> +Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right">(Hen. V. Part I. Act I. sc. +5.)<br /> +T. W.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote35"></a><a href="#citation35" +class="footnote">[35]</a> The prediction was not +<i>quite</i> so speedily verified.</p> +<p><a name="footnote36"></a><a href="#citation36" +class="footnote">[36]</a> Colonel Hewson, originally a +shoemaker.</p> +<p><a name="footnote37"></a><a href="#citation37" +class="footnote">[37]</a> Newspapers.</p> +<p><a name="footnote38"></a><a href="#citation38" +class="footnote">[38]</a> 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. <span +class="smcap">Wright</span>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote39"></a><a href="#citation39" +class="footnote">[39]</a> An allusion to the Dutch War of +1651 and 1652.</p> +<p><a name="footnote40"></a><a href="#citation40" +class="footnote">[40]</a> Oliver Cromwell.</p> +<p><a name="footnote41"></a><a href="#citation41" +class="footnote">[41]</a> The Welsh were frequently the +subject of satirical allusions during the civil wars and the +Commonwealth.</p> +<p><a name="footnote42"></a><a href="#citation42" +class="footnote">[42]</a> Speaker of the Long +Parliament.</p> +<p><a name="footnote43"></a><a href="#citation43" +class="footnote">[43]</a> Cromwell’s wife.</p> +<p><a name="footnote44"></a><a href="#citation44" +class="footnote">[44]</a> Cromwell’s two sons, +Richard and Henry.</p> +<p><a name="footnote45"></a><a href="#citation45" +class="footnote">[45]</a> Cromwell’s daughter.</p> +<p><a name="footnote46"></a><a href="#citation46" +class="footnote">[46]</a> Col. Pride, originally a +brewer’s drayman.</p> +<p><a name="footnote47"></a><a href="#citation47" +class="footnote">[47]</a> Walter Strickland, M.P. for a +Cornish borough.</p> +<p><a name="footnote48"></a><a href="#citation48" +class="footnote">[48]</a> Monk was with his troops in +Scotland, but had declared himself an approver of the proceedings +of the Parliament.</p> +<p><a name="footnote49"></a><a href="#citation49" +class="footnote">[49]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote50"></a><a href="#citation50" +class="footnote">[50]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote51"></a><a href="#citation51" +class="footnote">[51]</a> 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.)</p> +<p><a name="footnote52"></a><a href="#citation52" +class="footnote">[52]</a> George Monk and John Lambert.</p> +<p><a name="footnote53"></a><a href="#citation53" +class="footnote">[53]</a> The eleventh of February was the +day on which Monck overthrew the Rump, by declaring for the +admission of the secluded members.</p> +<p><a name="footnote54"></a><a href="#citation54" +class="footnote">[54]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote55"></a><a href="#citation55" +class="footnote">[55]</a> Thomas Scot and Luke Robinson +were sent by the Parliament to expostulate with Monk, but without +effect.</p> +<p><a name="footnote56"></a><a href="#citation56" +class="footnote">[56]</a> 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.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote57"></a><a href="#citation57" +class="footnote">[57]</a> 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!’”</p> +<p><a name="footnote58"></a><a href="#citation58" +class="footnote">[58]</a> Haselrigge was accused of having +been a dupe to Monck’s cunning intrigues.</p> +<p><a name="footnote59"></a><a href="#citation59" +class="footnote">[59]</a> 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.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote60"></a><a href="#citation60" +class="footnote">[60]</a> 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.” <i>Mercurius +Honestus</i>, No. 1. (March 21, 1659–60.)</p> +<p><a name="footnote61"></a><a href="#citation61" +class="footnote">[61]</a> 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.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote62"></a><a href="#citation62" +class="footnote">[62]</a> 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:—“<i>Jack-Pudding</i>, 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 (<i>Jack Pudding</i> 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).</p> +<p><a name="footnote63"></a><a href="#citation63" +class="footnote">[63]</a> An allusion to James +Harrington’s “Oceana.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote64"></a><a href="#citation64" +class="footnote">[64]</a> 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).</p> +<p><a name="footnote65"></a><a href="#citation65" +class="footnote">[65]</a> 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.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote66"></a><a href="#citation66" +class="footnote">[66]</a> 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:</p> +<blockquote><p>“But, Baron Wild, come out here,<br /> +Show your ferret face and snout here,<br /> +For you, being both a fool and a knave,<br /> +Are a monster in the rout here.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: right">Loyal songs II. 55.</p> +<p><a name="footnote67"></a><a href="#citation67" +class="footnote">[67]</a> See footnote <a +name="citation60"></a><a href="#footnote60" +class="citation">[60]</a>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote68"></a><a href="#citation68" +class="footnote">[68]</a> Alderman Atkins.</p> +<p><a name="footnote69"></a><a href="#citation69" +class="footnote">[69]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote70"></a><a href="#citation70" +class="footnote">[70]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote71"></a><a href="#citation71" +class="footnote">[71]</a> Marchamont Nedham.</p> +<p><a name="footnote72"></a><a href="#citation72" +class="footnote">[72]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote73"></a><a href="#citation73" +class="footnote">[73]</a> Speaker of the Long +Parliament.</p> +<p><a name="footnote74"></a><a href="#citation74" +class="footnote">[74]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote75"></a><a href="#citation75" +class="footnote">[75]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote76"></a><a href="#citation76" +class="footnote">[76]</a> Sir Arthur Haselrigge, member for +Leicestershire.</p> +<p><a name="footnote77"></a><a href="#citation77" +class="footnote">[77]</a> Noise or disturbance.</p> +<p><a name="footnote78"></a><a href="#citation78" +class="footnote">[78]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote79"></a><a href="#citation79" +class="footnote">[79]</a> John Lowry, member for +Cambridge.</p> +<p><a name="footnote80"></a><a href="#citation80" +class="footnote">[80]</a> Sir Edmund Prideaux, Bart., +member for Lyme Regis. He was Cromwell’s +Attorney-General.</p> +<p><a name="footnote81"></a><a href="#citation81" +class="footnote">[81]</a> Oliver St John, member for +Totness, and Lord Chief Justice of the Common Pleas.</p> +<p><a name="footnote82"></a><a href="#citation82" +class="footnote">[82]</a> 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.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote83"></a><a href="#citation83" +class="footnote">[83]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote84"></a><a href="#citation84" +class="footnote">[84]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote85"></a><a href="#citation85" +class="footnote">[85]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote86"></a><a href="#citation86" +class="footnote">[86]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote87"></a><a href="#citation87" +class="footnote">[87]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote88"></a><a href="#citation88" +class="footnote">[88]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote89"></a><a href="#citation89" +class="footnote">[89]</a> 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,</p> +<p class="poetry">“Salloway with tobacco<br /> +Inspired, turned State quack-o;<br /> +And got more by his feigned zeal<br /> +Then by his, <i>What d’ye lack-o</i>?”</p> +<p>In another he is introduced thus,</p> +<p class="poetry">“The tobacco-man Salway, with a heart +tall of gall<br /> +Puffs down bells, steeples, priests, churches and all,<br /> +As old superstitions relicks of Baal.”</p> +<p>A third ballad, alluding to his attitude in the House, couples +together</p> +<p class="poetry">“Mr William Lilly’s astrological +lyes,<br /> +And the meditations of Salloway biting his +thumbs.”—T. W.</p> +<p><a name="footnote90"></a><a href="#citation90" +class="footnote">[90]</a> 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,</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Baron Hill was but a +valley,<br /> + And born scarce to an alley;<br /> +But now is lord of Taunton Dean,<br /> + And thousands he can rally.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote91"></a><a href="#citation91" +class="footnote">[91]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote92"></a><a href="#citation92" +class="footnote">[92]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote93"></a><a href="#citation93" +class="footnote">[93]</a> Luke Robinson, of Pickering Lyth, +in Yorkshire, was member for Scarborough. An old ballad +says of him,</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Luke Robinson, that +clownado,<br /> + Though his heart be a granado,<br /> +Yet a high shoe with his hand in his poke<br /> + Is his most perfect shadow.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote94"></a><a href="#citation94" +class="footnote">[94]</a> Sir Harry Vane.</p> +<p><a name="footnote95"></a><a href="#citation95" +class="footnote">[95]</a> Thomas Scott was member for +Aylesbury, in Buckinghamshire, in the Long Parliament.</p> +<p><a name="footnote96"></a><a href="#citation96" +class="footnote">[96]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote97"></a><a href="#citation97" +class="footnote">[97]</a> To save his tithe +pig:—probably the origin of the well known slang phrase of +the present day.</p> +<p><a name="footnote98"></a><a href="#citation98" +class="footnote">[98]</a> Coloured, or dyed.</p> +<p><a name="footnote99"></a><a href="#citation99" +class="footnote">[99]</a> Faustus.</p> +<p><a name="footnote100"></a><a href="#citation100" +class="footnote">[100]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote101"></a><a href="#citation101" +class="footnote">[101]</a> “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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote102"></a><a href="#citation102" +class="footnote">[102]</a> “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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote103"></a><a href="#citation103" +class="footnote">[103]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote104"></a><a href="#citation104" +class="footnote">[104]</a> 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.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote105"></a><a href="#citation105" +class="footnote">[105]</a> “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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote106"></a><a href="#citation106" +class="footnote">[106]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote107"></a><a href="#citation107" +class="footnote">[107]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108"></a><a href="#citation108" +class="footnote">[108]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote109"></a><a href="#citation109" +class="footnote">[109]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote110"></a><a href="#citation110" +class="footnote">[110]</a> The Nursery Rhyme, “The +Man in the Moon drinks claret.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote111"></a><a href="#citation111" +class="footnote">[111]</a> Philip Nye.</p> +<p><a name="footnote112"></a><a href="#citation112" +class="footnote">[112]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote113"></a><a href="#citation113" +class="footnote">[113]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote114"></a><a href="#citation114" +class="footnote">[114]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote115"></a><a href="#citation115" +class="footnote">[115]</a> Titus Oates, the inventor of the +Popish plot.</p> +<p><a name="footnote116"></a><a href="#citation116" +class="footnote">[116]</a> Patience Ward, the alderman.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CAVALIER SONGS AND BALLADS OF +ENGLAND***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1030-h.htm or 1030-h.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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