CAVALIER SONGS AND BALLADS. (continued 4)

You Royalists all, now rejoice and be glad, The day is our own, there’s no cause to be sad, The tumult of faction is crush’d in its pride, And the grand promoters their noddles all hide, For fear of a swing, which does make it appear Though treason they loved yet for hemp they don’t care.

Then let us be bold still, and baffle their plots, That they in the end may prove impotent sots; And find both their wit and their malice defeated, Nay, find how themselves and their pupils they cheated, By heaping and thrusting to unhinge a State, Of which Heaven’s guardian fixt is by fate.

Though once they the rabble bewitch’d with their cant, Whilst cobler and weaver set up for a saint; Yet now the stale cheat they can fasten no more, The juggle’s discover’d and they must give o’er; Yet give them their due that such mischief did work, Who revile Christian princes and pray for the Turk.

Oh! give them their due, and let none of ’em want A cup of Geneva or Turkish turbant, That, clad in their colours, they may not deceive The vulgar, too prone and too apt to believe The fears they suggest on a groundless pretence, On purpose to make ’em repine or their prince.

Come, come, let us drink, ’Tis vain to think Like fools of grief or sadness; Let our money fly And our sorrows dye, All worldly care is madness; But wine and good cheer Will, in spite of our fear, Inspire us all with gladness.

Let the greedy clowns, That do live like hounds, They know neither bound nor measure, Lament every loss, For their wealth is their cross, Whose delight is in their treasure; Whilst we with our own Do go merrily on, And spend it at our leisure.

Then trout about the bowl To every loyal soul, And to his hand commend it. A fig for chink, ’Twas made to buy drink, Before we depart we’ll end it. When we’ve spent our store, The nation yields no more, And merrily we will spend it.

Good days we see, let us rejoice, In peace and loyalty, And still despise the factious noise Of those that vainly try To undermine our happiness, That they may by it get; Knavery has great increase When honesty does set.

But let us baffle all their tricks, Our King and country serve; And may he never thrive that likes Sedition in reserve: Then let each in his station rest, As all good subjects should; And he that otherwise designs, May he remain unblest.

May traytors ever be deceived In all they undertake, And never by good men believed; May all the plots they make Fall heavy on themselves, and may They see themselves undone, And never have a happy day, That would the King dethrone.

Since it must be so, why then so let it go, Let the giddy-brain’d times turn round; Now we have our King, let the goblets be crowned, And our monarchy thus we recover; Whilst the pottles are weeping We’ll drench our sad souls In big-belly’d bowls, And our sorrows in wine shall lie steeping. And we’ll drink till our eyes do run over, And prove it by reason, It can be no treason To drink or to sing A mournifal of healths to our new-crowned King.

Let us all stand bare in the presence we are, Let our noses like bonfires shine; Instead of the conduits, let pottles run wine, To perfect this true coronation; And we that are loyal, in drink shall be peers; For that face that wears claret Can traytors defie all, And out-stares the bores of our nation; In sign of obedience Our oaths of allegiance Beer glasses shall be, And he that tipples tends to jollitry.

But if in this reign a halberdly train, Or a constable, chance to revel, And would with his twyvels maliciously swell, And against the King’s party raise arms: Then the drawers, like yeomen o’ the guard, With quart-pots Shall fuddle the sots, Till they make ’um both cuckolds and freemen, And on their wives beat up alarms, Thus as the health passes, We’ll triple our glasses, And count it no sin To drink and be loyal in defence of our King.

How happy’s that pris’ner that conquers his fate With silence, and ne’er on bad fortune complains, But carelessly plays with keys on his grate, And he makes a sweet concert with them and his chains! He drowns care in sack, while his thoughts are opprest, And he makes his heart float like a cork in his breast. Then since we are slaves, and all islanders be, And our land a large prison enclosed by the sea, We’ll drink off the ocean, and set ourselves free, For man is the world’s epitomy.

Let tyrants wear purple, deep-dy’d in the blood Of those they have slain, their scepters to sway, If our conscience be clear, and our title be good, With the rags that hang on us we are richer than they; We’ll drink down at night what we beg or can borrow, And sleep without plotting for more the next morrow. Then since, etc.

Let the usurer watch o’er his bags and his house, To keep that from robbers he rak’d from his debtors, Which at midnight cries thieves at the noise of a mouse, And he looks if his trunks are fast bound to their fetters; When once he’s grown rich enough for a State’s plot, But in one hour plunders what threescore years got. Then since, etc.

Come, drawer, fill each man a peck of old sherry, This brimmer shall bid all our senses good-night; When old Aristotle was frolic and merry, By the juice of the grape, he stagger’d out-right; Copernicus once, in a drunken fit, found By the course of’s brains that the world did turn round. Then since, etc.

’Tis sack makes our faces like comets to shine, And gives tincture beyond a complexion mask. Diogenes fell so in love with his wine, That when ’twas all out he dwelt in the cask, And being shut up within a close room, He, dying, requested a tub for his tomb. Then since, etc.

Let him never so privately muster his gold, His angels will their intelligence be; How closely they’re prest in their canvas hold, And they want the State-souldier to set them all free: Let them pine and be hanged, we’ll merrily sing, Who hath nothing to lose, may cry, God bless the King. Then since, etc.

Come, let’s purge our brains From ale and grains, That do smell of anarchy; Let’s chuse a King From whose blood may spring Such a sparkling progeny; It will be fit, strew mine in it, Whose flames are bright and clear; We’ll not bind our hands with drayman’s bands, When as we may be freer; Why should we droop, or basely stoop To popular ale or beer?

Who shall be King? how comes the thing For which we all are met? Claret is a prince that hath long since In the royal order set: His face is spread with a warlike seed, And so he loves to see men; When he bears the sway, his subjects they Shall be as good as freemen; But here’s the plot, almost forgot, ’Tis too much burnt with women.

By the river of Rhine is a valiant wine That can all other replenish; Let’s then consent to the government And the royal rule of Rhenish: The German wine will warm the chine, And frisk in every vein; ’Twill make the bride forget to chide, And call him to’t again: But that’s not all, he is too small To be our sovereign.

Let us never think of a noble drink, But with notes advance on high, Let’s proclaim good Canary’s name,— Heaven bless his Majesty! He is a King in everything, Whose nature doth renounce all, He’ll make us skip and nimbly trip From ceiling to the groundsil; Especially when poets be Lords of the Privy Council.

But a vintner will his taster be, Here’s nothing that can him let; A drawer that hath a good palat Shall be squire of the gimblet. The bar-boys shall be pages all, A tavern well-prepared, And nothing shall be spared; In jovial sort shall be the court, Wine-porters that are soldiers tall Be yeomen of the guard.

But if a cooper we with a red nose see In any part of the town; The cooper shall, with his aids-royal, Bear the sceptre of the crown; Young wits that wash away their cash In wine and recreation, Who hates ale and beer, shall be welcome here To give their approbation; So shall all you that will allow Canary’s recreation.

True subjects mourn, and well they may, Of each degree, both lords and earls, Which did behold that dismal day, The death of princely pious Charles; Some thousand weeping tears did fall At his most sollid funeral.

He was a prince of clemency, Whose love and mercy did abound; His death may well lamented be Through all the nations Europe round; Unto the ears of Christian kings His death unwelcome tidings brings.

All those that ever thought him ill, And did disturb him in his reign,— Let horrour now their conscience fill, And strive such actions to restrain; For sure they know not what they do, The time will come when they shall rue.

How often villains did design By cruelty his blood to spill, Yet by the Providence divine God would not let them have their will, But did preserve our gracious King, Under the shadow of his wing.

We grieved his soul while he was here, When we would not his laws obey; Therefore the Lord he was severe, And took our gracious prince away: We were not worthy to enjoy The prince whom subjects would annoy.

In peace he did lay down his head, The sceptre and the royal crown; His soul is now to heaven fled, Above the reach of mortal frown, Where joy and glory will not cease, In presence with the King of Peace.

Alas! we had our liberty, He never sought for to devour By a usurping tyranny, To rule by arbitrary power; No, no, in all his blessed reign We had no cause for to complain.

Let mourners now lament the loss Of him that did the scepter sway, And look upon it as a cross That he from us is snatch’d away; Though he is free from care or woe, Yet we cannot forget him so.

But since it was thy blessed will To call him from a sinful land, Oh let us all be thankful still That it was done by thine own hand: No pitch of honour can be free From Death’s usurping tyranny.

The fourteen day of February They did interr our gracious Charles; His funeral solemnity, Accompanied with lords and earls, Four Dukes, I, and Prince George by name, Went next the King with all his train.

And thus they to the Abbey went To lay him in his silent tomb, Where many inward sighs were spent To think upon their dismal doom. Whole showers of tears afresh then fell When they beheld his last farewell.

Since it is so, that all must die, And must before our God appear, Oh let us have a watchful eye, Over our conversation here; That like great Charles, our King and friend, We all may have a happy end.

Let England by their loyalty Repair the breach which they did make; And let us all united be To gracious James, for Charles his sake; And let there be no more discord, But love the King and fear the Lord.

Unwelcome news! Whitehall its sable wears, And each good subject lies dissolved in tears! Justly indeed; for Charles is dead, the great, (Who can so much as such great griefs repeat?) King Charles the good, in whom that day there fell More than one tribe in this our Israel! Ah! cruel Death! we find thy fatal sting In losing him who was so good a King,— A King so wise, so just, and he’d great part In Solomon’s wisdom and in David’s heart; A King! whose virtues only to rehearse Rather requires a volume than a verse. Sprung from the loyns of Charles of blessed fame, A worthy son of his great father’s name, His parent’s and his grandsire’s virtues he, As h’ did their crown, enjoy’d ex traduce, Of th’ best and greatest of Kings the epitome. His justice such as him none could affright From doing t’all to God and subjects right. Punish he could, but, like Heaven’s Majesty, Would that a traitor should repent, not die. His prudence to the laws due vigour gave, He saved others and himself did save. His valour and his courage, write who can? Being a good souldier ere he was a man. Wrestling with sorrows in a land unknown, Whilst Herod did usurp his royal throne, Banish’d his native country, every day, Like Moses, at the brink of death he lay. But that storm’s over, and blest be that hand That gave him conduct to his peaceful land; Where this great King the Gordian knot unties, Of Heaven’s, the kingdom’s, and his enemies; Not with the sword, but with his grace and love, Giving to those their lives that for his strove: Never did person so much mercy breath Since our blest Saviour’s and his father’s death. In fine, his actions may our pattern be, His godly life, the Christian diary; But now he’s dead, alas! our David’s gone, And having served his generation, Is fall’n asleep; that glorious star’s no more That English wise men led unto the shore Of peace, where gospel-truth’s protest Cherished within our pious mother’s breast, And with protection of such Kings still blest; Blest with his piety and the nation too, Happy in’s reign, with milk and honey flew; Yea, blest so much with peace and nature’s store Heaven could scarce give or we desire he more; But yet, alas! he’s dead! Mourn, England, mourn, And all your scarlet into black cloth turn; Let dust and ashes with your tears comply. To weep, not sing, his mournful elegy; And let your love to Charles be shown hereby In rendering James your prayers and loyalty. Long may Great James these kingdoms’ sceptre sway, And may his subjects lovingly obey, Whilst with joint comfort all agree to sing, Heaven bless these kingdoms and “God save the King!”

What means, honest shepherd, this cloud on thy brow? Say, where is thy mirth and thy melody now? Thy pipe thrown aside, and thy looks full of thought, As silent and sad as a bird newly caught. Has any misfortune befallen thy flocks, Some lamb been betray’d by the craft of the fox; Or murrain, more fatal, just seized on thy herd; Or has thy dear Phyllis let slip a cross word?

The season indeed may to musing incline, Now that grey-bearded Winter makes Autumn resign; The hills all around us their russet put on, And the skies seem in mourning for loss of the sun. The winds make the tree, where thou sitt’st, shake its head; Yet tho’ with dry leaves mother earth’s lap is spread, Her bosom, to cheer it, is verdant with wheat, And the woods can supply us with pastime and meat.

Oh! no, says the shepherd, I mourn none of these, Content with such changes as Heaven shall please; Tho’ now we have got the wrong side of the year, ’Twill turn up again, and fresh beauties appear: But the loss that I grieve for no time can restore; Our master that lov’d us so well is no more; That oak which we hop’d wou’d long shelter us all, Is fallen; then well may we shake at its fall.

Where find we a pastor so kind and so good, So careful to feed us with wholesomest food, To watch for our safety, and drive far away The sly prouling fox that would make us his prey? Oh! may his remembrance for ever remain To shame those hard shepherds who, mindful of gain, Only look at their sheep with an eye to the fleece, And watch ’em but so as the fox watch’d the geese.

Whom now shall I choose for the theme of my song? Or must my poor pipe on the willow be hung? No more to commend that good nature and sense, Which always cou’d please, but ne’er once gave offence. What honour directed he firmly pursu’d, Yet would not his judgment on others intrude; Still ready to help with his service and vote, But ne’er to thrust oar in another man’s boat.

No more, honest shepherd, these sorrows resound, The virtues thou praisest, so hard to be found, Are yet not all fled, for the swain who succeeds To his fields and his herds is true heir to his deeds; His pattern he’ll follow, his gentleness use, Take care of the shepherds and cherish the muse: Then cease for the dead thy impertinent care, Rejoice, he survives in his brother and heir.

Hark! the bells and steeples ring! A health to James our royal King; Heaven approves the offering, Resounding in chorus; Let our sacrifice aspire, Richest gems perfume the fire, Angels and the sacred quire Have led the way before us.

Thro’ loud storms and tempests driven, This wrong’d prince to us was given, The mighty James, preserved by Heaven To be a future blessing; The anointed instrument, Good great Charles to represent, And fill our souls with that content Which we are now possessing.

Justice, plenty, wealth, and peace, With the fruitful land’s increase, All the treasures of the seas, With him to us are given; As the brother, just and good, From whose royal father’s blood Clemency runs like a flood, A legacy from Heaven.

Summon’d young to fierce alarms, Born a man in midst of arms, His good angels kept from harms— The people’s joy and wonder; Early laurels crown’d his brow, And the crowd did praise allow, Whilst against the Belgick foe Great Jove implored his thunder.

Like him none e’er fill’d the throne, Never courage yet was known With so much conduct met in one, To claim our due devotion; Who made the Belgick lion roar, Drove ’em back to their own shore, To humble and encroach no more Upon the British ocean.

When poor Holland first grew proud, Saucy, insolent, and loud, Great James subdued the boisterous crowd, The foaming ocean stemming; His country’s glory and its good He valued dearer than his blood, And rid sole sovereign o’er his flood, In spight of French or Fleming.

When he the foe had overcome, Brought them peace and conquest home, Exiled in foreign parts to roam, Ungrateful rebels vote him; But spite of all their insolence, Inspired with god-like patience, The rightful heir, kind Providence Did to a throne promote him.

May justice at his elbow wait To defend the Church and State, The subject and this monarch’s date May no storm e’er dissever: May he long adorn this place With his royal brother’s grace, His mercy and his tenderness, To rule this land for ever.

In a summer’s day when all was gay The lads and lasses met In a flowery mead, when each lovely maid Was by her true love set. Dick took the glass, and drank to his lass, And Jamie’s health around did pass; Huzza! they cried; Huzza! they all replied, God bless our noble King.

To the Queen, quothiwell; Drink it off, says Nell, They say she is wondrous pretty; And the prince, says Hugh; That’s right, says Sue; God send him home, says Katy; May the powers above this tribe remove, And send us back the man we love. Huzza! they cried; Huzza! they all replied, God bless our noble King.

The liquor spent, they to dancing went, Each gamester took his mate; Ralph bow’d to Moll, and Hodge to Doll, Hal took out black-eyed Kate. Name your dance, quoth John; Bid him, says Anne, Play, The King shall enjoy his own again. Huzza! they cried; Huzza! they all replied, God bless our noble King.