CAVALIER SONGS AND BALLADS.

What Booker doth prognosticate Concerning kings’ or kingdoms’ fate? I think myself to be as wise As he that gazeth on the skies; My skill goes beyond the depth of a Pond, Or Rivers in the greatest rain, Thereby I can tell all things will be well When the King enjoys his own again.

There’s neither Swallow, Dove, nor Dade, Can soar more high, or deeper wade, Nor show a reason from the stars What causeth peace or civil wars; The Man in the Moon may wear out his shoon By running after Charles his wain: But all’s to no end, for the times will not mend Till the King enjoys his own again.

Though for a time we see Whitehall With cobwebs hanging on the wall Instead of silk and silver brave, Which formerly it used to have, With rich perfume in every room,— Delightful to that princely train, Which again you shall see, when the time it shall be, That the King enjoys his own again.

Full forty years the royal crown Hath been his father’s and his own; And is there any one but he That in the same should sharer be? For who better may the sceptre sway Than he that hath such right to reign? Then let’s hope for a peace, for the wars will not cease Till the King enjoys his own again.

[Did Walker no predictions lack In Hammond’s bloody almanack? Foretelling things that would ensue, That all proves right, if lies be true; But why should not he the pillory foresee, Wherein poor Toby once was ta’en? And also foreknow to the gallows he must go When the King enjoys his own again?] [1]

Till then upon Ararat’s hill My hope shall cast her anchor still, Until I see some peaceful dove Bring home the branch I dearly love; Then will I wait till the waters abate Which now disturb my troubled brain, Else never rejoice till I hear the voice That the King enjoys his own again.

Oxford and Cambridge shall agree, With honour crown’d, and dignity; For learned men shall then take place, And bad be silenced with disgrace: They’ll know it to be but a casualty That hath so long disturb’d their brain; For I can surely tell that all things will go well When the King comes home in peace again.

Church government shall settled be, And then I hope we shall agree Without their help, whose high-brain’d zeal Hath long disturb’d the common weal; Greed out of date, and cobblers that do prate Of wars that still disturb their brain; The which you will see, when the time it shall be That the King comes home in peace again.

Though many now are much in debt, And many shops are to be let, A golden time is drawing near, Men shops shall take to hold their ware; And then all our trade shall flourishing be made, To which ere long we shall attain; For still I can tell all things will be well When the King comes home in peace again.

Maidens shall enjoy their mates, And honest men their lost estates; Women shall have what they do lack, Their husbands, who are coming back. When the wars have an end, then I and my friend All subjects’ freedom shall obtain; By which I can tell all things will be well When we enjoy sweet peace again.

Though people now walk in great fear Along the country everywhere, Thieves shall then tremble at the law, And justice shall keep them in awe: The Frenchies shall flee with their treacherie, And the foes of the King ashamed remain: The which you shall see when the time it shall be That the King comes home in peace again.

The Parliament must willing be That all the world may plainly see How they do labour still for peace, That now these bloody wars may cease; For they will gladly spend their lives to defend The King in all his right to reign: So then I can tell all things will be well When we enjoy sweet peace again.

When all these things to pass shall come Then farewell Musket, Pick, and Drum, The Lamb shall with the Lion feed, Which were a happy time indeed. O let us pray we may all see the day That peace may govern in his name, For then I can tell all things will be well When the King comes home in peace again.

I love my King and country well, Religion and the laws; Which I’m mad at the heart that e’er we did sell To buy the good old cause. These unnatural wars And brotherly jars Are no delight or joy to me; But it is my desire That the wars should expire, And the King and his realms agree.

I never yet did take up arms, And yet I dare to dye; But I’ll not be seduced by phanatical charms Till I know a reason why. Why the King and the state Should fall to debate I ne’er could yet a reason see, But I find many one Why the wars should be done, And the King and his realms agree.

I love the King and the Parliament, But I love them both together: And when they by division asunder are rent, I know ’tis good for neither. Whichsoe’er of those Be victorious, I’m sure for us no good ’twill be, For our plagues will increase Unless we have peace, And the King and his realms agree.

The King without them can’t long stand, Nor they without the King; ’Tis they must advise, and ’tis he must command, For their power from his must spring. ’Tis a comfortless sway When none will obey; If the King han’t his right, which way shall we? They may vote and make laws, But no good they will cause Till the King and his realm agree.

A pure religion I would have, Not mixt with human wit; And I cannot endure that each ignorant knave Should dare to meddle with it. The tricks of the law I would fain withdraw, That it may be alike to each degree: And I fain would have such As do meddle so much, With the King and the church agree.

We have pray’d and pray’d that the wars might cease, And we be free men made; I would fight, if my fighting would bring any peace, But war is become a trade. Our servants did ride With swords by their side, And made their masters footmen be; But we’ll be no more slaves To the beggars and knaves Now the King and the realms do agree.

Come your ways, Bonny boys Of the town, For now is your time or never: Shall your fears Or your cares Cast you down? Hang your wealth And your health, Get renown. We are all undone for ever, Now the King and the crown Are tumbling down, And the realm doth groan with disasters; And the scum of the land Are the men that command, And our slaves are become our masters.

Now our lives, Children, wives, And estate, Are a prey to the lust and plunder, To the rage Of our age; And the fate Of our land Is at hand; ’Tis too late To tread these usurpers under. First down goes the crown, Then follows the gown, Thus levell’d are we by the Roundhead; While Church and State must Feed their pride and their lust, And the kingdom and king be confounded.

Shall we still Suffer ill And be dumb, And let every varlet undo us? Shall we doubt Of each lout That doth come, With a voice Like the noise Of a drum, And a sword or a buff-coat, to us? Shall we lose our estates By plunder and rates, To bedeck those proud upstarts that swagger? Rather fight for your meat Which those locusts do eat, Now every man’s a beggar.

Come pass about the bowl to me, A health to our distressed King; Though we’re in hold let cups go free, Birds in a cage may freely sing. The ground does tipple healths afar When storms do fall, and shall not we? A sorrow dares not show its face When we are ships, and sack’s the sea.

Pox on this grief, hang wealth, let’s sing; Shall’s kill ourselves for fear of death? We’ll live by th’ air which songs do bring, Our sighing does but waste our breath. Then let us not be discontent, Nor drink a glass the less of wine; In vain they’ll think their plagues are spent When once they see we don’t repine.

We do not suffer here alone, Though we are beggar’d, so’s the King; ’Tis sin t’ have wealth when he has none, Tush! poverty’s a royal thing! When we are larded well with drink, Our head shall turn as round as theirs, Our feet shall rise, our bodies sink Clean down the wind like Cavaliers.

Fill this unnatural quart with sack, Nature all vacuums doth decline; Ourselves will be a zodiac, And every mouth shall be a sign. Methinks the travels of the glass Are circular, like Plato’s year; Where everything is as it was Let’s tipple round: and so ’tis here.

Since it must be so Then so let it go, Let the giddy-brain’d times turn round; Since we have no king let the goblet be crown’d, Our monarchy thus will recover: While the pottles are weeping We’ll drench our sad souls In big-bellied bowls; Our sorrows in sack shall lie steeping, And we’ll drink till our eyes do run over; And prove it by reason That it can be no treason To drink and to sing A mournival of healths to our new-crown’d King.

Let us all stand bare;— In the presence we are, Let our noses like bonfires shine; Instead of the conduits, let the pottles run wine, To perfect this new coronation; And we that are loyal In drink shall be peers, While that face that wears Pure claret, looks like the blood-royal, And outstares the bones of the nation: In sign of obedience, Our oath of allegiance Beer-glasses shall be, And he that tipples ten is of the nobility.

But if in this reign The halberted train Or the constable should rebel, And should make their turbill’d militia to swell, And against the King’s party raise arms; Then the drawers, like yeomen Of the guards, with quart pots Shall fuddle the sots, While we make ’em both cuckolds and freemen; And on their wives beat up alarums. Thus as each health passes We’ll triple the glasses, And hold it no sin To be loyal and drink in defence of our King.

Now fare thee well, London, Thou next must be undone, ’Cause thou hast undone us before; This cause and this tyrant Had never play’d this high rant Were’t not for thy argent d’or.

Now we must desert thee, With the lines that begirt thee, And the red-coated saints domineer; Who with liberty fool thee, While a monster doth rule thee, And thou feel’st what before thou didst fear.

Now justice and freedom, With the laws that did breed ’em, Are sent to Jamaica for gold, And those that upheld ’em Have power but seldom, For justice is barter’d and sold.

Now the Christian religion Must seek a new region, And the old saints give way to the new; And we that are loyal Vail to those that destroy all, When the Christian gives place to the Jew.

But this is our glory, In this wretched story Calamities fall on the best; And those that destroy us Do better employ us, To sing till they are supprest.

We have a King, and yet no King, For he hath lost his power; For ’gainst his will his subjects are Imprison’d in the Tower.

We had some laws (but now no laws) By which he held his crown; And we had estates and liberties, But now they’re voted down.

We had religion, but of late That’s beaten down with clubs; Whilst that profaneness authorized Is belched forth in tubs.

We were free subjects born, but now We are by force made slaves, By some whom we did count our friends, But in the end proved knaves.

And now to such a grievous height Are our misfortunes grown, That our estates are took away By tricks before ne’er known.

For there are agents sent abroad Most humbly for to crave Our alms; but if they are denied, And of us nothing have,

Then by a vote ex tempore We are to prison sent, Mark’d with the name of enemy, To King and Parliament:

And during our imprisonment, Their lawless bulls do plunder A license to their soldiers, Our houses for to plunder.

And if their hounds do chance to smell A man whose fortunes are Of some account, whose purse is full, Which now is somewhat rare;

A monster now, delinquent term’d, He is declared to be, And that his lands, as well as goods, Sequester’d ought to be.

As if our prisons were too good, He is to Yarmouth sent, By virtue of a warrant from The King and Parliament.

Thus in our royal sovereign’s name, And eke his power infused, And by the virtue of the same, He and all his abused.

For by this means his castles now Are in the power of those Who treach’rously, with might and main, Do strive him to depose.

Arise, therefore, brave British men, Fight for your King and State, Against those trait’rous men that strive This realm to ruinate.

’Tis Pym, ’tis Pym and his colleagues, That did our woe engender; Nought but their lives can end our woes, And us in safety render.

“Then was a man came fron the moon And landed in our town, sir, And he has sworn a solemn oath That all but knaves must down, sir.”

“The Man in the Moon May wear out his shoon By running after Charles his wain;”

The man o’ the moon for ever! The man o’ the moon for ever! We’ll drink to him still In a merry cup of ale,— Here’s the man o’ the moon for ever!

The man o’ the moon, here’s to him! How few there be that know him! But we’ll drink to him still In a merry cup of ale,— The man o’ the moon, here’s to him!

Brave man o’ the moon, we hail thee, The true heart ne’er shall fail thee; For the day that’s gone And the day that’s our own— Brave man o’ the moon, we hail thee.

We have seen the bear bestride thee, And the clouds of winter hide thee, But the moon is changed And here we are ranged,— Brave man o’ the moon, we bide thee.

The man o’ the moon for ever! The man o’ the moon for ever! We’ll drink to him still In a merry cup of ale,— Here’s the man o’ the moon for ever!

We have grieved the land should shun thee, And have never ceased to mourn thee, But for all our grief There was no relief,— Now, man o’ the moon, return thee.

There’s Orion with his golden belt, And Mars, that burning mover, But of all the lights That rule the nights, The man o’ the moon for ever!

With face and fashion to be known, With eyes all white, and many a groan, With neck awry and snivelling tone, And handkerchief from nose new-blown, And loving cant to sister Joan; ’Tis a new teacher about the town, Oh! the town’s new teacher!

With cozening laugh, and hollow cheek, To get new gatherings every week, With paltry sense as man can speak, With some small Hebrew, and no Greek, With hums and haws when stuff’s to seek; ’Tis a new teacher, etc.

With hair cut shorter than the brow, With little band, as you know how, With cloak like Paul, no coat I trow, With surplice none, nor girdle now, With hands to thump, nor knees to bow; ’Tis a new teacher, etc.

With shop-board breeding and intrusion, By some outlandish institution, With Calvin’s method and conclusion, To bring all things into confusion, And far-stretched sighs for mere illusion; ’Tis a new teacher, etc.

With threats of absolute damnation, But certainty of some salvation To his new sect, not every nation, With election and reprobation, And with some use of consolation; ’Tis a new teacher, etc.

With troops expecting him at door To hear a sermon and no more, And women follow him good store, And with great Bibles to turn o’er, Whilst Tom writes notes, as bar-boys score, ’Tis a new teacher, etc.

With double cap to put his head in, That looks like a black pot tipp’d with tin; While with antic gestures he doth gape and grin; The sisters admire, and he wheedles them in, Who to cheat their husbands think no sin; ’Tis a new teacher, etc.

With great pretended spiritual motions, And many fine whimsical notions, With blind zeal and large devotions, With broaching rebellion and raising commotions, And poisoning the people with Geneva potions; ’Tis a new teacher, etc.

From an extempore prayer and a godly ditty, From the churlish government of a city, From the power of a country committee, Libera nos, Domine.

From the Turk, the Pope, and the Scottish nation, From being govern’d by proclamation, And from an old Protestant, quite out of fashion, Libera, etc.

From meddling with those that are out of our reaches, From a fighting priest, and a soldier that preaches, From an ignoramus that writes, and a woman that teaches, Libera, etc.

From the doctrine of deposing of a king, From the Directory, [2] or any such thing, From a fine new marriage without a ring, Libera, etc.

From a city that yields at the first summons, From plundering goods, either man or woman’s, Or having to do with the House of Commons, Libera, etc.

From a stumbling horse that tumbles o’er and o’er, From ushering a lady, or walking before, From an English-Irish rebel, newly come o’er, [3] Libera, etc.

From compounding, or hanging in a silken altar, From oaths and covenants, and being pounded in a mortar, From contributions, or free-quarter, Libera, etc.

From mouldy bread, and musty beer, From a holiday’s fast, and a Friday’s cheer, From a brother-hood, and a she-cavalier, Libera, etc.

From Nick Neuter, for you, and for you, From Thomas Turn-coat, that will never prove true, From a reverend Rabbi that’s worse than a Jew, Libera, etc.

From a country justice that still looks big, From swallowing up the Italian fig, Or learning of the Scottish jig, Libera, etc.

From being taken in a disguise, From believing of the printed lies, From the Devil and from the Excise, [4] Libera, etc.

From a broken pate with a pint pot, For fighting for I know not what, And from a friend as false as a Scot, Libera, etc.

From one that speaks no sense, yet talks all that he can, From an old woman and a Parliament man, From an Anabaptist and a Presbyter man, Libera, etc.

From Irish rebels and Welsh hubbub-men, From Independents and their tub-men, From sheriffs’ bailiffs, and their club-men, Libera, etc.

From one that cares not what he saith, From trusting one that never payeth, From a private preacher and a public faith, Libera, etc.

From a vapouring horse and a Roundhead in buff, From roaring Jack Cavee, with money little enough, From beads and such idolatrous stuff, Libera, etc.

From holydays, and all that’s holy, From May-poles and fiddlers, and all that’s jolly From Latin or learning, since that is folly, Libera, etc.

And now to make an end of all, I wish the Roundheads had a fall, Or else were hanged in Goldsmith’s Hall. Amen.

Against all sectaries And their defendants, Both Presbyterians And Independents.

That thou wilt be pleased to grant our requests, And quite destroy all the vipers’ nests, That England and her true religion molests, Te rogamus audi nos.

That thou wilt be pleased to censure with pity The present estate of our once famous city; Let her still be govern’d by men just and witty, Te rogamus, etc.

That thou wilt be pleased to consider the Tower, And all other prisons in the Parliament’s power, Where King Charles his friends find their welcome but sour, Te rogamus, etc.

That thou wilt be pleased to look on the grief Of the King’s old servants, and send them relief, Restore to the yeomen o’ th’ Guard chines of beef, Te rogamus, etc.

That thou wilt be pleased very quickly to bring Unto his just rights our so much-wrong’d King, That he may be happy in everything, Te rogamus, etc.

That Whitehall may shine in its pristine lustre, That the Parliament may make a general muster, That knaves may be punish’d by men who are juster, Te rogamus, etc.

That now the dog-days are fully expired, That those cursed curs, which our patience have tired, May suffer what is by true justice required, Te rogamus, etc.

That thou wilt be pleased to incline conquering Thomas (Who now hath both city and Tower gotten from us), That he may be just in performing his promise, Te rogamus, etc.

That our hopeful Prince and our gracious Queen (Whom we here in England long time have not seen) May soon be restored to what they have been, Te rogamus, etc.

That the rest of the royal issue may be From their Parliamentary guardians set free, And be kept according to their high degree, Te rogamus, etc.

That our ancient Liturgy may be restored, That the organs (by sectaries so much abhorr’d) May sound divine praises, according to the word, Te rogamus, etc.

That the ring in marriage, the cross at the font, Which the devil and the Roundheads so much affront, May be used again, as before they were wont, Te rogamus, etc.

That Episcopacy, used in its right kind, In England once more entertainment may find, That Scots and lewd factions may go down the wind, Te rogamus, etc.

That thou wilt be pleased again to restore All things in due order, as they were before, That the Church and the State may be vex’d no more, Te rogamus, etc.

That all the King’s friends may enjoy their estates, And not be kept, as they have been, at low rates, That the poor may find comfort again at their gates, Te rogamus, etc.

That thou wilt all our oppressions remove, And grant us firm faith and hope, join’d with true love, Convert or confound all which virtue reprove, Te rogamus, etc.

That all peevish sects that would live uncontroll’d, And will not be govern’d, as all subjects should, To New England may pack, or live quiet i’ th’ Old, Te rogamus, etc.

That gracious King Charles, with his children and wife, Who long time have suffer’d through this civil strife, May end with high honour their natural life, Te rogamus, etc.

That they who have seized on honest men’s treasure, Only for their loyalty to God and to Cæsar, May in time convenient find measure for measure, Te rogamus, etc.

That thou all these blessings upon us wilt send, We are no Independents, on Thee we depend, And as we believe, from all harm us defend; Te rogamus, etc.

What though the zealots pull down the prelates, Push at the pulpit, and kick at the crown, Shall we not never once more endeavour, Strive to purchase our royall renown? Shall not the Roundhead first be confounded? Sa, sa, sa, say, boys, ha, ha, ha, ha, boys, Then we’ll return with triumph and joy. Then we’ll be merry, drink white wine and sherry, Then we will sing, boys, God bless the King, boys, Cast up our caps, and cry, Vive le Roy.

What though the wise make Alderman Isaac Put us in prison and steal our estates, Though we be forced to be unhorsed, And walk on foot as it pleaseth the fates; In the King’s army no man shall harm ye. Then come along, boys, valiant and strong, boys, Fight for your goods, which the Roundheads enjoy; And when you venture London to enter, And when you come, boys, with fife and drum, boys, Isaac himself shall cry, Vive le Roy.

If you will choose them, do not refuse them, Since honest Parliament never made thieves, Charles will not further have rogues dipt in murder, Neither by leases, long lives, nor reprieves. ’Tis the conditions and propositions Will not be granted, then be not daunted, We will our honest old customs enjoy; Paul’s not rejected, will be respected, And in the quier voices rise higher, Thanks to the heavens, and (cry), Vive le Roy.

He that is a clear Cavalier Will not repine, Although His pocket grow So very low He cannot get wine.

Fortune is a lass Will embrace, But soon destroy; Born free, In liberty We’ll always be, Singing Vive le Roy.

Virtue is its own reward, And Fortune is a whore; There’s none but knaves and fools regard her, Or her power implore. But he that is a trusty Roger, And will serve the King; Altho’ he be a tatter’d soldier, Yet may skip and sing: Whilst we that fight for love, May in the way of honour prove That they who make sport of us May come short of us; Fate will flatter them, And will scatter them; Whilst our loyalty Looks upon royalty, We that live peacefully, May be successfully Crown’d with a crown at last.

Tho’ a real honest man May be quite undone, He’ll show his allegiance, Love, and obedience; Those will raise him up, Honour stays him up, Virtue keeps him up, And we praise him up. Whilst the vain courtiers dine, With their bottles full of wine, Honour will make him fast. Freely then Let’s be honest men And kick at fate, For we may live to see Our loyalty Valued at a higher rate. He that bears a sword Or a word against the throne, And does profanely prate To abuse the state, Hath no kindness for his own.

What tho’ painted plumes and prayers Are the prosp’rous men, Yet we’ll attend our own affairs ’Till they come to ’t agen; Treachery may be faced with light, And letchery lined with furr; A cuckold may be made a knight, Sing Fortune de la Guerre. But what’s that to us, brave boys, That are right honest men? We’ll conquer and come again, Beat up the drum again; Hey for Cavaliers, Hoe for Cavaliers, Drink for Cavaliers, Fight for Cavaliers, Dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub, Have at Old Beelzebub, Oliver stinks for fear.

Fifth Monarchy-men must down, boys, With bulleys of every sect in town, boys; We’ll rally and to ’t again, Give ’em the rout again; Fly like light about, Face to the right-about, Charge them home again When they come on again; Sing Tantara rara, boys, Tantara rara, boys, This is the life of an Old Cavalier.

I come to charge ye That fight the clergy, And pull the mitre from the prelate’s head, That you will be wary Lest you miscarry In all those factious humours you have bred; But as for Brownists we’ll have none, But take them all and hang them one by one.

Your wicked actions Join’d in factions Are all but aims to rob the King of his due; Then give this reason For your treason, That you’ll be ruled, if he’ll be ruled by you. Then leave these factions, zealous brother, Lest you be hanged one against another.

Know this, my brethren, heaven is clear, And all the clouds are gone; The righteous man shall flourish now, Good days are coming on. Then come, my brethren, and be glad, And eke rejoyce with me; Lawn sleeves and rochets shall go down, And hey, then, up go we.

We’ll break the windows which the whore Of Babylon hath painted, And when the popish saints are down Then Barrow shall be sainted; There’s neither cross nor crucifix Shall stand for men to see, Rome’s trash and trumpery shall go down, And hey, then, up go we.

Whate’er the Popish hands have built Our hammers shall undo; We’ll break their pipes and burn their copes, And pull down churches too; We’ll exercise within the groves, And teach beneath a tree; We’ll make a pulpit of a cask, And hey, then, up go we.

We’ll put down Universities, Where learning is profest, Because they practise and maintain The language of the Beast; We’ll drive the doctors out of doors, And all that learned be; We’ll cry all arts and learning down, And hey, then, up go we.

We’ll down with deans and prebends, too, And I rejoyce to tell ye We then shall get our fill of pig, And capons for the belly. We’ll burn the Fathers’ weighty tomes, And make the School-men flee; We’ll down with all that smells of wit, And hey, then, up go we.

If once the Antichristian crew Be crush’d and overthrown, We’ll teach the nobles how to stoop, And keep the gentry down: Good manners have an ill report, And turn to pride, we see, We’ll therefore put good manners down, And hey, then, up go we.

The name of lords shall be abhorr’d, For every man’s a brother; No reason why in Church and State One man should rule another; But when the change of government Shall set our fingers free, We’ll make these wanton sisters stoop, And hey, then, up go we.

What though the King and Parliament Do not accord together, We have more cause to be content, This is our sunshine weather: For if that reason should take place, And they should once agree, Who would be in a Roundhead’s case, For hey, then, up go we.

What should we do, then, in this case? Let’s put it to a venture; If that we hold out seven years’ space We’ll sue out our indenture. A time may come to make us rue, And time may set us free, Except the gallows claim his due, And hey, then, up go we.

Fight on, brave soldiers, for the cause, Fear not the Cavaliers; Their threat’nings are as senseless as Our jealousies and fears. Tis you must perfect this great work, And all malignants slay; You must bring back the King again The clean contrary way.

’Tis for religion that you fight, And for the kingdom’s good; By robbing churches, plundering them, And shedding guiltless blood. Down with the orthodoxal train, All loyal subjects slay; When these are gone, we shall be blest The clean contrary way.

When Charles we have made bankrupt, Of power and crown bereft him, And all his loyal subjects slain, And none but rebels left him; When we have beggar’d all the land, And sent our trunks away, We’ll make him then a glorious prince The clean contrary way.

’Tis to preserve his Majesty That we against him fight, Nor ever are we beaten back, Because our cause is right: If any make a scruple at Our Declarations, say,— Who fight for us, fight for the King The clean contrary way.

At Keinton, Brainsford, Plymouth, York, And divers places more, What victories we saints obtain, The like ne’er seen before: How often we Prince Rupert kill’d, And bravely won the day, The wicked Cavaliers did run The clean contrary way.

The true religion we maintain, The kingdom’s peace and plenty; The privilege of Parliament Not known to one and twenty; The ancient fundamental laws, And teach men to obey Their lawful sovereign, and all these The clean contrary way.

We subjects’ liberties preserve By imprisonment and plunder, And do enrich ourselves and state By keeping th’ wicked under. We must preserve mechanicks now To lectorize and pray; By them the gospel is advanced The clean contrary way.

And though the King be much misled By that malignant crew, He’ll find us honest at the last, Give all of us our due. For we do wisely plot, and plot Rebellion to alloy, He sees we stand for peace and truth The clean contrary way.

The publick faith shall save our souls And our good works together; And ships shall save our lives, that stay Only for wind and weather: But when our faith and works fall down And all our hopes decay, Our acts will bear us up to heaven The clean contrary way.

There was a Cameronian cat Was hunting for a prey, And in the house she catch’d a mouse Upon the Sabbath-day.

The Whig, being offended At such an act profane, Laid by his book, the cat he took, And bound her in a chain.

Thou damn’d, thou cursed creature, This deed so dark with thee, Think’st thou to bring to hell below My holy wife and me?

Assure thyself that for the deed Thou blood for blood shalt pay, For killing of the Lord’s own mouse Upon the Sabbath-day.

The presbyter laid by the book, And earnestly he pray’d That the great sin the cat had done Might not on him be laid.

And straight to execution Poor pussy she was drawn, And high hang’d up upon a tree— The preacher sung a psalm.

And when the work was ended, They thought the cat near dead, She gave a paw, and then a mew, And stretched out her head.

Thy name, said he, shall certainly A beacon still remain, A terror unto evil ones For evermore, Amen.

God save the best of kings, King Charles! The best of queens, Queen Mary! The ladies all, Gloster and Yorke, Prince Charles, so like old harry! [5]

God send the King his own again, His towre and all his coyners! And blesse all kings who are to reigne, From traytors and purloyners! The King sent us poor traytors here (But you may guesse the reason) Two brace of bucks to mend the cheere, Is’t not to eat them treason?

Let Selden search Cotton’s records, And Rowley in the Towre, They cannot match the president, It is not in their power. Old Collet would have joy’d to ’ve seen This president recorded; For all the papers he ere saw Scarce such an one afforded. The King sent us, etc.

But that you may these traytors know, I’ll be so bold to name them; That if they ever traytors prove Then this record may shame them: But these are well-try’d loyal blades (If England ere had any), Search both the Houses through and through You’ld scarcely finde so many. The King sent us, etc.

The first and chiefe a marquesse [6] is, Long with the State did wrestle; Had Ogle [7] done as much as he, Th’ad spoyl’d Will Waller’s castle. Ogle had wealth and title got, So layd down his commissions; The noble marquesse would not yield, But scorn’d all base conditions. The King sent us, etc.

The next a worthy bishop [8] is, Of schismaticks was hated; But I the cause could never know, Nor see the reason stated. The cryes were loud, God knowes the cause, They had a strange committee, Which was a-foot well neere a yeare, Who would have had small pitty. The King sent us, etc.

The next to him is a Welsh Judge, [9] Durst tell them what was treason; Old honest David durst be good When it was out of season; He durst discover all the tricks The lawyers use, and knavery, And show the subtile plots they use To enthrall us into slavery. The King sent us, etc.

Frank Wortley [10] hath a jovial soule, Yet never was good club-man; He’s for the bishops and the church, But can endure no tub-man. He told Sir Thomas in the Towre, Though he by him was undone, It pleased him that he lost more men In taking him then London. The King sent us, etc.

Sir Edward Hayles [11] was wond’rous rich, No flower in Kent yields honey In more abundance to the bee Then they from him suck money; Yet hee’s as chearfull as the best— Judge Jenkins sees no reason That honest men for wealth should be Accused of high treason. The King sent us, etc.

Old Sir George Strangways [12] he came in, Though he himself submitted, Yet as a traytor he must be Excepted and committed: Yet they th’ exception now take off, But not the sequestrations, Hee must forsooth to Goldsmith’s-hall, The place of desolation. The King sent us, etc.

Honest Sir Berr’s a reall man, As ere was lapt in leather; But he (God blesse us) loves the King, And therefore was sent hither. He durst be sheriff, and durst make The Parliament acquainted What he intended for to doe, And for this was attainted. The King sent us, etc.

Sir Benefield, [13] Sir Walter Blunt, Are Romishly affected, So’s honest Frank of Howard’s race, And slaughter is suspected. [14] But how the devill comes this about, That Papists are so loyall, And those that call themselves God’s saints Like devils do destroy all? The King sent us, etc.

Jack Hewet [15] will have wholesome meat, And drink good wine, if any; His entertainment’s free and neat, His choyce of friends not many; Jack is a loyall-hearted man, Well parted and a scholar; He’ll grumble if things please him not, But never grows to choller. The King sent us, etc.

Gallant Sir Thomas, [16] bold and stout (Brave Lunsford), children eateth; But he takes care, where he eats one, There he a hundred getteth; When Harlow’s wife brings her long bills, He wishes she were blinded; When shee speaks loud, as loud he swears The woman’s earthly-minded. The King sent us, etc.

Sir Lewis [17] hath an able pen, Can cudgell a committee; He makes them doe him reason, though They others do not pitty. Brave Cleaveland had a willing minde, Frank Wortley was not able, But Lewis got foure pound per weeke For’s children and his table. The King sent us, etc.

Giles Strangwayes [18] has a gallant soul, A brain infatigable; What study he ere undertakes To master it hee’s able: He studies on his theoremes, And logarithmes for number; He loves to speake of Lewis Dives, [19] And they are ne’er asunder. The King sent us, etc.

Sir John Marlow’s [20] a loyall man (If England ere bred any), He bang’d the pedlar back and side, Of Scots he killed many. Had General King [21] done what he should, And given the blew-caps battail, Wee’d make them all run into Tweed By droves, like sommer cattell. The King sent us, etc.

Will Morton’s [22] of that Cardinal’s race, Who made that blessed maryage; He is most loyall to his King, In action, word, and carryage; His sword and pen defends the cause, If King Charles thinke not on him, Will is amongst the rest undone,— The Lord have mercy on him! The King sent us, etc.

Tom Conisby [23] is stout and stern, Yet of a sweet condition; To them he loves his crime was great, He read the King’s commission, And required Cranborn to assist; He charged, but should have pray’d him; Tom was so bold he did require All for the King should aid him. The King sent us, etc.

But I Win. Bodnam [24] had forgot, Had suffer’d so much hardship; There’s no man in the Towre had left The King so young a wardship; He’s firme both to the church and crowne, The crown law and the canon; The Houses put him to his shifts, And his wife’s father Mammon. The King sent us, etc.

Sir Henry Vaughan [25] looks as grave As any beard can make him; Those come poore prisoners for to see Doe for our patriarke take him. Old Harry is a right true-blue, As valiant as Pendraggon; And would be loyall to his King, Had King Charles ne’er a rag on. The King sent us, etc.

John Lilburne [26] is a stirring blade, And understands the matter; He neither will king, bishops, lords, Nor th’ House of Commons flatter: John loves no power prerogative, But that derived from Sion; As for the mitre and the crown, Those two he looks awry on. The King sent us, etc.

Tom Violet [27] swears his injuries Are scarcely to be numbred; He was close prisoner to the State These score dayes and nine hundred; For Tom does set down all the dayes, And hopes he has good debters; ’Twould be no treason (Jenkin sayes) To bring them peaceful letters. The King sent us, etc.

Poore Hudson [28] of all was the last, For it was his disaster, He met a turncoat swore that he Was once King Charles his master; So he to London soon was brought, But came in such a season, Their martial court was then cry’d down, They could not try his treason. The king sent us, etc.

Else Hudson had gone to the pot, Who is he can abide him? For he was master to the King, And (which is more) did guide him. Had Hudson done (as Judas did), Most loyally betray’d him, The Houses are so noble, they As bravely would have paid him. The King sent us, etc.

We’ll then conclude with hearty healths To King Charles and Queen Mary; To the black lad in buff (the Prince), So like his grandsire Harry; To York, to Glo’ster; may we not Send Turk and Pope defiance, Since we such gallant seconds have To strengthen our alliance? Wee’l drink them o’re and o’re again, Else we’re unthankfull creatures; Since Charles, the wise, the valiant King, Takes us for loyall traytors.

This if you will rhyme dogrell call, (That you please you may name it,) One of the loyal traytors here Did for a ballad frame it: Old Chevy Chace was in his minde; If any suit it better, All those concerned in the song Will kindly thank the setter.

Hold out, brave Charles, and thou shaft win the field; Thou canst not lose thyself, unless thou yield On such conditions as will force thy hand To give away thy sceptre, crown, and land. And what is worse, to hazard by thy fall, To lose a greater crown, more worth than all.

Thy poor distressed Cavaliers rejoyced To hear thy royal resolution voiced, And are content far more poor to be Than yet they are, so it reflects from thee. Thou art our sovereign still, in spite of hate; Our zeal is to thy person, not thy state.

We are not so ambitious to desire Our drooping fortunes to be mounted higher, And thou so great a monarch, to our grief, Must sue unto thy subjects for relief: And when they sit and long debate about it, Must either stay their time, or go without it.

No, sacred prince, thy friends esteem thee more In thy distresses than ere they did before; And though their wings be clipt, their wishes fly To heaven by millions, for a fresh supply. That as thy cause was so betray’d by men, It may by angels be restored agen.

The hierarchy is out of date, Our monarchy was sick of late, But now ’tis grown an excellent state: Oh, God a-mercy, Parliament!

The teachers knew not what to say, The ’prentices have leave to play, The people have all forgotten to pray; Still, God a-mercy, Parliament!

The Roundhead and the Cavalier Have fought it out almost seven year, And yet, methinks, they are never the near: Oh, God, etc.

The gentry are sequester’d all; Our wives you find at Goldsmith Hall, For there they meet with the devil and all; Still, God, etc.

The Parliament are grown to that height They care not a pin what his Majesty saith; And they pay all their debts with the public faith. Oh, God, etc.

Though all we have here is brought to nought, In Ireland we have whole lordships bought, There we shall one day be rich, ’tis thought: Still, God, etc.

We must forsake our father and mother, And for the State undo our own brother And never leave murthering one another: Oh, God, etc.

Now the King is caught and the devil is dead; Fairfax must be disbanded, Or else he may chance be Hotham-ed. Still, God, etc.

They have made King Charles a glorious king, He was told, long ago, of such a thing; Now he and his subjects have reason to sing, Oh, God, etc.

Why kept your train-bands such a stirre? Why sent you them by clusters? Then went into Saint James’s Parke? Why took you then their musters? Why rode my Lord up Fleet-street With coaches at least twenty, And fill’d they say with aldermen, As good they had been empty? London is a brave towne, Yet I their cases pitty; Their mayor and some few aldermen Have cleane undone the city.

The ’prentices are gallant blades, And to the king are clifty; But the lord mayor and aldermen Are scarce so wise as thrifty. I’le pay for the apprentices, They to the King were hearty; For they have done all that they can To advance their soveraignes party. London, etc.

What’s now become of your brave Poyntz? And of your Generall Massey? [29] If you petition for a peace, These gallants they will slash yee. Where now are your reformadoes? To Scotland gone together: ’Twere better they were fairly trusst Then they should bring them thither. London, etc.

But if your aldermen were false, Or Glyn, that’s your recorder! [30] Let them never betray you more, But hang them up in order. All these men may be coach’t as well As any other sinner Up Holborne, and ride forwarde still, To Tyburne to their dinner. London, &c.

God send the valiant General may Restore the King to glory! [31] Then that name I have honour’d so Will famous be in story; While if he doe not, I much feare The ruine of the nation, And (that I should be loth to see) His house’s desolation. London, etc.

Undone! undone! the lawyers cry, They ramble up and down; We know not the way to Westminster Now Charing-Cross is down. Now fare thee well, old Charing-Cross, Then fare thee well, old stump; It was a thing set up by a King, And so pull’d down by the Rump.

And when they came to the bottom of the Strand They were all at a loss: This is not the way to Westminster, We must go by Charing-Cross. Then fare thee well, etc.

The Parliament did vote it down As a thing they thought most fitting, For fear it should fall, and so kill ’em all In the House as they were sitting. Then fare thee well, etc.

Some letters about this Cross were found, Or else it might been freed; But I dare say, and safely swear, It could neither write nor read. Then fare thee well, etc.

The Whigs they do affirm and say To Popery it was bent; For what I know it might be so, For to church it never went, Then fare thee well, etc.

This cursed Rump-Rebellious Crew, They were so damn’d hard-hearted; They pass’d a vote that Charing-Cross Should be taken down and carted: Then fare thee well, etc.

Now, Whigs, I would advise you all, ’Tis what I’d have you do; For fear the King should come again, Pray pull down Tyburn too. Then fare thee well, etc.

Undone! undone! the lawyers are, They wander about the towne, Nor can find the way to Westminster Now Charing-Cross is downe: At the end of the Strand they make a stand, Swearing they are at a loss, And chaffing say, that’s not the way, They must go by Charing-Cross.

The Parliament to vote it down Conceived it very fitting, For fear it should fall, and kill them all In the House as they were sitting. They were told god-wot, it had a plot, Which made them so hard-hearted, To give command it should not stand, But be taken down and carted.

Men talk of plots, this might have been worse, For anything I know, Than that Tomkins and Chaloner Were hang’d for long agoe. Our Parliament did that prevent, And wisely them defended, For plots they will discover still Before they were intended.

But neither man, woman, nor child Will say, I’m confident, They ever heard it speak one word Against the Parliament. An informer swore it letters bore, Or else it had been freed; In troth I’ll take my Bible oath It could neither write nor read.

The Committee said that verify To Popery it was bent: For ought I know, it might be so, For to church it never went. What with excise, and such device, The kingdom doth begin To think you’ll leave them ne’er a cross Without doors nor within.

Methinks the Common-council should Of it have taken pity, ’Cause, good old cross, it always stood So firmly to the city. Since crosses you so much disdain, Faith, if I were as you, For fear the King should rule again I’d pull down Tiburn too.

Most gracious and omnipotent, And everlasting Parliament, Whose power and majesty Are greater than all kings by odds; And to account you less than gods Must needs be blasphemy.

Mosses and Aaron ne’er did do More wonder than is wrought by you For England’s Israel; But though the Red Sea we have past, If you to Canaan bring’s at last, Is’t not a miracle—?

In six years’ space you have done more Than all the parliaments before; You have quite done the work. The King, the Cavalier, and Pope, You have o’erthrown, and next we hope You will confound the Turk.

By you we have deliverance From the design of Spain and France, Ormond, Montrose, the Danes; You, aided by our brethren Scots, Defeated have malignant plots, And brought your sword to Cain’s.

What wholesome laws you have ordain’d, Whereby our property’s maintain’d, ’Gainst those would us undo; So that our fortunes and our lives, Nay, what is dearer, our own wives, Are wholly kept by you.

Oh! what a flourishing Church and State Have we enjoy’d e’er since you sate, With a glorious King (God save him!): Have you not made his Majesty, Had he the grace but to comply, And do as you would have him!

Your Directory how to pray By the spirit shows the perfect way; In real you have abolisht The Dagon of the Common Prayer, And next we see you will take care That churches be demolisht.

A multitude in every trade Of painful preachers you have made, Learned by revelation; Cambridge and Oxford made poor preachers, Each shop affordeth better teachers,— O blessed reformation!

Your godly wisdom hath found out The true religion, without doubt; For sure among so many We have five hundred at the least; Is not the gospel much increast? All must be pure, if any.

Could you have done more piously Than sell church lands the King to buy, And stop the city’s plaints? Paying the Scots church-militant, That the new gospel helpt to plant; God knows they are poor saints!

Because th’ Apostles’ Creed is lame, Th’ Assembly doth a better frame, Which saves us all with ease; Provided still we have the grace To believe th’ House in the first place, Our works be what they please.

’Tis strange your power and holiness Can’t the Irish devils dispossess, His end is very stout: But tho’ you do so often pray, And ev’ry month keep fasting-day, You cannot cast them out.

With face and fashion to be known, For one of sure election; With eyes all white, and many a groan, With neck aside to draw in tone, With harp in’s nose, or he is none: See a new teacher of the town, Oh the town, oh the town’s new teacher!

With pate cut shorter than the brow, With little ruff starch’d, you know how, With cloak like Paul, no cape I trow, With surplice none; but lately now With hands to thump, no knees to bow: See a new teacher, etc.

With coz’ning cough, and hollow cheek, To get new gatherings every week, With paltry change of and to eke, With some small Hebrew, and no Greek, To find out words, when stuff’s to seek: See a new teacher, etc.

With shop-board breeding and intrusion, With some outlandish institution, With Ursine’s catechism to muse on, With system’s method for confusion, With grounds strong laid of mere illusion: See a new teacher, etc.

With rites indifferent all damned, And made unlawful, if commanded; Good works of Popery down banded, And moral laws from him estranged, Except the sabbath still unchanged: See a new teacher, etc.

With speech unthought, quick revelation, With boldness in predestination, With threats of absolute damnation Yet yea and nay hath some salvation For his own tribe, not every nation: See a new teacher, etc.

With after license cast a crown, When Bishop new had put him down; With tricks call’d repetition, And doctrine newly brought to town Of teaching men to hang and drown: See a new teacher, etc.

With flesh-provision to keep Lent, With shelves of sweetmeats often spent, Which new maid bought, old lady sent, Though, to be saved, a poor present, Yet legacies assure to event: See a new teacher, etc.

With troops expecting him at th’ door, That would hear sermons, and no more; With noting tools, and sighs great store, With Bibles great to turn them o’er, While he wrests places by the score: See a new teacher, etc.

With running text, the named forsaken, With for and but, both by sense shaken, Cheap doctrines forced, wild uses taken, Both sometimes one by mark mistaken; With anything to any shapen: See a new teacher, etc.

With new-wrought caps, against the canon, For taking cold, tho’ sure he have none; A sermon’s end, where he began one, A new hour long, when’s glass had run one, New use, new points, new notes to stand on: See a new teacher, etc.

What creature’s that, with his short hairs, His little band, and huge long ears, That this new faith hath founded? The saints themselves were never such, The prelates ne’er ruled half so much; Oh! such a rogue’s a Roundhead.

What’s he that doth the bishops hate, And counts their calling reprobate, ’Cause by the Pope propounded; And thinks a zealous cobbler better Than learned Usher in ev’ry letter? Oh! such a rogue’s a Roundhead.

What’s he that doth high treason say, As often as his yea and nay, And wish the King confounded; And dares maintain that Mr Pim Is fitter for a crown than him? Oh! such a rogue’s a Roundhead.

What’s he that if he chance to hear A little piece of Common Prayer, Doth think his conscience wounded; Will go five miles to preach and pray, And meet a sister by the way? Oh! such a rogue’s a Roundhead.

What’s he that met a holy sister And in a haycock gently kiss’d her? Oh! then his zeal abounded: ’Twas underneath a shady willow, Her Bible served her for a pillow, And there he got a Roundhead.

There is an old proverb which all the world knows, Anything may be spoke, if ’t be under the rose: Then now let us speak, whilst we are in the hint, Of the state of the land, and th’ enormities in’t.

Under the rose be it spoke, there is a number of knaves, More than ever were known in a State before; But I hope that their mischiefs have digg’d their own graves, And we’ll never trust knaves for their sakes any more.

Under the rose be it spoken, the city’s an ass So long to the public to let their gold run, To keep the King out; but ’tis now come to pass, I am sure they will lose, whosoever has won.

Under the rose be it spoken, there’s a company of men, Trainbands they are called—a plague confound ’em:— And when they are waiting at Westminster Hall, May their wives be beguiled and begat with child all!

Under the rose be it spoken, there’s a damn’d committee Sits in hell (Goldsmiths’ Hall), in the midst of the city, Only to sequester the poor Cavaliers— The devil take their souls, and the hangman their ears.

Under the rose be it spoken, if you do not repent Of that horrible sin, your pure Parliament, Pray stay till Sir Thomas doth bring in the King, Then Derrick [32] may chance have ’em all in a string.

Under the rose be it spoken, let the synod now leave To wrest the whole Scripture, how souls to deceive; For all they have spoken or taught will ne’er save ’em, Unless they will leave that fault, hell’s sure to have ’em!

Lay by your pleading, Law lies a bleeding; Burn all your studies down, and Throw away your reading.

Small pow’r the word has, And can afford us Not half so much privilege as The sword does.

It fosters your masters, It plaisters disasters, It makes the servants quickly greater Than their masters.

It venters, it enters, It seeks and it centers, It makes a’prentice free in spite Of his indentures.

It talks of small things, But it sets up all things; This masters money, though money Masters all things.

It is not season To talk of reason, Nor call it loyalty, when the sword Will have it treason.

It conquers the crown, too, The grave and the gown, too, First it sets up a presbyter, and Then it pulls him down too.

This subtle disaster Turns bonnet to beaver; Down goes a bishop, sirs, and up Starts a weaver.

This makes a layman To preach and to pray, man; And makes a lord of him that Was but a drayman.

Far from the gulpit Of Saxby’s pulpit, This brought an Hebrew ironmonger To the pulpit.

Such pitiful things be More happy than kings be; They get the upper hand of Thimblebee And Slingsbee.

No gospel can guide it, No law can decide it, In Church or State, till the sword Has sanctified it.

Down goes your law-tricks, Far from the matricks, Sprung up holy Hewson’s power, And pull’d down St Patrick’s.

This sword it prevails, too, So highly in Wales, too, Shenkin ap Powel swears “Cots-splutterer nails, too.”

In Scotland this faster Did make such disaster, That they sent their money back For which they sold their master.

It batter’d their Gunkirk, And so it did their Spainkirk, That he is fled, and swears the devil Is in Dunkirk.

He that can tower, Or he that is lower, Would be judged a fool to put Away his power.

Take books and rent ’em, Who can invent ’em, When that the sword replies, Negatur argumentum.

Your brave college-butlers Must stoop to the sutlers; There’s ne’er a library Like to the cutlers’.

The blood that was spilt, sir, Hath gain’d all the gilt, sir; Thus have you seen me run my Sword up to the hilt, sir.

Saw you the State’s money new come from the Mint? Some people do say it is wonderous fine; And that you may read a great mystery in’t, Of mighty King Nol, the lord of the coin.

They have quite omitted his politic head, His worshipful face, and his excellent nose; But the better to show the life he had led, They have fix’d upon it the print of his hose.

For, if they had set up his picture there, They needs must ha’ crown’d him in Charles’s stead; But ’twas cunningly done, that they did forbear, And rather would set up aught else than his head.

’Tis monstrous strange, and yet it is true, In this reformation we should have such luck; That crosses were always disdain’d by you, Who before pull’d them down, should now set them up.

On this side they have circumscribed “God with us,” And in this stamp and coin they confide; Common-Wealth on the other, by which we may guess That God and the States were not both of a side.

On this side they have cross and harp, And only a cross on the other set forth; By which we may learn, it falls to our part Two crosses to have for one fit of mirth!

Now that, thankes to the powers below! We have e’ne done out our doe, The mitre is downe, and so is the crowne, And with them the coronet too; Come clownes, and come boyes, come hober-de-hoyes, Come females of each degree; Stretch your throats, bring in your votes, And make good the anarchy. And “thus it shall goe,” sayes Alice; “Nay, thus it shall goe,” sayes Amy; “Nay, thus it shall goe,” sayes Taffie, “I trow;” “Nay, thus it shall goe,” sayes Jamy.

Ah! but the truth, good people all, The truth is such a thing; For it wou’d undoe both Church and State too, And cut the throat of our King. Yet not the spirit, nor the new light, Can make this point so cleare, But thou must bring out, thou deified rout, What thing this truth is, and where. Speak Abraham, speak Kester, speak Judith, speak Hester, Speak tag and rag, short coat and long; Truth’s the spell made us rebell, And murther and plunder, ding-dong. “Sure I have the truth,” sayes Numph; “Nay, I ha’ the truth,” sayes Clemme; “Nay, I ha’ the truth,” sayes Reverend Ruth; “Nay, I ha’ the truth,” sayes Nem.

Well, let the truth be where it will, We’re sure all else is ours; Yet these divisions in our religions May chance abate our powers. Then let’s agree on some one way, It skills not much how true; Take Pryn and his clubs; or Say and his tubs, [33] Or any sect old or new; The devil’s i’ th’ pack, if choyce you can lack, We’re fourscore religions strong; Take your choyce, the major voyce Shall carry it, right or wrong. “Then wee’le be of this,” sayes Megg; “Nay, wee’le be of that,” sayes Tibb; “Nay, wee’le be of all,” sayes pitifull Paul; “Nay, wee’le be of none,” sayes Gibb.

Neighbours and friends, pray one word more, There’s something yet behinde; And wise though you be, you doe not well see In which doore sits the winde. As for religion to speake right, And in the Houses sence, The matter’s all one to have any or none, If ’twere not for the pretence. But herein doth lurke the key of the worke, Even to dispose of the crowne, Dexteriously, and as may be, For your behoofe and your owne. “Then let’s ha’ King Charles,” sayes George; “Nay, let’s have his son,” sayes Hugh; “Nay, let’s have none,” sayes Jabbering Jone; “Nay, let’s be all kings,” sayes Prue.

Oh we shall have (if we go on In plunder, excise, and blood) But few folke and poore to domineere ore, And that will not be so good; Then let’s resolve on some new way, Some new and happy course, The country’s growne sad, the city horne-mad, And both the Houses are worse. The synod hath writ, the generall hath spit, And both to like purposes too; Religion, lawes, the truth, the cause, Are talk’t of, but nothing we doe. “Come, come, shal’s ha’ peace?” sayes Nell; “No, no, but we won’t,” sayes Madge; “But I say we will,” sayes firy-faced Phill; “We will and we won’t,” sayes Hodge.

Thus from the rout who can expect Ought but division? Since unity doth with monarchy Begin and end in one. If then when all is thought their owne, And lyes at their behest, These popular pates reap nought but debates, From that many round-headed beast; Come, Royalists, then, doe you play the men, And Cavaliers give the word; Now let us see at what you would be, And whether you can accord. “A health to King Charles!” sayes Tom; “Up with it,” sayes Ralph, like a man; “God blesse him,” sayes Doll; “and raise him,” sayes Moll; “And send him his owne!” sayes Nan.

Now for these prudent things that sit Without end and to none, And their committees, that townes and cities Fill with confusion; For the bold troopes of sectaries, The Scots and their partakers, Our new British states, Col. Burges and his mates, The covenant and its makers; For all these wee’le pray, and in such a way, As if it might granted be, Jack and Gill, Mat and Will, And all the world would agree. “A plague take them all!” sayes Besse; “And a pestilence too!” sayes Margery, “The devill!” sayes Dick; “And his dam, [34] too!” sayes Nick; “Amen! and Amen!” say I.

So, so, the deed is done, The royal head is sever’d, As I meant when I first begun, And strongly have endeavour’d. Now Charles the First is tumbled down, The Second I do not fear; I grasp the sceptre, wear the crown, Nor for Jehovah care.

Think’st thou, base slave, though in my grave Like other men I lie, My sparkling fame and royal name Can (as thou wishest) die? Know, caitif, in my son I live (The Black Prince call’d by some), And he shall ample vengeance give To those that did my doom.

Supprest, deprest, involved in woes, Great Charles, thy people be Basely deceived with specious shows By those that murther’d thee. We are enslaved to tyrants’ hests, Who have our freedom won: Our fainting hope now only rests On thy succeeding son.

Base vulgar! know, the more you stir, The more your woes increase, Your rashness will your hopes deter, ’Tis we must give you peace. Black Charles a traitor is proclaim’d Unto our dignity; He dies (if e’er by us he’s gain’d) Without all remedy.

Thrice perjured villain! didst not thou And thy degenerate train, By mankind’s Saviour’s body vow To me thy sovereign, To make me the most glorious king That e’er o’er England reign’d; That me and mine in everything By you should be maintain’d?

Sweet prince! O let us pardon crave Of thy beloved shade; ’Tis we that brought thee to the grave, Thou wert by us betray’d. We did believe ’twas reformation These monsters did desire; Not knowing that thy degradation And death should be our hire.

Ye sick-brain’d fools! whose wit does lie In your small guts; could you Imagine our conspiracy Did claim no other due, But for to spend our dearest bloods To make rascallions flee? No, we sought for your lives and goods, And for a monarchy.

But there’s a Thunderer above, Who, though he winks awhile, Is not with your black deeds in love, He hates your damned guile. And though a time you perch upon The top of Fortune’s wheel, You shortly unto Acharon (Drunk with your crimes) shall reel.

Meanwhile (thou glory of the earth) We languishing do die: Excise doth give free-quarters birth, While soldiers multiply. Our lives we forfeit every day, Our money cuts our throats; The laws are taken clean away, Or shrunk to traitor’s votes.

Like patient mules resolve to bear Whate’er we shall impose; Your lives and goods you need not fear, We’ll prove your friends, not foes. We (the elected ones) must guide A thousand years this land; You must be props unto our pride, And slaves to our command.

But you may fail of your fair hopes, If fates propitious be; And yield your loathed lives in ropes To vengeance and to me. When as the Swedes and Irish join, The Cumbrian and the Scot Do with the Danes and French combine, Then look unto your lot.

Our wrongs have arm’d us with such strength, So sad is our condition, That could we hope that now at length We might find intermission, And had but half we had before, Ere these mechanics sway’d; To our revenge, knee-deep in gore, We would not fear to wade.

In vain (fond people) do you grutch And tacitly repine. For why? my skill and strength are such Both poles of heaven are mine. Your hands and purses both cohered To raise us to this height: You must protect those you have rear’d, Or sink beneath their weight.

Singing with angels near the throne Of the Almighty Three I sit, and know perdition (Base Cromwell) waits on thee, And on thy vile associates: Twelve months [35] shall full conclude Your power—thus speak the powerful fates, Then vades your interlude.

Yea, powerful fates, haste, haste the time, The most auspicious day, On which these monsters of our time To hell must post away. Meanwhile, so pare their sharpen’d claws, And so impair their stings, We may no more fight for the Cause Or other novel things!

From all the mischiefs that I mention here, Preserve us, Heaven, in this approaching year: From civil wars and those uncivil things That hate the race of all our queens and kings; From those who for self-ends would all betray, From saints that curse and flatter when they pray; From those that hold it merit to rebel, In treason, murthers, and in theft excel; From those new teachers have destroy’d the old, And those that turn the gospel into gold; From a High-Court, and that rebellious crew That did their hands in royal blood imbrue,— Defend us, Heaven, and to the throne restore The rightful heir, and we will ask no more.

Rebellion hath broken up house, And hath left me old lumber to sell; Come hither and take your choice, I’ll promise to use you well. Will you buy the old Speaker’s chair? Which was warm and easy to sit in, And oft has been clean’d, I declare, Whereas it was fouler than fitting. Says old Simon the King, Says old Simon the King, With his ale-dropt hose, and his Malmsey nose, Sing, hey ding, ding-a-ding, ding.

Will you buy any bacon flitches, The fattest that ever were spent? They’re the sides of the old committees Fed up in the Long Parliament. Here’s a pair of bellows and tongs, And for a small matter I’ll sell ye ’um, They are made of the presbyter’s lungs, To blow up the coals of rebellion. Says old Simon, etc.

I had thought to have given them once To some blacksmith for his forge; But now I have consider’d on’t, They are consecrate to the Church: So I’ll give them unto some quire, They will make the big organs roar, And the little pipes to squeak higher Than ever they could before. Says old Simon, etc.

Here’s a couple of stools for sale, One’s square, and t’other is round; Betwixt them both, the tail Of the Rump fell down to the ground. Will you buy the State’s council-table, Which was made of the good wain-Scot? The frame was a tottering Babel, To uphold th’ Independent plot. Says old Simon, etc.

Here’s the besom of Reformation, Which should have made clean the floor; But it swept the wealth out of the nation, And left us dirt good store. Will you buy the state’s spinning-wheel, Which spun for the roper’s trade? But better it had stood still, For now it has spun a fair thread. Says old Simon, etc.

Here’s a glyster-pipe well tried, Which was made of a butcher’s stump, And has been safely applied To cure the colds of the Rump. Here’s a lump of pilgrim’s-salve, Which once was a justice of peace, Who Noll and the devil did serve, But now it is come to this, Says old Simon, etc.

Here’s a roll of the State’s tobacco, If any good fellow will take it; No Virginia had e’er such a Smack-o, And I’ll tell you how they did make it: ’Tis th’ Engagement and Covenant cook’t Up with the abjuration oath, And many of them that have took’t Complain it was foul in the mouth. Says old Simon, etc.

Yet the ashes may happily serve To cure the scab of the nation, Whene’er’t has an itch to swerve To rebellion by innovation. A lanthorn here is to be bought, The like was scarce ever gotten, For many plots it has found out Before they ever were thought on. Says old Simon, etc.

Will you buy the Rump’s great saddle, With which it jockey’d the nation? And here is the bit and the bridle, And curb of dissimulation; And here’s the trunk-hose of the Rump, And their fair dissembling cloak; And a Presbyterian jump, With an Independent smock. Says old Simon, etc.

Will you buy a conscience oft turn’d, Which served the High-Court of justice, And stretch’d until England it mourn’d, But hell will buy that if the worst is. Here’s Joan Cromwell’s kitchen-stuff tub, Wherein is the fat of the Rumpers, With which old Noll’s horns she did rub, When he was got drunk with false bumbers. Says old Simon, etc.

Here’s the purse of the public faith; Here’s the model of the Sequestration, When the old wives upon their good troth Lent thimbles to ruin the nation. Here’s Dick Cromwell’s Protectorship, And here are Lambert’s commissions, And here is Hugh Peters his scrip, Cramm’d with tumultuous petitions. Says old Simon, etc.

And here are old Noll’s brewing vessels, And here are his dray and his flings; Here are Hewson’s [36] awl and his bristles, With diverse other odd things: And what is the price doth belong To all these matters before ye? I’ll sell them all for an old song, And so I do end my story. Says old Simon, etc.

Fair Fidelia, tempt no more, I may no more thy deity adore Nor offer to thy shrine, I serve one more divine And farr more great than you: I must goe, Lest the foe Gaine the cause and win the day. Let’s march bravely on, Charge ym in the van, Our cause God’s is, Though their odds is Ten to one.

Tempt no more, I may not yeeld Altho’ thine eyes A kingdome may surprize: Leave off thy wanton toiles, The high-borne Prince of Wales Is mounted in the field, Where the royall gentry flocke. Though alone Nobly borne Of a ne’re decaying stocke. Cavaliers, be bold, Bravely keep your hold, He that loyters Is by traytors Bought and sold.

One kisse more, and then farewell; Oh no, no more, I prithee give me o’er,— Why cloudest thou thy beames? I see by these extreames A woman’s heaven or hell. Pray the King may have his owne, And the Queen May be seen With her babes on England’s throne. Rally up your men, One shall vanquish ten, Victory, we Come to try thee Once agen.

All you that do desire to know What is become of the King o’ Scots, I unto you will truly show After the fight of Northern Rats. ’Twas I did convey His Highness away, And from all dangers set him free;— In woman attire, As reason did require, And the King himself did wait on me.

He of me a service did crave, And oftentimes to me stood bare; In woman’s apparel he was most brave, And on his chin he had no hare; Wherever I came My speeches did frame So well my waiting-man to free, The like was never known I think by any I one, For the King himself did wait on me.

My waiting-man a jewel had, Which I for want of money sold; Because my fortune was so bad We turn’d our jewel into gold. A good shift indeed, In time of our need, Then glad was I and glad was he; Our cause it did advance Until we came to France, And the King himself did wait on me.

We walked through Westminster Hall, Where law and justice doth take place Our grief was great, our comfort small, We lookt grim death all in the face. I lookt round about, And made no other doubt But I and my man should taken be; The people little knew, As I may tell to you, The King himself did wait on me.

From thence we went to the fatal place Where his father lost his life; And then my man did weep apace, And sorrow with him then was rife. I bid him peace, Let sorrow cease, For fear that we should taken be. The gallants in Whitehall Did little know at all That the King himself did wait on me.

The King he was my serving-man, And thus the plot we did contrive: I went by the name of Mistress Anne When we took water at Queenhythe. A boat there we took, And London forsook, And now in France arrived are we. We got away by stealth, And the King is in good health, And he shall no longer wait on me.

The King of Denmark’s dead, they say, Then Charles is like to rule the land; In France he will no longer stay, As I do rightly understand. That land is his due, If they be but true, And he with them do well agree: I heard a bird sing If he once be their king, My man will then my master be.

Now Heaven grant them better success With their young king than England had; Free from war and from distress, Their fortune may not be so bad; Since the case thus stands, Let neighbouring lands Lay down their arms and at quiet be; But as for my part, I am glad with all my heart That my King must now my master be.

And thus I have declared to you By what means we escaped away; Now we bid our cares adieu, Though the King did lose the day. To him I was true, And that he well knew; ’Tis God that must his comfort be, Else all our policy Had been but foolery, For the King no longer waits on me.

A merry new song wherein you may view The drinking healths of a joviall crew, To t’ happie return of the figure of TWO.

I have been a traveller long, And seen the conditions of all; I see how each other they wrong, And the weakest still goes to the wall. And here I’ll begin to relate The crosse condition of those That hinder our happy fate, And now are turned our foes. Here’s a health to the figure of Two, To the rest of the issue renown’d; We’ll bid all our sorrows adieu, When the figure of Two shall be crown’d.

I crossed the ocean of late, And there I did meet with a crosse, But having a pretty estate, I never lamented my losse: I never lamented my harmes, And yet I was wondrous sad; I found all the land up in arms, And I thought all the folke had bin mad. Here’s a health, etc.

Kind countrymen, how fell ye out? I left you all quiet and still; But things are now brought so about, You nothing but plunder and kill; Some doe seem seemingly holy, And would be reformers of men, But wisdom doth laugh at their folly, And sayes they’ll be children agen, Here’s a health, etc.

But woe to the figure of One! King Solomon telleth us so; But he shall be wronged by none That hath two strings to his bow. How I love this figure of Two Among all the figures that be, I’ll make it appear unto you If that you will listen to me. Here’s a health, etc.

Observe when the weather is cold I wear a cap on my head, But wish, if I may be so bold, The figure of Two in my bed. Two in my bed I do crave, And that is myself and my mate; But pray do not think I would have Two large great hornes on my pate. Here’s a health, etc.

Since Nature hath given two hands, But when they are foul I might scorn them; Yet people thus much understands, Two fine white gloves will adorn them. Two feet for to bear up my body, No more had the knight of the sun; But people would think me a noddy If two shoes I would not put on. Here’s a health, etc.

The figure of Two is a thing That we cannot well live without, No more than without a good king, Though we be never so stout; And thus we may well understand, If ever our troubles should cease, Two needful things in a land Is a king and a justice of peace. Here’s a health, etc.

And now for to draw to an end, I wish a good happy conclusion, The State would so much stand our friend, To end this unhappy confusion; The which might be done in a trice, In giving of Cæsar his due; If we were so honest and wise As to think of the figure of Two. Here’s a health, etc.

If any desire to know, This riddle I now will unfold, It is a man wrapped in woe, Whose father is wrapped in mould: So now to conclude my song, I mention him so much the rather Because he hath suffer’d some wrong, And bears up the name of his father. Here’s a health, etc.

Tell me not of Lords and laws, Rules or reformation; All that’s done not worth two straws To the welfare of the nation; If men in power do rant it still, And give no reason but their will For all their domination; Or if they do an act that’s just, ’Tis not because they would, but must, To gratify some party’s lust.

All our expense of blood and purse Has yet produced no profit; Men are still as bad or worse, And will whate’er comes of it. We’ve shuffled out and shuffled in The person, but retain the sin, To make our game the surer; Yet spight of all our pains and skill, The knaves all in the pack are still, And ever were, and ever will, Though something now demurer.

And it can never be so, Since knaves are still in fashion; Men of souls so base and low, Meer bigots of the nation; Whose designs are power and wealth, At which by rapine, power, and stealth, Audaciously they vent’re ye; They lay their consciences aside, And turn with every wind and tide, Puff’d on by ignorance and pride, And all to look like gentry.