The Puritan.  
Covenanter.  
An Exact COLLECTION of the Choicest Poems & Songs, Relating to the late times, & Continued by the most Eminent Wits from A 1639. to 1662.    

RUMP: OR AN EXACT COLLECTION Of the Choicest POEMS AND SONGS RELATING TO THE Late Times.  
By the most Eminent Wits, from Anno 1639. to Anno 1661.  
LONDON, Printed for Henry Brome at the Gun in Ivy-lane, and Henry Marsh at the Prince's Arms in Chancery-lane. 1662.   

TO THE READER.  
THou hast here a Bundle of Rodds; not like those of the Roman Consuls, for these are signs of a No-Government. If thou read these Ballads (and not sing them) the poor Ballads are undone. They came not hither all from one Author; (thou wilt soon perceive the same hand held not the Pen) yet none but show either Wit or Affection (and that's better) or Both, which is best of all. The truth is, this Rump, and indeed the whole Carcase was so odious and bloody a Monster, that every man has a stone or rotten Egg to cast at it. Now if you ask who named it Rump, know 'twas so styled in an honest Sheet of Paper (called The Bloody Rump) written before the Trial of our late Sovereign of Glorious Memory: but the Word obtained not universal notice till it flew from the mouth of Major General Brown at a Public Assembly in the days of Richard Cromwell. You have many Songs here, which were never before in Print: We need not tell you whose they are; but we have not subjoined any Author's Names; heretofore it was unsafe, and now the Gentlemen conceive it not so proper. 'Tis hoped they did His Majesty some Service, 'twas for that end they were scribbled Now (thanks be to God) we have lived to that day, that there is no Cavalier, because there is nothing else, and 'tis wondrous happy to see how many are his Majesty's Faithful Subjects, who were ready to hang the Authors of these Ballads. But he that does not blot out all that's past, and frankly embrace their New Allegiance, or remembers aught but what shall preserve Universal Peace and Charity, let him be Anathema; For he were a strange man that should now he unsatisfied, when those that writ against the King do now write for Him, and those who wrote for Him, need now write no more. Let Heaven now continue these Blessings on His Majesty, that no one Enemy live unreconciled, nor any false Friend be undiscovered, that so there be no strife, but who shall show most Duty to so Excellent a KING.  
Farewell.   

The Stationers to the Reader.  
Gentlemen,  
YOu are invited here to a Feast, and if Variety cloy you not, we are satisfied. It has been our Care to please you; and it is our Hope you will retribute an Acknowledgement. These are select Things, a work of Time, which for your sake we Publish, assuring you that your Welcome will Crown the Entertainment.  
Farewell.  
Yours, H. B. H. M.   

RUMP-SONGS. The First Part.  

The ZEALOUS PURITAN. 1639.  

MY Brethren all attend,  
And list to my relation:  
This is the day, mark what I say,  
Tends to your renovation;  
Stay not among the Wicked,  
Lest that with them you perish,  
But let us to New-England go,  
And the Pagan People cherish;  
Then for the truth's sake come along, come along,  
Leave this place of Superstition:  
Were it not for we, that the Brethren be,  
You would sink into Perdition.   

There you may teach our hymns,  
Without the Laws controlment:  
We need not fear, the Bishops there,  
Nor Spiritual-Courts inroulment;  
Nay, the Surplice shall not fright us,  
Nor superstitious blindness;  
Nor scandal-rise, when ●e disguise,  
And our Sister-kiss in kindness;  
Then for the truth's sake, etc.   

For Company I fear not,  
There goes my Cousin Hannah,  
And Reuben, so persuades to go  
My Cousin Joyce, Susanna.  
With Abigal and Faith,  
And Ruth, no doubt, comes after;  
And Sarah kind, will not stay behind,  
My Cousin Constance Daughter;  
Then for the truth, etc.   

Tom Tyler is prepared,  
And th' Smith as black as a coal;  
Ralph Cobbler too with us will go,  
For he regards his soul;  
The Weaver, honest Simon,  
With Prudence, jacob's Daughter,  
And Sarah, she, and Barbary  
Professeth to come after;  
Then for the truth, etc.   

When we, that are elected,  
Arrive in that fair Country,  
Even by our faith, as the Brethren saith,  
We will not fear our entry;  
The Psalms shall be our Music,  
Our time spent in expounding,  
Which in our zeal we will reveal  
To the brethren's joy abounding;  
Then for the truth's sake, etc.    

Pyms Juncto▪ 1640.  
TRuth I could chide you Friends, why, how so late?  
My Watch speaks Eight and not one pin o'th' State  
This day undone, can such remissness sit  
Your Active spirits, or my more Hellish wit?  
The Sun each step he mounts to Heaven's Crown,  
Whilst Pym commands, should see a Kingdom down;  
Y'ave spurs enough I'm sure to make you run.  
HOPE'S guilty, FORTUNES cracked, and th' ILLS y'ave done.  
Thus Whilom seated was Great James his Heir,  
Just, as you see me now, i'th' Kingdom's Chair:  
There the Great Seal, there Richmond, Hertford sat,  
There Fristol●'s temperate pate,  
But there sat P●mbroke, life of Loyalty,  
There Holland, flower of Fidelity.  
We are no less than Charles in power and state,  
You are our Junctoes', who were his of late;  
Here sits K— Holy Say, and Seal,  
With Whartor, Warwick, Brookes inspired zeal:  
Stro●d, Hampden, H— Has●●rigge, bold spirits,  
Bold Martin, Ludlow, Vain, unmatched wights,  
But their Church-Elder, Whites Religious beard,  
There sits Abomination Statists: Perd▪  
Charles wear at York thy Crown that pretty thing  
We must most humbly be at London King▪  
But what's the business of the House this day,  
How speaks my note, Commissioners of Array,  
The nineteen Propositions to be scanned  
A second time, M— Train-band,  
Letters from Tristram Whitcombe, and from Hull,  
From Amsterdam, the Admiral; how full  
Of high concernments are we Sirs, advise  
How we most warily may weigh our prize:  
I do conceive it must be our first play,  
Be't right or wrong, by Vote to damn th' Array,  
If ever that take footing and advance,  
Farewell Militia, and our Ordinance,  
But what will the appearance be? yet stay,  
Who dares our leading Votes and Wills gainsay?  
Should any haughty spirit presume so far,  
What serves the Tower for then, or the Bar?  
But if we fear the business will not bend  
As may be most conducing to our end:  
By some feigned wile it must be our next Plot  
To put it off, and a new time allot,  
And just Jump for our turn: these Letters shall  
From Whitcombe, Hotham, or our Admiral,  
(Though forged untruths) be interposed and read,  
To spend the time, and maze the People's head;  
If the next day we yet suspect to find  
Such whose just Conscience cannot be inclined  
To be made Vassals to our desperate sense,  
'Tis easy to procure a conference,  
Which shall out-spin the leisure of the morn,  
Then we'●e resume the House, and so adjourn  
Till five at night, the moderate wearied thus,  
Will quit their seats and leave us, none but us;  
There's Precedent for this, this was the feat  
That plucked the Bishops from the Baron's seat,  
This wrought good Orders, managed many a Vote,  
This Art must my Disciples learn by Rote.  
But if the Accommodation chance to spring  
Into debate, than your Artillery bring,  
And lay that flat, that cold: my Genius starts  
With fear to find i'th' House two Loyal hearts;  
Seem though we must teeth outwards to comply,  
And humbly kiss the feet of Majesty,  
Yet live we cannot, but obedience dead,  
Nor stand elsewhere but on the Kingdom's head;  
Calmes proper are for guiltless sons of Peace,  
Our Vessels bear out best in storming Seas;  
Charles must not reign secure whilst reigns a Pym,  
The Sun if it rise with us must set with him;  
You have one pleasure which must be expressed  
To Leicester Pembroke, St— and your rest,  
Bid Essex, Percy, and your Quondam Grom  
O'th' stool, to wait us in the Prince's Room:  
Some of you subtly may in Cottons walk,  
Sat and allure Affection by your talk,  
'Twill be a work worthy your nimble wit,  
To gain the Devil and us a Proselyte.  
So, to your business, yet ere you be gone  
Take my advice, than blessing light upon  
Your nimble Votes, and first be sure you shrowded  
Your dark designs in a Religious Cloud,  
God's Glory, Churches Good, King's head Supreme,  
A Preaching Minister must be your Theme;  
Next structure of your Babel to be built,  
Must speciously be varnished o'er, and gilt  
With Liberty, Propriety of lives  
And fortunes, 'gainst th' high stretched Prerogatives.  
And then a Speech or two most neatly spent,  
For Rights and Privilege of Parliament;  
These two well mixed, you're need no other lures  
To gain the People, and to make them yours.  
If Charles displeased, with some witty, tart  
Message (and justly too) shall make you start,  
Saying ye have put him to his Guard, be sure  
Ye then be loud enough, and first cry Whore,  
War raised against the Parliament, a great  
Hindrance of the Irish Aid, and strong Abet  
Unto the Rebels: then if any thing  
You have may blast the Honour of the King,  
Be it had enough, no matter from what hand,  
we'll Vote it true, and then to believe command;  
But on your memories if I impose no more,  
You cannot miss your way when I'm before:  
Rise Synna, Sylla, Marius, Gracchus' Ghost,  
With the rest of the whole Mechanic Host,  
Rome's greatest Earthquakes, and this little trunk  
Make with your desperate Spirits deeply drunk,  
Up from your drowsy urns, the Ghost of those  
My Ancestors that Richard did depose,  
Drop fresh into my breast, my soul inspire,  
And strongly actuate me with your fire,  
That theirs thus mixed with my Malicious Gall,  
Mine may with theirs fully possess you all.  
Go and exceed their Villainies as much more  
As theirs did all attempts that was before;  
Act past example, that it may be known  
You copied no example but your own.  
And if in after times, when silently  
We sleep, another si●ebrand chance to be,  
'Twill be chief Crown and Glory unto him,  
To say he played his Pranks like you and Pym.   

Upon Mr. Pyms Picture.  
REader, behold the Counterfeit of him  
Who now controls the Land; Almighty Pym▪  
A man whom even the Devil to fear begins,  
And dares not trust him with successless sins;  
A man who now is wading through the Flood  
Of Reverend laud's, and Noble strafford's Blood,  
To strike so high as to put Bishops down,  
And in the Mitre to control the Crown;  
The Wretch hath mighty thoughts, and entertains  
Some Glorious Mischief in his Active Brains,  
Where now he's plotting to make England such  
As may outvie the villainy of the Dutch;  
He dares not go to Heaven, 'cause he doth fear  
To meet (and not pull down) the Bishops there:  
Is it not strange, that in that Shuttle-head  
Three Kingdoms ruins should be buried?  
Is it not strange there should be hatched a Plot  
Which should outdo the Treason of the Scot,  
And even the Malice of a Puritan?  
Reader behold, and hate the poisonous man;  
The Picture's like him; yet 'tis very fit  
He add one likeness more, that's hung like it.   

A Song.  
To the Tune of Blue Cap for me.  

LEt Scots now return at Lesleys demand,  
How all the Affairs in the North-part do stand,  
And tell him the Parliament is fully agreed  
To send him good store of Money with speed,  
To serve their occasions: thus say, they shall find  
For to come to pass, when the Devil is blind.   

Let all their Brethren be new circumcised,  
And Burton and— for Saints canonised,  
And at the Sacrament sit for their ease,  
And pray unto God, even just when they please,  
The Scots in despite shall please their own mind,  
And do what they please, when the Devil is blind.   

Next they will have in each City and Town  
All painted Glasse-windows to be pulled down;  
One Bell in a Church to call them away,  
It's enough when the Spirit doth move them to pray,  
Without any Surplice or Tippet behind  
The Priest shall say Service, when the Devil is blind.   

Lastly, the Parliament in any case  
Will down with all Organs, for Piping is base;  
No cringing below the Altar shall be,  
For that is a Trick of Idolatry:  
Now tell me good Scots, are not Englishmen kind,  
But when this comes to pass, say the Devil is blind.    

Mr. Hampdens' Speech against Peace at the close Committee.  
To the Tune of I went from England.  

BUt will you now to Peace incline,  
And languish in the Main design,  
And leave us in the lurch?  
I would not Monarchy destroy,  
But only as the way to enjoy  
The ruin of the Church.   

Is not the Bishop's Bill denied,  
And we still threatened to be tried?  
You see the King embraces  
Those Counsellors he approved before:  
Nor doth he promise, which is more,  
That we shall have their Places.   

Did I for this bring in the Scot,  
(For 'tis no Secret new) the Plot  
Was Says and mine together:  
Did I for this return again,  
And spend a Winter there in vain,  
I went more to invite them hither.   

Though more our Money than our Cause  
Their Brotherly assistance draws,  
My labour was not lost.  
At my Return I brought you thence  
Necessity, their strong Pretence,  
And these shall quit the Cost.   

Did I for this my County bring  
To help their Knight against their King,  
And raise the first Sedition?  
Though I the Business did decline,  
Yet I contrived the whole Design,  
And sent them their Petition.   

So many nights spent in the City  
In that invisible Committee;  
The Wheel that governs all;  
From thence the Change in Church and State,  
And all the Mischiefs bear the date  
From Haberdashers Hall.   

Did we force Ireland to despair,  
Upon the King to cast the War,  
To make the World abhor him:  
Because the Rebels used his Name,  
Though we ourselves can do the same,  
While both alike were for him.   

Then the same Fire we kindled here  
With that, was given to quench it there,  
And wisely lost that Nation:  
To do as crafty Beggars use,  
To maim themselves thereby to abuse  
The simple man's compassion.   

Have I so often passed between  
Windsor and Westminster unseen,  
And did myself divide:  
To keep his Excellence in awe,  
And give the Parliament the Law,  
For they knew none beside.   

Did I for these take pains to teach  
Our zealous Ignorants to preach,  
And did their Lungs inspire,  
Read them their Text, showed them their Parts,  
And taught them all their little Arts,  
To fling abroad the Fire.   

Sometimes to beg, sometimes to threaten,  
And say the Cavaliers are beaten,  
And struck the People's ears;  
Then straight when Victory grows cheap,  
And will no more advance the heap,  
To raise the price of Fears.   

And now the Book, and now the Bells,  
And now the Act the Preachers tells  
To edify the People;  
All our Divinity is News,  
And we have made of equal use  
The Pulpit and the Steeple.   

And shall we kindle all this Flame,  
Only to put it out again,  
And must we now give o'er,  
And only end where we begun  
In vain this Mischief we have done,  
If we can do no more.   

If men in Peace can have their right,  
Where's the Necessity to fight,  
That breaks both Law, the Oath;  
They'll say they fight not for the Cause,  
Nor to defend the King and Laws,  
But as against them both.   

Either the Cause at first was ill,  
Or being good it was so still;  
And thence they will infer,  
That either now, or at the first  
They were deceived; or which is worse,  
That we ourselves may err.   

But Plague and Famine will come in,  
For they and we are near of kin,  
And cannot go asunder:  
But while the wicked starve, indeed  
The Saints have ready at their need  
God's Providence and Plunder.   

Princes we are if we prevail,  
And Gallant Villains if we fail,  
When to our fame 'tis told;  
It will not be our last of praise,  
Sing a New State we could not raise  
To have destroyed the old.   

Then let us stay and fight, and vote  
Till London is not worth a Groat;  
Oh 'tis a patient Beast:  
When we have galled and tired the Mule,  
And can no longer have the rule,  
We'll have the Spoil at least.    

A Song.  
To the Tune of The Queen's old Soldier.  

TO make Charles a great King, and give him no Power,  
To Honour him much, and not obey him an Hour;  
To provide for his Safety, and take away his Tower,  
And to prove all is sweet, be it never so sour.  
The new Order of the Land, & the Lands new Order.   

To secure men their Lives, Liberties and Estates  
By arbitrary Power, as it pleaseth the Fates  
To take away Taxes, by imposing great Rates,  
And to make us a Plaster by breaking our Pates▪  
The new Order of the Land, & the Lands new Order.   

To sit and consult for ever and a day,  
To counterfeit Treason by a Parliamentary way,  
To quiet the Land by a tumultuous sway,  
New Plots to devise, then them to betray.  
The new Order, etc.   

To leave all Votes free by using of Force.  
That one make Petitions for Counties by course,  
To make Pym as great as his Mother's great Horse,  
Which William left Agnus, though his meaning was worse.  
The new Order, etc.   

To encourage good Soldiers by cashiering the Band,  
To hearten brave Spirits by expelling the Land,  
To quit Digby and Deering, whom they can't understand  
To frame not new Laws, but new Words, if well scanned.  
The new Order, etc.   

To put by brave Doctors, because theyare not taught,  
To set for Preachers men, very well wrought,  
Who all the day fish, but nothing ere caught;  
This, brethren, were good, if not very naught.  
The new Order, etc.   

To send them their Zealots to Heaven in a string,  
Who else to Confusion Religion will bring,  
Who say the Lords Prayer is a Popish thing,  
Who pray for themselves, but leave out their King.  
The new Order of the Land, and the Lands new Order.    

A Song.  
To the Tune of Cuckolds all a-row.  

KNow this my Brethren Heaven is clear,  
And all the clouds are gone,  
The righteous men shall flourish now  
Good days are coming on;  
Come then my Brethren and be glad,  
And eke rejoice with me,  
Lawn sleeves and Roc●ets shall go down,  
And hay then up go we.   

we'll break the Windows which the Whore  
Of Babylon hath painted,  
And when the Popish Saints are down,  
Then Burges shall be Sainted;  
There's neither Cross nor Crucifix  
shall stand for men to see,  
Rome's trash and trumpery shall go down,  
And hay then up go we.   

What ere 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 hay then up go we.   

we'll down with all the Versities,  
Where Learning is professed,  
Because they practice and maintain  
The language of the Beast;  
we'll drive the Doctors out of doors,  
And parts what ere they be;  
we'll cry all Arts and Learning down  
And hey then up go we.   

we'll down with Deans and prebend's too,  
And I rejoice to tell ye  
How that we will eat Pigs our fill,  
And Capon by the belly;  
we'll burn the Father's Learned Books,  
And make the Schoolmen flee;  
we'll down with all that smells of wit,  
And hay then up go we.   

If once the Antichristian crew  
Be crushed and overthrown,  
we'll teach the Nobles how to stoop,  
And keep the Gentry down:  
Good manners have an ill report,  
And turns to pride we see,  
we'll therefore cry good manners down,  
And hay then up go we.   

The name of Lords shall be abhorred,  
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 the wanton Sisters stoop,  
And hay 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 Roundheads case?  
And hay 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 hay then up go we.    

The Humble Petition of the House of Commons.  

IF Charles thou wilt but be so kind  
To give us leave to take our mind,  
Of all thy store.  
When we thy Loyal Subjects, find  
thoust nothing left to give behind,  
we'll ask no more:   

First, for Religion, it is meet  
We make it go upon new feet,  
'Twas lame before:  
One from Geneva would be sweet,  
Let Warwick fetch't home with his Fleet,  
we'll ask no more.   

Let us a Consultation call  
Of Honest men, but Roundheads all,  
God knows wherefore;  
Allow them but a place to bawl  
'Gainst Bishops Courts Canonical,  
we'll ask no more.   

Let him be hanged a Surplice wears,  
And Tippet on his shoulders bears,  
Rags of the Whore;  
Secure us from our needless fears,  
Let— and Burton have their ears,  
we'll ask no more.   

Reform each University,  
And in them let no Learning be,  
A great Eyesore;  
From hence make Rome's Arminians flee,  
That none may have freewill but we,  
we'll ask no more.   

Lest the Elect should go astray,  
Let Cobblers teach you the right way  
To Heaven's door;  
And lest their soles should wear away,  
Let them their Sisters underlay,  
we'll ask no more.   

Next from the Bishop's Hierarchy,  
Oh the word sounds but scurvily,  
Let's hear't no more;  
It ne'er was taught the Apostles by,  
Lay-Elders may the place supply,  
we'll ask no more.   

Next, for the State, we think it fit  
That Mr. Pym should govern it,  
He's very poor:  
The money that's for Ireland writ,  
Faith let them have the Devil a bit,  
we'll ask no more.   

For ordering the Militia,  
Let us ordain a new new way,  
ne'er heard before;  
Let the Great Council bear the sway,  
If you will give us leave you may,  
we'll ask no more.   

In this we will not be denied,  
Because in you we'll not confide,  
We know wherefore  
The Citizens their Plate provide,  
Do you but send in yours beside,  
we'll ask no more.   

Now if that you'll make Hull your own,  
There's one thing more we must set down  
Forgot before;  
Sir John shall then give up the Town,  
If you will but resign your Crown,  
we'll ask no more.    

The Answer to the Petition, etc.  

I Charles the King will be so kind,  
To give you leave to take your mind,  
Of all my store,  
When I you Loyal Subjects find,  
And you those Members have resigned,  
I asked before.   

And when Religion's all your cares,  
Or London have such heed of theirs,  
They had before:  
When Warwick from Geneva dares,  
Now Printed, bring the Common-Prayers,  
And read them o'er.   

When all your Consultations tend,  
To pay what you have made men lend,  
None knows wherefore;  
When you no more shall say you'll send,  
And bring me fairly to mine end,  
You'll ask no more.   

When your Smectymnuus Surplice wears,  
Or Tippet on his shoulders bears,  
Rags of the Whore;  
When Burton,— and Bastwick dares,  
With your good leaves, but show their Ears,  
They'll ask no more.   

When what I borrowed I shall see,  
Y'have paid each University,  
Of th' City store:  
And Doctors, Chaplains, Fellows, be  
Free-willers of plurality,  
They'll ask no more.   

When the elect shall make such haste,  
By th' brethren to be embraced  
In Tubs on floor;  
When Cobblers they shall preach their last  
At Conventicles on a Fast,  
They'll ask no more.   

When Bishops all the House adorns,  
And Roundheads for their absence mourns,  
A great Eyesore;  
When every Citizen less scorns  
Lord Wentworth's head, then Essex horns,  
You'll ask no more.   

When you no more shall dare hereafter,  
A needless thing which gains much laughter,  
Granted before;  
When Pym is sent to Ireland slaughter,  
And ne'er more hopes to marry my Daughter,  
You'll ask no more.   

When you have found a clearer way  
For ordering the Militia,  
Then heard before;  
When Atkins on the Training day,  
Shan't dare his Office to bewray,  
he'll ask no more.   

When naught to me shall be denied,  
And you shall all in me confide,  
Good cause therefore;  
When Denmark shall for me provide,  
And now Lord Digbies on my side,  
Ask me no more.   

Last, when I shall make Hull my own,  
This one thing more I must set down,  
Forgot before,  
When I have got into the Town,  
I'll make ten more besides that Clown,  
Kneel and implore.    

To the five Principal Members of the Honourable House of Commons.  
The Humble Petition of the POETS.  
AFter so many Concurring Petitions  
From all Ages and Sexes, and all conditions,  
We come in the Rear to present our Follies  
To Pym, Stroude, Haslerig, Hampden and—  
And we hope for our labour we shall not be shent,  
For this comes from Christendom, & not from Kent;  
Though set form of Prayers be an Abomination,  
Set forms of Petitions find great Approbation:  
Therefore, as others from th' bottom of their souls,  
So we from the depth and bottom of our Bowls,  
According unto the blessed form taught us,  
We thank you first for the Ills you have brought us,  
For the Good we receive we thank him that gave it,  
And you for the Confidence only to crave it.  
Next in course, we Complain of the great violation  
Of Privilege (like the rest of our Nation)  
But 'tis none of yours of which we have spoken  
Which never had being, until they were broken:  
But ours is a Privilege Ancient and Native,  
Hangs not on Ordinance, or power Legislative.  
And first, 'tis to speak whatever we please  
Without fear of a Prison, or Pursuivants fees.  
Next, that we only may lie by Authority,  
But in that also you have got the Priority.  
Next, an old Custom, our Fathers did name it  
Poetical licence, and always did claim it.  
By this we have power to change Age in Youth,  
Turn Nonsense into Sense, and Falsehood to Truth;  
In brief, to make good whatsoever is faulty,  
This art some Poet, or the Devil has taught ye;  
And this our Property you have invaded,  
And a Privilege of both Houses have made it:  
But that trust above all in Poets reposed,  
That Kings by them only are made and Deposed,  
This though you cannot do, yet you are willing;  
But when we undertake Deposing or Killing,  
They're Tyrants and Monsters, and yet then the Poet  
Takes full Revenge on the Villains that do it,  
And when we resume a Sceptre or a Crown,  
We are Modest, and seek not to make it our own.  
But is't not presumption to write Verses to you,  
Who make the better Poems of the two,  
For all those pretty Knacks you do compose,  
Alas, what are they but Poems in prose,  
And between those and ours there's no difference,  
But that yours want the rhyme, the wit and the sense:  
But for lying (the most Noble part of a Poet)  
You have it abundantly, and yourselves know it,  
And though you are Modest, and seem to abhor it,  
'T has done you good service, and thank He'ven for it:  
Although the old Maxim remains still in force,  
That a Sanctified Cause, must have a Sanctified Course:  
If poverty be a part of our Trade,  
So far the whole Kingdom Poets you have made,  
Nay even so far as undoing will do it,  
You have made King Charles in manner a Poet,  
But provoke not his Muse, for all the world knows,  
Already you have had too much of his Prose.   

The Parliaments Pedigree.  

NO Pedigrees nor Projects  
Of aftertimes I tell,  
Nor what strange things the Parliament  
In former times befell,  
Nor how an Emperor got a King,  
Nor how a King a Prince,  
But you shall hear what Progenies  
Have been begotten since.   

The Devil he a Monster got,  
Which was both strong and stout,  
This many-headed Monster  
Did straight beget a Rout:  
This Rout begat a Parliament,  
As Charles he well remembers,  
The Parliament got Monsters too,  
The which begot Five Members.   

The Members Five did then beget  
Most of the House of Peers,  
The Peers misunderstandings got  
All Jealousies and Fears;  
The Jealousies got Horse and Men,  
Lest Wars should have abounded,  
And I dare say this Horse got Pym,  
And he begot a Round-head.   

The Round-head got a Citizen,  
That great Tax-bearing Mule,  
The Mule begot a Parliament Ass,  
And he begot a Fool:  
Some say the Fool got Warwick,  
And Rich gave him his whole Land,  
In zeal Lord Rich got God knows who,  
And God knows who got H—   

This H— Surplices got down,  
And those Church Rites that were,  
He hath Petitions enough each day,  
No need of the Lords Prayer:  
But it's no wonder that's cried down,  
And that indeed the rather,  
Cause Pym and he two Bastards are,  
And dare not say, Our Father.   

Now since this is the chiefest thing,  
Hath got this great division,  
Which London for to reconcile,  
Hath got this great Munition:  
The City hath now been refined,  
From all her Dross and Pelf,  
They're now about for to new mould,  
And Coin the Commonwealth.    

To those who desire no Peace.  
SHould all those various Gales, whose titles are lain  
Enrolled within the Pilots Register,  
Break from their drowsy Dens, where they have  
Bound up in slumbers, and invade the Main,  
They could not raise a storm like that which they  
Raise in the Commonwealth, who would betray  
Our Peace to Civil War, in which the State  
Must bleed itself to death, and have the fate,  
After its stock of life is spent, to lie  
Buried i'th' Rubbish of an Anarchy.  
Should Ravens, Bats, and the shrill Owl conspire  
To twist their Notes into a General Choir,  
And choose the Mandrake for the chanter, they  
Could not shrill forth such an illboding lay,  
Or strains so Jarring, as do those whose throats  
Warble the clamorous and untunefull Notes  
Of Blood and Death, some whirlwind, Sirs, has ta'en  
Its Lodging up in the Fanatic brain  
Of these bold sons of tumult, I dare say  
They moulded were of some distempered Clay,  
Which from its Centre was by Earthquake torn,  
A Tempest shook the world when they were born;  
Sure from its Sphere the Element of Fire  
Is dropped, and does their bosoms now inspire,  
The flame locked up in bold Ravillacks' urn,  
Is snatched from thence, and in their hearts does burn.  
Night, open thy black womb, and let out all  
Thy dreadful furies, yet these furies shall  
Not i'll my heart with any fear, since day  
Has furies shown, blacker by far than they.  
Let Vaux now sleep until the day of Doom,  
Open his eyes, forgotten in his Tomb,  
Let none revile his dust, his Name shall be  
Extirpated from every History,  
To yield a room for others, for 'tis fit  
Their Names in place of his should now be writ,  
Who think that no Religion can be good,  
unless't be writ in Characters of Blood,  
No marvel if the Rubric than must be  
Blotted from out the Sacred Liturgy,  
And those red Letters now no more be known,  
They'll have no other Rubric but their own.  
But shall they thus impetuously roll on,  
And meet not any Malediction?  
Yes sure, may sleep, that mild and gentle balm,  
Which all unkind distempers does becalm,  
Be unto them a torture, may their Dreams  
Be all of Murders, Rapes, and such like Themes;  
And when they're spent, may Wolves approach and howl,  
To break their slumbers; may the Bat and Owl,  
Before their Gates, to usher in the days  
Unwellcome light, stretch out their direful lays;  
'Mongst their disordered humours, may there be  
A deadly Feud, and fatal mutiny;  
May sudden flames their houses melt away,  
And Fevers burn their houses too of Clay;  
May all their faculties and senses be  
Astonished by some drowsy Lethargy,  
That there may be allowed them only sense  
Enough to feel the pangs of Conscience,  
Griping their souls, that they who thought it sin  
To have peace without, may have no peace within   

The French Report.  

ME have of late been in England  
Vere me have seen much sport,  
De raising of de Parliament,  
Have quite pulled down de Court,  
De King and Queen they separate,  
And rule in Ignorance,  
Pray judge ye Gentlemen, if does  
Be a la mode de France:   

A vice man dear is like a Ship  
Dat strikes upon the shelves,  
Dey Prison all, Behead and Whip  
All viser den demselves,  
Dey send out men to fetch deyr King,  
Who may come home perchance,  
Oh fie, fie, fie, it is be Gar  
Not a la mode de France.   

Dey raise deyr Valiant Prentices,  
To guard deyr Cause with Clubs,  
Dey root deyr Bishops out of doors,  
And Presh demselves in Tubs,  
De Cobbler and de Tinker too,  
Dey will in time advance,  
Pox take dem all, it is (Mort Dieu)  
Not a la mode de France.   

Instead of bowing to deyr King,  
Dey vex him with Epistles,  
Dey furnish all deyr Soldiers out  
With Bodkins, Spoons, and Whistles,  
Dey bring deyr Gold and Silver in,  
De Brownists to advance,  
But if they be cheat of it all,  
'Tiz a la mode de France.   

But if when all deyr wealth is gone,  
Dey turn unto deyr King,  
Dey will make all amends again,  
Den merrily we will sing,  
VIVE LE ROY, VIVE LE ROY,  
Vee'le Sing, Carouse and Dance,  
De English men have done for't Bon,  
And a la mode de France.    

A Loyal Subjects Oath.  
THis is my Oath, for ever to despise,  
With heart and soul and all my Faculties  
The Kings proud foes, and with my life subdue  
All that to his Sacred Majesty are not true,  
To execute his Precepts with my Blood,  
So far as Conscience dictates it is good;  
To make my body a Bulwark 'gainst his foes,  
And to maintain his red and whitest Rose,  
Venture Life and Living, Sword and Muse,  
Still to uphold the Glorious Flower-de-luce:  
To be the same to Prince, and Duke of York,  
Or for a cursed Jew that eats no Pork,  
Let me be Cursed, and receive the Curse  
Hangs over Pym, and Hotham, and a worse  
I cannot wish, he that denies this Oath,  
Let these, and my Curse, light upon them both.   

Short and Sweet.  
WIse men suffer, good men grieve,  
Knaves devise, and Fools believe,  
Help, O Lord, send aid unto us,  
Else Knaves and Fools will quite undo us.   

To the City of London.  

TEll me Cittz. what ye lack,  
That the Knaves of the Pack  
Ye do not see forth coming,  
Love ye Treason so well,  
That ye neither buy nor sell,  
But keep a noise with your Drumming.   

What is't that you guard,  
With your double watch and ward,  
Your own wares, or your wife's things,  
If down come the Blades,  
Then down go the Trades,  
They'll not leave a dead or a live thing.   

What doth your profit say,  
When shall we see the day,  
That money shall be paid in,  
Great Strafford he is dead,  
Ye have cut off his bead,  
And the Bishops all are laid in.   

And yet you grow poor,  
As any Common whore,  
That hath been long a fading;  
There's no man will buy,  
Ye may leave to swear and lie,  
As ye use to do in your trading.   

There's something Behind  
That lies in the wind  
And brings you thus to nothing,  
What doth then remain?  
O the Parliament must reign,  
And you'll have A King and no King.   

But though their power can  
From a Woman turn a Man,  
If they please so to declare him;  
Yet let them take heed,  
The King is King indeed,  
And the Soldiers cannot spare him▪   

Is't nothing ye think  
24. in a Link  
Kings that make his succession:  
Besides for our Good,  
Three Princes of the Brood,  
And three Kingdoms in Possession.   

And all his Virtues too  
Should be something to you,  
If they could aught amend you;  
But 'cause he's Chaste and Just,  
You'd have Cruelty and Lust,  
Another King Harry God send you.   

But if you mean to thrive,  
And keep your trades alive,  
And bring to your City treasure,  
Give the King his full Rate,  
As well as to the State,  
And let Him have London measure.    

The Players Petition to the Parliament.  
HEroick Sirs, you glorious nine or ten,  
That can depose the King, and the King's men,  
Who by your Sublime Rhetoric agree,  
That prisons are the Subjects liberty:  
And though we sent in silver at great rates,  
You plunder, to secure us our Estates.  
Your serious subtlety is grown so grave,  
We dare not tell you how much power you have,  
At least you dare not hear us; how you frown  
If we but say, King Pym wears Charles his Crown,  
Such a word's Treason, and you dare not hear it,  
Treason to speak it, and yet not to wear it.  
O wise mysterious Synod, what shall we  
Do for such men as you e'er forty three  
Be half expired, and an unlucky season  
Shall set a period to Triennial Treason,  
When the fields pitched, and some, for all their skill,  
Shall fight a Bloody Battle on Tower-Hill;  
Where Master Pym, your wise judicious Scholar,  
Ascends his Throne, and takes his Crown in Choler;  
When Canterbury coming forth shall wonder  
You have so long secured him from the Thunder  
Of King-hunting Prentices, and the Mayor  
Shall jussel zealous Isaac from his Chair.  
Foreseeing Brooks, thou drewest a happy lot,  
'Twas a wise Bolt, although 'twas quickly shot;  
But whilst you live, our loud Petition craves,  
That we the true Subjects, and the true Slaves,  
May in our Comic mirth and Tragic rage,  
Set up the Theatre, and show the Stage,  
The shop of truth and fancy, and we Vow  
Not to Act any thing you disallow:  
We will not dare at your strange Votes to Jea●,  
Not personate King Pym with his State-flear;  
Aspiring Catiline shall be forgot,  
Bloody Se●anus, or who e'er would Plot  
Confusion to a State; the Wars betwixt  
The Parliament, and just Henry the sixth,  
Shall have no thought or mention, cause their power,  
Not only placed, but left him in the Tower;  
No● yet the Grave advice of learned Pym,  
Make a Malignant, and then Plunder him.  
All these and such like actions as may ma●  
Your soaring Plots, and show you what you are,  
We will omit, lest that your mention shake 'em,  
Why should the men be wiser than you make 'um.  
Methinks there should not such a difference be  
'Twixt our profession and your quality,  
You meet, plot, talk, consult, with minds immense,  
The like with us, but only we speak sense  
Inferior unto you; we can tell how  
To depose Kings, there we are more than you,  
Although not more than what you would; the● we  
Likewise in our vast Privilege agree,  
Only yours are the longer; and controls,  
Not only Lives and fortunes, but men's Souls;  
For you declare by Aenigmatick sense,  
A Privilege over men's Conscience,  
As if the Trinity would not consent  
To save a Soul without the Parliament.  
We make the People laugh at some vain show,  
And as they laugh at us, they do at you;  
But then i'th' Contrary we disagree,  
For you can make them cry faster than we:  
Your Tragedies more really are expressed,  
You murder men in Earnest, we in Jest.  
There we come short: But if you follow't thus,  
Some wise men fear you will come short of us.  
Now humbly, as we did begin, We pray,  
Dear Schoolmasters, you'd give us leave to play  
Quickly before the King come, for we would  
Be glad to say y'ave done a little good  
Since you have sat, your Play is almost done,  
As well as ours, would it had ne'er begun;  
For we shall see e'er the last Act be spent,  
Enter the King, Exeunt the Parliament.  
And hay then up go we, who by the frown  
Of guilty Consciences have been kept down:  
So may you still remain, and sit and Vote,  
And through your own beam see your brother's mote,  
Until a legal trial do show how  
You used the King▪ and hay then up go you:  
So pray your humble Slaves with all their powers,  
That they may have their due, and you have yours.   

A Madrigal on Justice, alluding to the PARLIAMENT.  

JUstice is here made up of Might,  
With two left hands, but ne'er a right,  
And men that are well-sighted, find  
This Justice sits with both eyes blind:  
Yet though the Matron cannot see,  
She holds that edged Sword, Cruelty,  
Which that it may not rust, she whets  
In cutting off the Islands Teats,  
Who long since did Anathemize  
England's too too much seeing eyes,  
Because they have been found to be  
Guilty of Wit and Piety:  
All this and more they rudely vent,  
By Privilege of Parliament.   

All former Laws fall headlong down,  
And are themselves now lawless grown;  
Equity hath been lately tried,  
And Right itself been rectined;  
The rules that show a Christian how  
To live, must all be ruled now;  
The Lesson here to learn, is brought,  
And Ethics better manners taught;  
Religion, and the Church's wealth,  
Of late deprived of their health,  
Were brought to th' House, that they might be  
Cured of their Integrity;  
We found a seam for this great rent,  
By Privilege of Parliament.   

Most men do now the Buttocks lick  
Of their great body Politic;  
For not the head, but breech, is it  
By which the Kingdom now doth sit;  
The world is changed, and we have choices,  
Not by most Reasons, but most Voices,  
The Lion's trod on by the Mouse,  
The lower is the upper House:  
As once from Chaos order came,  
So do their order's Chaos frame,  
And smoothly work the Lands delusion,  
By a Methodical Confusion;  
These are the things that lately went  
By Privilege of Parliament.   

They would not have the kingdom fall  
By an Ignoble Funeral;  
But piously prefer the Nation  
To a renowned Decollation,  
The feet, and lower parts, 'tis said,  
Would trample on, and off the head,  
What ere they say, this is the thing,  
They love the Charles, but hate the King;  
To make an even Grove, one stroke  
Should lift the Shrubb unto the Oak;  
Anew-found music they would make,  
A Gamut, but no Ela take.  
This is the pious good intent  
Of Privilege of Parliament.   

In all humility they crave  
Their Sovereign, to be their Slave;  
Desiring him, that he would be  
Betrayed to them most loyally:  
For it were Meekness sure in him  
To be a Viceroy unto Pym;  
And if he would a while lay down  
His Sceptre, Majesty, and Crown,  
He should be made for time to come  
The greatest Prince in Christendom.  
Charles at this time not having need,  
Thanked them as much as if he did.  
This is the happy wished event  
Of Privilege of Parliament.   

Pym, that adored Publicola,  
Who played the base—  
Who got a Lust to sacrifice  
The Heroen to the People's Eyes,  
Whose back-from-Hell-fetch'd-knaverie  
By some is nicknamed policy,  
Would be a Lion with a pox,  
When at the best he's but a Fox;  
And just like him that set on fire  
The hallowed Ephesian Spire,  
Hath purchased to be largely known,  
In that he is an Adage grown:  
All this to honest John is lent,  
By Privilege of Parliament.   

The Valiant House was not afeard,  
To pull our Aaron by the Beard;  
To hide dark deeds from Gazer's sights,  
Strove to blow out the Church's Lights,  
That squares might run round as their head,  
They long to have the Rochet sped:  
They Vote down Universities,  
Lest men from thence become too wise,  
And their benighted deeds display,  
Whose works of darkness hate the day;  
Hence they prefer in every Town,  
The Petticoat before the Gown;  
These blessings to the Land are sent  
By Privilege of Parliament.   

They put forth Orders, Declarations,  
Unacted Laws, and Protestations,  
O● which all can be said, is this,  
The whole is one Parenthesis,  
Because the sense (without all doubt)  
Were ne'er the less, were all left out.  
Petitions none must be presented,  
But what are by themselves invented,  
Else they not heal, but Cicatrize,  
And from the cure a Scar doth rise,  
Though Holy Cut, the fault commit,  
Yet ●ong tail must be paid for it;  
Unto this wound was laid a Tent,  
By Privilege of Parliament.   

They paid the Scottish debt, and thus,  
To be more honest, they robbed us;  
They feed the poor, with what think ye,  
Why sure with large Calamity,  
And once a month they think it fitting  
To fast from sin, because from sitting,  
They would have wind and storms suppressed,  
To drive the Hallcyon from her Nest:  
Charles is a Picture, they make bold  
To use the Sceptre he should hold:  
They'd pull down one, but give as good  
A Golden Crown, made up of Wood,  
And thus is Justice justly rend,  
By Privilege of Parliament.    

The Call.  
Ho Yes,  
IF there be any Traitor, Viper, or Widgeon,  
That will fight against God for the true Religion,  
That to maintain the Parliaments Votes,  
Of all true Subjects will cut the throats,  
That for the King and his Country's good,  
Will consume all the Land with Fire and Blood.  
I say,  
If any such Traitor, Viper, Mutineer, be born,  
Let him repair to the Lord with the double gilt Horn.   

England's Woe.  

I Mean to speak of England's sad fate,  
To help in mean time the King, and his Mate,  
That's ruled by an Antipodian State,  
Which no body can deny.   

But had these seditious times been when  
We had the life of wise Poet Ben,  
Parsons had never been Parliament men,  
Which no body can deny.   

Had Statesmen read the Bible throughout,  
And not gone by the Bible so round about,  
They would have ruled themselves without doubt,  
Which no body can deny.   

But Puritan now bear all the sway,  
They'll have no Bishops as most men say,  
But God send them better another day,  
Which no body can deny.   

Zealous P— has threatened a great downfall,  
To cut off long locks that is bushy and small,  
But I hope he will not take ears and all,  
Which no body can deny.   

P— Burton, says women that's lewd and loose,  
Shall wear no stallion locks for a bush,  
They'll only have private boys for their use,  
Which no body can deny.   

They'll not allow what pride it brings,  
Nor favours in hats, nor no such things,  
They'll convert all ribbons to Bible strings,  
Which no body can deny.   

God bless our King and Parliament,  
And send he may make such K— repent,  
That breed our Land such discontent,  
Which no body can deny.   

And bless our Queen and Prince also,  
And all true Subjects both high and low,  
The browning's can pray for themselves you know,  
Which no body can deny.    

Upon Ambition.  
Occasioned by the Accusation of the Earl of STRAFFORD, in the year 1640.  

HOw uncertain is the State  
Of that greatness we adore,  
When Ambitiously we sore,  
And have ta'en the glorious height,  
'Tis but Ruin gilded o'er,  
To enslave us to our fate,  
Whose false Delight is easier got, then kept,  
Content ne'er on its gaudy Pillow slept.   

Then how fond do we try,  
With such superstitious care,  
To build Fabrics in the Air?  
Or seek safety in that sky,  
Where no Stars but Meteors are,  
That portend a ruin nigh?  
And having reached the object of our aim,  
We find it but a Pyramid of flame.    

The Argument.  

WHen the unfettered Subjects of the Seas,  
The Rivers, found their silver feet at ease,  
No sooner summoned, but they swiftly went  
To meet the Ocean, at a Parliament:  
Did not the petty Fountains say their King,  
The Ocean, was no Ocean, but a Spring?  
As now some do the Power of King's dispute,  
And think it less, 'cause more is added to't.   

Pale Ignorance, can the excess of store  
Make him seem poorer than he was before?  
The Stars, the Heavens, inferior Courtiers, may  
Govern Night's Darkness, but not rule the Day;  
Where the Sun Lords it, should they all Combine  
With Lucia in her brightest dress, to shine,  
Their light's but faint: Nor can he be subdued,  
Although but one, and they a Multitude.   

Say Subjects, are you Stars? be it allowed,  
You justly of your numbers may be proud,  
But to the Sun inferior; for know this,  
Your Light is borrowed, not your Own, but His:  
And as all streams into the Ocean run▪  
You ought to pay your Contribution;  
Then do not such Ingratitude oppress,  
To make him low, that could have made you less    

The Character of a Roundhead. 1641.  

WHat Creature's this with his short hairs,  
His little band and huge long ears,  
That this new faith hath founded,  
The Puritans were never such,  
The Sanits themselves, had ne'er so much,  
Oh, such a knave's a Rounded.   

What's he that doth the Bishop's hate,  
And count their Calling reprobate,  
'Cause by the Pope propounded,  
And says a zealous Cobler's better,  
Then he that studieth every letter,  
Oh, such a knave's a Roundhead.   

What's he that doth high Treason say,  
As often as his yea and nay,  
And wish the King confounded,  
And dare maintain that Master Pym,  
Is fitter for the Crown then him,  
Oh, such a rogue's a Roundhead.   

What's he that if he chance to hear,  
A piece of London's Common-Prayer,  
Doth think his Conscience wounded.  
And goes five miles to preach and pray,  
And lies with's Sister by the way,  
Oh, such a rogue's a Roundhead.   

What's he that met a holy Sister,  
And in an Haycock gently kissed her,  
Oh! then his zeal abounded,  
Close underneath a shady willow,  
Her Bible served her for her pillow,  
And there they got a Roundhead.    

A Curtain Lecture.  
The Tune, Cannot keep her Lips together.  

WILL you please to hear a Song,  
Though it want both rhyme and reason,  
It was penned to do no wrong,  
But for description at this season,  
Of he or she what ere they be,  
That wish Church-orders quite confounded,  
Yet makes a show, where e'er they go,  
Of Fervent zeal: I mean a Roundhead.   

First he'll have a smoothing tongue,  
Next he'll learn for to dissemble,  
And when he hears of wilful wrong,  
He'll sigh and look as he would tremble,  
The next of all than let him fall,  
To praise men's hearts in secret bravery,  
A speaking still against all ill,  
That is the Cloak to hide their Knavery.   

Let Charity be used much,  
In words at length and not in action,  
It is the Common use of such,  
Not to do, but give direction,  
They'll be loath to swear an Oath,  
By yea and nay, you may believe them,  
But for their gains, they will take pains,  
To cheat and lie, and never grieve them.   

The Common-Prayer they like it not,  
For they are wise and can make better,  
And such a Teacher they have got,  
Confutes it all in word and letter;  
For he can rail men's hearts to quail  
With deep damnation for their sinnning,  
But to amend they ne'er intend,  
And to transgress they're now beginning.   

But here is a very worthy man,  
That undertakes more than he is able,  
That in a Tub sometimes will stand,  
In Hey-barn, Sheep-house, or a Stable,  
That all the Rout that comes about  
To hear his Doctrines, Saints he calls them,  
They vow and swear they ne'er did hear  
Such worthy things as he hath told them.   

They will not hear of Wedding Rings  
For to be used in their Marriage,  
But say they are Superstitious things,  
And doth Religion much disparage,  
They are but vain, and things profane,  
Wherefore now no Wit be-speaks them  
So to be tied unto the Bride,  
But do it as the Spirit moves them.   

No Paternoster nor no Creed  
In their Petitions never mention,  
And hold there's nothing good indeed  
But what is done by their pretention,  
Prayers that are old in vain they hold,  
And can with God no favour merit,  
Therefore they will nothing say,  
But as they are moved by the Spirit.   

The wisest Schools they count but Fools,  
Which do no more than they have taught them  
For Brownists they can preach and pray  
With Wits their Fathers never bought them;  
Then I perceive that wit they have  
They gather it by Inspiration,  
No Books they need to learn to read,  
If all be true of their relation.   

Only the Hornbook I would have  
Them practice at their beginning,  
That you the better may perceive  
The Fruits that comes by fleshly sinning.  
Nevertheless I would express  
All other Books that now are used,  
Lest that the Ghost that lea●s you most  
By too m●ch Art to be abufed.   

Their Hair close to their Heads they crop  
And yet not only for the fashion,  
But that the Ear it should not stop  
From hearing of some rare Relation;  
Therefore his Ears he will prepare  
To hearken to an Holy Brother.  
That in regard he may be heard  
From one side of the Barn to th' other.   

They count their Fathers were but Fools,  
Which formerly became such Debtors,  
To spend their Means upon the Schools,  
To teach their Sons a few fond Letters,  
The Christ Crosse-row's enough to know,  
For 'tis the Horn that must exalt 'em,  
Their Gen'ral Vows his Antlered Brows  
Shall gore the Proudest dare assault 'em▪   

At the last when they must part,  
Male and Female go together  
Joined in hand, and joined in heart,  
And joined a little for their pleasure.  
First for a Kiss they will agree,  
And what comes next you may conjecture,  
So that the Wicked do not see,  
And so break up the Roundheads Lecture.    

A Mad World My Masters.  

WE have a King and yet no King,  
For he hath lost his Power,  
For 'gainst his Will his Subjects are  
Imprisoned 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 they're voted down.   

We had Religion; but of late  
That's beaten down with Clubs,  
Whilst that profaneness Authorised  
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,  
Marked with the Name of Enemy  
Of King and Parliament.   

And during our Imprisonment,  
Their lawless Bulls do thunder  
A Licence 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 termed,  
He is declared to be,  
And that his Lands as well as Goods  
Sequestered aught to be.   

And as if our Prisons were too good,  
He is to Yarmouth sent  
By virtue of a Warrant from  
The King and Parliament.   

Thus is 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 treacherously with Might and Maine  
Do strive him to depose.   

Arise therefore brave British men,  
Fight for your King and State,  
Against those Traitorous men that strive  
This Realm to Ruinated.   

'Tis Pym, 'tis Pym, and his Colleagues,  
That did our woe engender,  
Nought but their Lives can end our Woes,  
And us in safety render.    

The Riddle.  
S-Hall's have a Game at Putskie, to pass away the time,  
X-pect no foul-play; though I do play the Knave  
I- have a King at hand, yea that I have:  
C- Cards be ye true, than the Game is mine.  
Rejoice my Heart, to see thee then repine.  
A- that's lost, that's Cuckold's luck.  
T-rey comes like Quater, to pull down the Buck.   

An Answer to a Love-Elegy (written from I. P. one of the Five Members, to his Delightful Friend) in Latin.  
WHat Latin Sir? why there is no man  
That e'er thought you an English-Roman.  
Your Father Horse could teach you none,  
Nor was it ere your Mother tongue,  
Your Education too assures  
Me, that your Poem is not yours:  
Besides, I thought you did detest  
The Language of the Latin Beast,  
But now your Impudence I see  
Did hereby show its Modesty;  
Each syllable would blush you thought,  
If it had been plain English taught,  
And that your foul debauched stuff  
Might do its Errand fast enough,  
Forsooth your Wisdom thought it meet  
That Words might run to give 'em feet,  
Pardon me, Sir, I'm none of those  
That love Love-verse, give me your Prose,  
I wish each Verse to make delay,  
Had turned lame Scazon by the way,  
I read a Hell in every line  
Of your Polluted Fescennine;  
Your Verses stunk; to keep 'em sweet  
You should have put Socks on their Feet.  
And that the Answer which I shall  
Now write, may be Methodical,  
I'll briefly make ('tis not amiss)  
An Anacephalaeosis.  
And first I looked for Nestor; when  
Mere Cupid trickled from your Pen,  
Who was your Father, you make proof  
By your Colt's tooth, though not your hoof,  
She that was great with you, you hold  
Did not lie in, but was with foleed.  
I wonder one so old, so grave  
Should yet such Youth, such Lightness have;  
Of the Five Members you alone  
Shall be esteemed the Privy One,  
Who (like the Gnostics) preach your Text,  
Increase and Multiply, and next  
Convincing Doctrines you deduce,  
Put out the Lights, and make Use.  
You say I am a Maid exceeding  
Apt to be taught by you good breeding.  
But where there's breeding, it is said  
There's none, unless a broken Maid  
Turn Papist, (Stallion) they'll dispense  
With Whoredom, by an Indulgence,  
Turn Friar, that thou mayst be free  
At once with a whole Nunnery,  
There 'twill be virtue to ride on  
The Purple Whore of Babylon.  
Thou mayst as soon turn Turk, as King,  
And that, O that's the tempting thing  
That thou mayst glut thy Appetite  
With a Seraglio of Delight.  
I am no Proserpina, that thus  
I should desire an Incubus:  
But you must vote (if Me you'll win)  
No Fornication to be Sin,  
You say the House takes it not well  
The King 'gainst Rebels should Rebel;  
And that's the reason why you stand  
To be Dictator of the Land,  
Which moved me to a mighty toil  
Of getting Vardygrease and Oil.  
'Cause such Itch-Med'cine is a thing  
That's fittest to anoint you King.  
You say you'd undertake and do  
Wonders, would I undergo you,  
For my sake you would Cobbler play,  
Your Trade should be to underlay,  
For Me you'd your chiefest blood,  
Pray spend it on the Sisterhood,  
You wish to die in those great Fights  
Of Venus, where each Wound delights,  
And should I once to Heaven take wing,  
you'd follow me, though in a string;  
Thank you (good Sir) it is our Will  
You your last Promise do fulfil;  
There's nothing spoke that pleaseth us  
Like your (In funes Cedulus)  
Next come those idle Twittle-twats,  
Which calls me many God-knows-whats,  
As hallowed, beautiful, and fair,  
Supple and kind, and Debonair.  
You talk of Women that did woo,  
When I am mad I'll do so too;  
Then that my Father may not spy  
The coupling of you and I,  
He shall be guiltlessly detected,  
As a true Subject illaffected,  
And so the Protestant shall lie  
In Goal for fear of Popery.  
(From hence it is that every Town,  
Almost is now a Prison grown,  
Where Loyalty lies fettered, than  
You do commit more sins than men.)  
But those your words I have thought best,  
Should punished be by being pressed;  
And that this Body Politic  
May then be well, which now lies sick,  
May the Greek Π, that fatal Tree,  
This Spring bear all such fruit as thee.   

The Penitent Traitor. The Humble Petition of a Devonshire Gentleman who was Condemned for TREASON, and Executed for the same, An. 1641.  
To the Tune of Fortune my Foe, etc.  

ATtend good Christian People to my story,  
A sadder yet was never brought before ye;  
Let each man learn here like a good Disciple,  
To shun foul Treason, and the tree that's Triple.   

Long time I lived in the Country next to Cornwall,  
And there my Children were both breed and born all,  
Great was my Credit, as my debts did speak,  
And now I'll show you why my neck must break.   

There being a Parliament called in September,  
I was for th' Commons an Elected Member,  
And though there were besides above four hundred  
Yet I at last was for the fifth part numbered.   

For first, I joined with some whom Piety  
Made Knaves, lest such their Fathers proved should be;  
Their Ignorance to sin enjoined many Voices,  
Which made bad Speeches, but Excellent Noises.   

Thus by my faction the whole House was swayed,  
All sorts of people flocked to me for Aid;  
They brought me Gold and Plate in Huggar Muggar,  
Besides eight hundred pounds worth in Loaf-sugar.   

What e'er the Grievance was, I did advise  
They should Petitions bring in Humble wise,  
Which I did frame myself, & thus did rook them,  
They paid me when I gave, and when I took them.   

By this I gained, and by the Money-Pole,  
Which paid my debts, 10000 pounds i'th' whole,  
My children's Portions too, with much content,  
I paid in State, by Acts of Parliament.   

Thus though I make all Jesuits fly the Nation,  
Myself did practise much Equivocation,  
For oft I Vowed the Commonwealth as honey  
Was sweet to me, but I, by wealth, meant money.   

And lest my Plots should after be unmasked,  
And how I got such Wealth, chance to be asked,  
I cast about how I might gain such power,  
As might from Justice safely me secure.   

Then first I laboured to divest the Crown,  
Of all Prerogatives, and bring them down;  
First, to both Houses, and then but one should have them,  
Five Members next, and last myself would have them   

Because I knew the State would not admit  
Such Change, unless the Church did Usher it,  
I left the old Religion for advantage,  
Endeavouring to set up one that did want age.   

Which when all Learned Levites did withstand,  
(Regarding God's Word more than my command)  
I such suppressed, and made (for which I woe am)  
The basest people Priests, like Jeroboam.   

Then each profession sent out Teachers, moe  
Than both the Universities could do,  
To handle a Text the Good-wifes' fingers itches,  
And vows she'll preach with her Husband for the Breeches.   

By this new Godly lives but few did gain,  
The rest for want of Trading they complain,  
I told them 'twas a wicked Counsellors plot,  
And till his head went off, their wares would not:   

This Great man's guilt was Loyalty and Wisdom,  
Which made me cast about to work his Doom;  
The Sword of Justice was too short to do't,  
2000 Clubs must therefore jerk it out.   

He being knocked down, some others for the like Crime,  
Were sent to Prison, some escaped in time;  
Thus Law and Equity in awe was kept here,  
And Clubs were taught how to control the Sceptre,   

We took from th' Upper-house Votes five times five,  
And they aimed all the King's Voice Negative,  
Which to effect we did an Order make,  
That what he would not give, ourselves would take.   

Then we petitioned that the Forts and Towers,  
And all the strength o'th' Kingdom might be ours,  
And thus to save the King from Sovereign dangers,  
As if he had better Fall by Us than Strangers.   

Whilst he denies they Legally are stayed on  
By a ●aw called, Resolved upon the Question,  
But still his Chief strength was above our Arts,  
His righteous Cause, and loyal Subject's hearts.   

Being Armed with these, by Heaven he was so blest,  
That he soon honour Got, and all the rest,  
Bringing all such to punishment endignant,  
As were of my Contrived part, Malignant.   

O Tyburn, Tyburn; O thou sad triangle,  
A viler weight on thee ne'er yet did dangle,  
See here I am at last with Hemp to mew,  
To give thee what was long before thy due.   

How could I bless thee, couldst thee take away  
My Life and Infamy both in one day;  
But this in Ballads will survive I know,  
Sung to that preaching tune, Fortune my Foe.   

Then mark good Christian people, and take heed,  
Use not Religion for an upper weed,  
Serve God sincerely, touch not his Anointed,  
And then your Necks shall never be disjointed.   

God bless the King, the Queen, and all the Children,  
(And pardon me all, that I 'gainst them have ill done)  
May one of that brave Race still rule this Nation,  
And now I pray you sing the Lamentation.    

The Passage of a Coach travelling to Dover.  
THe Foundation of the Coach, a Guilty Conscience.  
The Axletree, Ambition and Cruelty.  
The Wheels, Fears and Jealousies.  
The Reins, too much liberty and licentiousness.  
The six Horses, five Members and K—  
The Postilion, Captain Venne.  
The Coachman, Isaac Pennington Lord Mayor:  
In the two ends of the Coach sat Essex and B—In the Boots sat Say and Seal, and the silent Speaker. On the hinder part of the Coach was written this Anagram.  
Robert Devereux General. Never duller Ox greater Rebel.  
After the Coach follows strafford's Ghost, crying, Drive on, drive on, Revenge, revenge.  
As this Coach was going through the City it was stayed by a Court of Guard, who cried, Where's our Money? where's our Plate? the Speaker said, Ye have the Public Faith for't. Whereupon they passed towards Gravesend, where they stayed at the Sign of the Hope, where was the Earl of Warwick, with a Ship called the Carry-Knave.   

The Five Members Thanks to the Parliament.  

NOw tend your ear a while  
To a tale that I shall tell,  
Of a lusty lively Parliament  
That goes on passing well.   

Which makes our Gracious King, a King  
Of so much worth and glory,  
His like is not to be seen or found  
In any Humane Story.   

Win him who knows how many Crowns,  
With loss of two or three,  
Within so short a time as this,  
As Wonder is to see,   

The Country eased, the City pleased,  
O what a World is this!  
When upright men did stand at Helm,  
How can we fail or miss?   

And yet beyond all this, the King  
Doth in abundance swim,  
Gramercy K— and Stroud say I,  
Haslerigge, H— Hampden, Pym.   

And when as our Church Government  
Was fallen into Disorders,  
As that upon Gross Popery  
It seemed somewhat to border.   

So sweet a Course is taken now,  
As no man need to fear,  
For Bishops learned, and Learned men  
Have nothing to do here:   

But every one shall teach and preach,  
As best beseems his Sense:  
And so we'll banish Popery,  
And send it packing hence:   

Now for that happy Church and State,  
Dressed up so fine and trim:  
Gramercy K— and Stroud say I,  
Haslerig, H— Hampden, Pym.   

For Arbitrary Government,  
Star-Chamber, High Commission,  
They will themselves do all that Work,  
By their good King's permission.   

If any else presume to do't,  
They weigh it not a straw:  
They'll club such saucy Fellows down,  
As Beasts debarred of Law.   

And let no Wights henceforth presume  
To hold it Rhyme or Reason,  
That Judges shall determine what  
Is Felony or Treason:   

But what the Worthies say is so,  
Is Treason to award,  
Albeit in Council only spoke,  
And at the Councel-board.   

I'll show you yet another thing,  
Which you'll rejoice to see,  
The Prince and People know that these  
Men cannot Traitors be.   

Then let our King, our Church and State  
Acknowledge as is due,  
The Benefits they do receive  
From this right Divine crew.   

And for this Sea of Liberty,  
Wherein we yet do swim,  
Gramercy K— and Stroud say I,  
Haslerig, H— Hampden, Pym.    

Upon the Parliament Fart.  
DOwn came Grave Ancient Sir John Crook,  
And read his Message in a Book;  
Very well quoth Will. Norris, it is so,  
But Mr. Pym's Tail cried No.  
Fie quoth Alderman Atkins I like not this passage,  
To have a Fart inter voluntary in the midst of a Message.  
Then upstarts one fuller of Devotion  
Than Eloquence, and said, a very ill Motion.  
Not so neither quoth Sir Henry Jenking,  
The Motion was good but for the stinking.  
Quoth Sir Henry Poole 'twas an audacious trick  
To fart in the face of the Body Politic.  
Sir Jerome in Folio swore by the Mass  
This Fart was enough to have blown a Glass:  
Quoth then Sir Jerome the Lesser, such an Abuse  
Was never offered in Poland nor Pruce.  
Quoth Sir Richard Houghton, a Justice i'th' Quorum  
Would take't in snuff to have a Fart let before him.  
If it would bear an Action quoth Sir Thomas Holecraft  
I would make of this Fart a Bolt or a Shaft.  
Then qd. Sir John Moor to his great Commendation  
I will speak to this House in my wont fashion.  
Now surely says he, For as much as, How be it,  
This Fart to the Sergeant we must commit.  
No quoth the Sergeant, low bending his Knees,  
Farts oft will break Prisons, but never pay Fees.  
Besides, this Motion with small reason stands,  
To charge me with that I can't keep in my hands.  
Quoth Sir Walter Cope 'twas so readily let,  
I would it were sweet enough for my Cabinet.  
Why then Sir Walter (quoth Sir William Fleetwood)  
Speak no more of it, but bury it with Sweetwood;  
Grave Senate, quoth Duncombe, upon my salvation,  
This Fart stands in need of some great Reformation;  
Quoth Mr. Cartwright, upon my Conscience  
It would be reform with a little Frankincense;  
Quoth Sir Roger Aston it would much mend the matter,  
If this Fart were shaved, and washed in Rosewater;  
Per verbum Principis, how dare I tell it,  
A Fart by hear-say, and not see it, nor smell it.  
I am glad qd. Sam: Lewknor we have found a thing,  
That no Tale-bearer can carry it the King,  
Such a Fart as this was never seen  
Quoth the learned Council of the Queen,  
Yes quoth Sir Hugh Breston the like hath been  
Let in a dance before the Queen,  
Then said Mr. Peak I have a Precedent in store  
His Father Farted last Sessions before,  
A Bill must be drawn then, quoth Sir John Bennet,  
Or a selected Committee quickly to pen it,  
Why quoth Dr. Crompton no man can draw  
This Fart within Compass of the Civil-Law,  
Quoth Mr. Jones by the Lawed may be done  
Being a Fart entailed from Father to Son,  
In truth quoth Mr. Brooke, this Speech was no lie  
This Fart was one of your Postnati  
Quoth Sir William Paddy a dare-assuram  
Though 'twere contra modestum: 'tis not prater naturam,  
Besides by the Aphorisms of my art  
Had he not been delivered, he'd been sick of a Fart;  
Then quoth the Recorder, the mouth of the City,  
To have smothered that Fart had been great pity,  
It is much certain quoth Sir Humphrey Bentwizle,  
That a Round-fart is better than a stinking fiezle:  
Have patience Gentlemen, quoth Sir Francis Bacon  
There's none of us all but may be mistaken;  
Why right, quoth the great Attorney I confess,  
The Echo of ones— is remediless.   

The old Earl of Bristol's Verses on an Accommodation.  
THe Parliament cries Arm, the King says No,  
The New Lieutenants cry Come on, let's go;  
The Citizens and Roundheads cries So, so;  
The People all amazed cries Where's the Foe;  
The Scots that stand behind the Door cries Boe,  
Peace, Stay awhile and you shall know:  
The King stands still faster than they can go.  
If that the King by force of Arms prevail,  
He is invited to a Tyranny;  
If that by power of Parliament he fail,  
We heap continual War on our Posterity.  
Then he that is not for Accommodation,  
Loves neither God, nor Church, nor King, nor Nation.   

The Rump's hypocrisy  
WE fasted first, than prayed that War might cease,  
When Praying would not serve, we paid for Peace;  
And glad we had it so, and gave God thanks,  
Which made the Irish play the Scotish Pranks.  
Is there no God? let's put it to a Vote;  
Is there no Church? some Fools say so by rote;  
Is there no King, but Pym, for to assent  
What shall be done by Act of Parliament?  
No God, no Church, no King, than all were well,  
If they could but Enact there were no Hell.   

The Parliaments Hymns.  

O Lord preserve the Parliament,  
And send them long to reign,  
From three years' end, to three years' end,  
And so to three again.   

Let neither King nor Bishops, Lord,  
Whilst they shall be alive,  
Have power to rebuke thy Saints,  
Nor hurt the Members five.   

For they be good and godly men,  
No sinful path they tread;  
They now are putting Bishops down,  
And setting up Round-head.   

From Holdsworth, Bromrigge, and old Shute,  
Those able learned Scholars,  
Good Lord deliver us with speed,  
And all our zealous Followers.   

From Fielding and from Vavasour,  
Both ill affected men;  
From Lunsford eke deliver us,  
That eateth up Children.   

Thy holy Burton, Bastwick,—  
Lord keep them in thy Bosom;  
Eke him that hath kept out the King,  
Worshipful Sir John Hotham.   

Put down the King and Hartford, Lord,  
And keep them down for aye;  
Thy chosen Pym set up on high,  
And eke the good Lord Say.   

For Warwick we beseech thee Lord,  
Be thou his strong defence,  
Holland, Brooks, and S— shield,  
And eke his Oxcellence.   

For B— and K— to  
That are both wise and stout,  
Who have rebuked the King of late,  
And his ungodly Rout.   

Once more we pray for Parliament,  
That they may sit secure,  
And may their Consultations,  
From Age to Age endure.   

Let all the Godly say Amen,  
And let them Praises sing  
To God and to the Parliament,  
And all that hate the King.    

The Roundheads Race.  

I Will not say for the World's store,  
The World's now drunk, (for did I)  
The Faction which now reigns would roar,  
But I will swear 'tis giddy.   

And all are prone to this same Fit,  
That it their Object make,  
For every thing runs Round in it,  
And no form else will take.   

To the Round-Nose Peculiar is  
The Ruby and the Rose;  
The Round-lip gets away the Kiss,  
And that by Favour goes.   

The Round-beard for Talk of State,  
Carry it at the Club;  
The Round-Robin by a like fate  
Is Victor in the Tub.   

Hanworths' Round-block speak policy,  
The Round-hose Riches draw.  
The Roundheads for the Gospel be  
The Round Copes for the Law.   

Tom his Round Garb so rules all o'er,  
The pox take him for me  
That e'er looks for square dealing more,  
And hears an health to thee.    

On the Queen's Departure.  
UP, up wronged Charles his friends, what can you be  
Thus Mantled In a stupid Lethargy,  
When all the world's in Arms? and can there be  
Armies of Fears abroad and none with thee?  
Breath out your souls in sighs, melt into tears,  
And let your griefs be equal to your fears;  
The Spheres are all a jarring, and their jars  
Seems counter-like to Calculate the Stars;  
The Inferior Orbs aspire, and do disdain  
To move at all, unless they may attain  
The highest Room, our Occedentall Sun  
Eclipsed by Stars, forsakes his Horizon,  
Bright Cynthia too (they say) hath hid her face  
As 'twere Impatient of her Sol's disgrace;  
And our fears tell us, that unless the Sun  
Lend us his beams again, the World will run  
Into another Chaos, where will be  
Nought but the cursed Fruits of Anarchy;  
Sedition, Murder, Rapine, and what's worse  
None to Implore for Aid; Oh, here's the Curse,  
But stay ye Stars, what will ye wish to be?  
More Suns than one will prove a Prodigy:  
To affright the Amazed World, will ye benight  
That glorious Lamp, that Fountain of all light,  
Will none but Sol's own Chair, please your desire?  
Take heed bold Stars you'll set the world on fire.   

Pyms Anarchy.  

ASk me no more, why there appears  
Daily such troops of Dragooners?  
Since it is requisite, you know;  
They rob cum privilegio.   

Ask me no more, why th' Gaol confines  
Our Hierarchy of best divines?  
Since some in Parliament agree  
'tis for the Subject's Liberty.   

Ask me no more, why from Blackwall  
Great tumults come into Whitehall?  
Since it's allowed, by free consent,  
The Privilege of Parliament.   

Ask me not, why to London comes  
So many Muskets, Pikes and Drums?  
Although you fear they'll never cease;  
'Tis to protect the Kingdom's peace.   

Ask me no more, why little Finch  
From Parliament began to winch?  
Since such as dare to hawk at Kings  
Can easy clip a Finches wings.   

Ask me no more, why Strafford's dead,  
And why they aimed so at his head?  
Faith, all the reason I can give,  
'Tis thought he was too wise to live.   

Ask me no more, where's all the Plate,  
Brought in at such an easy rate?  
They will it back to th' Owners bring  
In case it fall not to the King.   

Ask me not why the House delights  
Not in our two wise Kentish Knights?  
There Counsel never was thought good,  
Because it was not understood.   

Ask me no more, why Lesley goes  
To seize all rich men as his foes?  
Whilst Country Farmer's sigh and sob,  
Yeomen may beg when Kings do rob.   

Ask me no more, by what strange sight  
London's Lord Mayor was made a Knight?  
Since there's a strength, not very far,  
Hath as much power to make as mar.   

Ask me no more, why in this Age  
I sing so sharp without a Cage?  
My answer is, I need not fear  
Since England doth the burden bear.   

Ask me no more, for I grow dull,  
Why Hotham kept the Town of Hull?  
This answer I in brief do sing,  
All things were thus when Pym was K—    

To my Lord B. of S. he being at York.  
My Lord,  

WHen you were last at London 'twas our fear,  
Lest the same Rout which threatened Majesty,  
Might strike at you: 'tis but the same Career  
To aim at Crowns, and at the Mitre fly.  
For still the Sceptre and the Crosier staff  
Together fall, 'cause they're together safe:   

Yet while the sense of Tumults deepest grow,  
And press in us, no doubts in you arise;  
There still dwelled calm and quiet in your Brow,  
As our Distractions were your Exercise:  
And taught us, all assaults, all Il●s to bear,  
Is not to fly from Danger, but from Fear.   

That Courage waits you still, some merely rode  
From Tumults and the People's frantic Rage,  
Counting their safety by their far abode,  
And so grew safer still at the next Stage:  
But 'tis not space that shelters you, the rest  
Secure themselves by Miles, you by your Breast.   

And now my Lord, since you have London left,  
Where Merchants wives dine cheap, & as cheap sup,  
Where Fools themselves have of their Plate bereft,  
And sigh and drink in the course Pewter cup.  
Where's not a Silver Spoon left, not that given than  
When the first Cockney was made Christian.   

No not a Bodkin, Pincase, all they send  
Or carry all, what ever they can hap on,  
Even to the pretty Pick Tooth, whose each end  
Oft purged the Relics of continual Capon.  
Nothing must stay behind, nothing must tarry,  
No not the Ring by which dear Joan took Harry.   

But now no City-Villain, though he were  
Free of a Trade and Treason, dares intrude,  
No saucy Prentices assault you there,  
Engaged by their Indentures to be rude:  
Whom for the two first years their Masters use  
Only to cry down Bishops, and cleanse Shoes.   

There as in silent Orbs you may ride on,  
And as in Charles his Wain move without jars,  
Your Coach will seem your Constellation,  
Not drawn about by Horses, but by Stars.  
Till seated near the Northern Pole, we thence  
Judge your seat Sphere, you its Intelligence.    

An Elegy on the Most Reverend Father in God William, Lord Archbishop of CANTERBURY.  
Attached the 18. of December, 1640. Beheaded the 10. of January, 1644.  
Most Reverend Martyr,  
THou, since thy thick Afflictions first begun,  
Mak'st Dioclesian's days all Calm, and Sun,  
And when thy Tragic Annals are compiled,  
Old Persecution shall be Pity styled,  
The Stake and Faggot shall be Temperate names,  
And Mercy wear the Character of Flames:  
Men knew not then Thrift in the Martyr's breath,  
Nor woven their Lives into a four years' Death,  
Few ancient Tyrants do our Story's Tax,  
That flew first by Delays, then by the Axe,  
But these (Tiberius like) alone do cry,  
'Tis to be Reconciled to let Thee die.  
Observe we then a while into what Maze,  
Compass, and Circle they contrive Delays,  
What Turns and wild Perplexities they choose,  
Ere they can forge their Slander, and Accuse:  
The Sun hath now brought his warm Chariot back,  
And road his Progress round the Zodiac,  
When yet no Crime appears, when none can tell,  
Where thy Gild sleeps, nor when 'twill break the shell.  
Why is His Shame deferred? what's in't that brings  
Your Justice back, spoils Vengeance of her Wings?  
Hath Mercy seized you? will you rage no more?  
Are Winds grown tame? have Seas forgot to roar?  
No, a wild fierceness hath your minds possessed,  
Which time and sins must cherish and digest:  
You durst not now let His clear Blood be spilt,  
You were not yet grown up to such a guilt;  
You try if Age, if Seaventy years can Kill:  
Then y'have your Ends, and you are harmless still,  
But when this failed, you do your Paths enlarge,  
But would not yet whole Innocence discharge;  
You'll not be Devil All, you fain would prove  
Good at a Distance, within some Remove,  
" Virtue hath sweets which are good men's due gain,  
" Which Vice could not Deserve, yet would Retain.  
This was the Cause, why once it was your Care,  
That Storms and Tempests in your Sin might share,  
You did engage the Waves, and strongly stood  
To make the Water guilty of his Blood.  
Boats are dispatched in haste, and 'tis his doom,  
Not to his Charge, but to his Shipwreck come;  
Fond men, your cruel Project cannot do,  
Tempests and storms must learn to kill from you;  
When this comes short, he must Walk● Pilgrimage,  
No Coach nor Mule, that may sustain his Age,  
Must trace the City (now a Desert rude)  
And combat savage Beasts the Multitude.  
But when his Guardian Innocence can fling,  
Awe round about, and save him by that King.  
When the Just cause can fright the Beasts away,  
And make the Tiger tremble at her prey.  
When nether Waves dare seize him, nor the Rout;  
The storm with Reason, nor the storm without:  
Lost in their straits when Plots have vanquished been,  
And Sin perplexed hath no Relief, but Sin.  
Agents and Instruments now on you fall,  
You must be Judges, People, Waves, and All.  
Yet 'cause the Rout will have't performed by you,  
And long to see done what they dare not Do.  
You put the Crime to use, it swells your Heap;  
Your Sin's your own, nor are you Guilty cheap,  
You Husband All; there's no Appearance lost,  
Nor comes he once to th' Bar but at your cost;  
A constant Rate well Taxed, and Levied right,  
And a Just value set upon each sight.  
At last they find the Days by their own Purse,  
Less known from him than what they do disburse:  
But when it now strikes high for him t' appear,  
And Chapmen see the Bargain is grown dear;  
They Muster hands, and their hot suits enlarge,  
Not to pursue the Man, but save the Charge;  
Then lest you lose their Custom, (a just fear)  
Selling your Sins and others Blood too dear.  
You grant their Suits, the Manner, and the Time,  
And he must Die for what no Law calls Crime.  
Th' Afflicted Martyrs, when their pains began.  
Their Trajan had, or Dioclesian.  
Their Tortures were some Colours, and proceed;  
Though from no Gild, yet 'cause they disagreed:  
What league, what friendship's there? They could not join,  
And fix the Ark and Dagon in one Shrine.  
Faith, combats Faith; and how agree can they,  
That still go on, but still a several way?  
Zeal, Martyr's Zeal, and Heat 'gainst Heat conspires.  
As Theban Brothers fight though in their Fires.  
Yet as two different Stars unite their Beams,  
And Rivers mingles Waves and mix their Streams;  
And though they challenge each a several Name,  
Conspire because their moisture is the same.  
So Parties knit, though they be divers known,  
The Men are many but the Christian, one.  
Trajan, no Trajan was to his own Herd,  
And Tigers are not by the Tigers feared.  
What strange excess then? what's that menstruous Power,  
When Flames do Flames, and Streams do Streams devour?  
Where the same Faith ' 'gainst the same Faith doth knock,  
And Sheep are Wolves to Sheep of the same Flock?  
Where Protestant the Protestant defies,  
Where both Assent, yet one for Dissent dies?  
Let these that doubt this, through his Actions Wade,  
Where some must needs Convince, All may persuade.  
Was he Apostate, who your Champion stood,  
Bathed in his Ink before, as now in Blood?  
He that unwinds the subtle Jesuit,  
That Feels the Serpent's Teeth, and is not bit?  
Unites the Snake finds each Mysterious knot,  
And turns the Poison into Antidote.  
Doth Nicety with Nicety undo?  
And makes the Labyrinth the Labyrinth's clew?  
That sleight by sleight subdues, and clearly proves,  
Truth hath her Serpents too, as well as Doves.  
Now, you that blast his Innocence, Survey,  
And view the Triumph of this Glorious day;  
Could you (if that might be) if you should come  
To seal God's cause with your own Martyrdom,  
(Could all the blood whose Tides move in their veins,  
Which then perhaps were Blood, but now in stains)  
(Yield it that Force and strength, which it hath took  
Should we except his Blood) from this his Book,  
Your Flame or Axe would less evince to Men,  
Your Block and Stake would prop less than his Pea;  
Is he Apostate, whom the Baits of Rome  
Cannot seduce, though all her Glories come?  
Whom all her specious Honours cannot hold,  
Who hates the snare although the Hook be Gold?  
Who Prostituted Titles can despise,  
And from despised Titles, greater Rise?  
Whom Names cannot Amuse, but seats withal  
The Protestant above the Cardinal?  
Who sure to his own Soul, doth scorn to find  
A Crimson cap the Purchase of his Mind?  
" Who is not Great, may blame his Fate's Offence,  
" Who would not be, is Great in's Conscience.  
Next these His Sweat and Care how to advance  
The Church but to Her Just Inheritance,  
How to gain back her Own, yet none Beguile,  
And make her Wealth her Purchase, nor her spoil:  
Then, shape God's worship to a joint consent;  
Till when the seamlesse Coat must still be Rend:  
Then, to repair the Shrines, as Breaches sprung,  
Which we should hear, could we lend Paul's a Tongue,  
Speak, Speak great Monument! while thou yet art such,  
And Rear him 'bove their Scandals and their Touch;  
Had he survived thou might'st in Time Declare,  
Vast things may comely be, and Greatest Fair.  
And though thy Limbs spread high, and Bulk exceed,  
Thou'dst proved that Giants are no monstrous breed:  
Then 'bove Extent thy Lustre would prevail,  
And 'gainst Dimension Feature turn the Scale;  
But now, like Pyrrah's half adopted birth.  
Where th'issue part was Woman, Part was Earth,  
Where Female some, and some to stone was Bend,  
And the one half was tother's Monument,  
Thou must imperfect lie, and learn to Groan,  
Now for his Ruin, straightway for thine own:  
But this and Thousand such Abortives are;  
By Bloody Rebels Ravished from his care;  
But yet though some miscarried in their Womb,  
And Deeds Stillborn have hastened to the Tomb,  
God (that Rewards him now) forbade his store,  
Should all lie hid, and he but give i'th' Ore.  
Many are Stamped, and shaped, and do still shine,  
Approved at Mint, a firm, and Perfect Coin.  
Witness that Mart of Books that yonder stands.  
Bestowed by him, though by another's Hands:  
Those Attic Manuscripts, so rare a Piece,  
They tell the Turk, he hath not conquered Greece,  
Next these, a second beauteous Heap is thrown,  
Of Eastern Authors, who were all his own.  
Who in so Various Languages appear,  
Babel, would scarce be their Interpreter.  
To These, we may that Fair-built College bring,  
Which proves that Learning's no such Rustic thing;  
Whose structure well contrived doth not relate  
To Antic fineness, but strong lasting state:  
Beauty well mixed with strength, that it complyes  
Most with the Gazer's use, much with his Eyes,  
On Marble Columns thus the Arts have stood,  
As wise Seth's Pillars sa●'d 'em in the Flood.  
But did he leave here Walls, and only Own  
A Glorious Heap, and make us rich in Stone?  
Then had our Chanc'lour seemed to fail, and here  
Much honour due to the Artificer:  
But this our Prudent Patron long foresaw,  
When he Refined rude Statutes into Law;  
Our Arts and Manners to his Building falls,  
And he erects the Men, as well as Walls:  
" Thus Solon's Laws his Athens did Renown,  
" And turned that throng of Building to a Town.  
Yet neither Law nor Statute can be known  
So strict, as to Himself he made his own,  
Which in his Actions Inventory lies,  
Which Hell or— can never scandalise:  
Where every Act his rigid eye surveys,  
And Night is Bar and Judge to all his Days;  
Where all his secret Thoughts he doth comprise,  
And every Dream summoned to an Assize;  
Where he Arraigns each Circumstance of care,  
Which never parts dismissed without a Prayer;  
See! how he sifts and searches every part,  
And ransacks all the Closets of his heart;  
He puts the hours upon the Rack and Wheel,  
And all his minutes must confess or feel:  
If they reveal one Act which forth did come.  
When Humane frailty crept into the Loom,  
If one Thread stain, or sully, break, or faint,  
So that the Man does Inteerrupt the Saint,  
He hunts it to its Death, nor quits his fears,  
Till't be Embalmed in Prayers, or drowned in Tears.  
The Sun in all his journeys ne'er did see  
One more devout, nor one more strict than Herald  
Since his Religion than's Unmixed and Fine,  
And Works do warrant Faith, as o'er the Mine:  
What can his Crime be then? Now you must lay  
The Kingdom's Laws subverted in his way:  
See! no such Crime doth o'er his Conscience grow,  
(Without which Witness ne'er can make it so;)  
A clear Transparent White, bedecks his mind,  
Where nought but Innocence can shelter find,  
Witness that Breath which did your stain and blot  
Wipe freely out, (though Heaven I fear will not)  
Witness that Calm and Quiet in His Breast,  
Prologue and Preface to his Place of Rest;  
When with the World He could undaunted part,  
And see in Death nor meager Looks; nor Dart:  
When to the Fatal Block His Grey Age goes  
With the same Ease, as when he took Repose.  
" He like old Enoch to His Bliss is gone,  
" 'tis not his Death, but his Translation.   

A Mock Remonstrance referring to the Porter's Petition.  
To Pym King of the Parliamented,  
The Grievances are here presented  
Of Porters, Butchers, Broom-men, Tanners,  
That fain would fight under your Banners;  
Weavers, Dyers, Tinkers, Cobblers,  
And many other such like Joblers,  
As Watermens, and those called Dray-men,  
That have a long time sung Solamen, etc.  
WHereas, Imprimis, first, that is, the Porters,  
The heavy burdens laid on their four Quarters  
Is not complained of here; nor of Us, any,  
Although We have good Causes, and full many,  
As yet unknown; but there's a day will come  
Shall pay for all, We say no more but Mum.  
It is well said by some, You are about  
To give the Church and Government a Rout,  
Let it be so cry We, for it is known,  
To do't, you will want more hands than your own.  
And since you are 
* Their Declaration.  necessitated to  
Raise war, i'faith (Sirrevence) do, do, do;  
'Tis fit that Old things should grow out of date,  
Like Hampden's Sister, or that Beldame Kate.  
Old things in course do commonly decay,  
When New perhaps may last full many a day;  
Old Frocks, old Shirts, old Brooms, old Boots, old Skins  
Are much addicted to the Venial sins  
Of wearing out; and why not then the Church,  
That has left many a simple man i'th' lurch.  
Beside, the Porters so the Surplice hate,  
Their very Frocks they have cashiered of late;  
And rather than endure 'em, you may see,  
They wear the Rope, the Hangman's Livery.  
The Butchers too, inspired are at least,  
And know the very Entrails of the Beast  
That wears those 
* Surplices.  Smocks, and though they love a Whore,  
A Babilonish one they do abhor.  
In fine, in this great work of Reformation,  
Which you intent shall stigmatize the Nation,  
We pray to be Fellow-labourers, and  
That you our Virtue's right may understand,  
Know that the Porters shall for Eighteen-pences  
Carry the dregs of Rome in Bottles hence  
To any Foreign part you'll think upon,  
And bring the Juice of the Turks Koran  
In lieu of it; the Butcher killed in Slaughter  
Shall send Gods, and the Laws Disciples after:  
There shall not a Religious Relic be  
Left in the Church, or in the Library,  
But shall be swept away by the Nice hand  
Oth' Broom-mens' Art, who nothing understand  
More than Kent-street; If any them deride,  
The Tanners come, and then beware their Hide;  
And for the Weavers, they can preach, or pray,  
As is well known to the Lords, Brooks and Say.  
The Dyers they delight you know in Scarlet,  
And care no more for Blood, than any Varlet;  
Like Archers good they will come on so pouring,  
That who escapes them will escape a scouring.  
The Tinkers they can both make Holes, and mend 'em  
In Church or State; if you will but befriend 'em  
With Mettle; They care not for God or Devil;  
A Pack of sturdy Rogues inur'd to Evil.  
The Cobbler vows, and that you'll say is News,  
To venture All, what over Boots, o'er Shoes?  
And likewise undertakes at a Cheap rate  
The Government, though Crabbed, to Translate.  
The Watermens more fly than any Otters,  
Knowing 'tis good fishing in troubled Waters,  
If any do Oppose them, though their Betters,  
They will betake themselves unto their Stretchers,  
And so belabour 'em in Church and Cloisters,  
Their Bones shall rattle, like a Sack of Oysters,  
In their thin Skins. The Dray-men likewise shall  
With Crusted Fists, fling 'em and fling 'em all.  
Thus in Our several Functions We can serve ye,  
Men fit for your Employment, pray observe ye;  
And therefore list Us, where your best defence is,  
In th' Yellow Regiment of's Oxcellencies:  
So taking leave, resting at your Commands,  
We do subscribe either Our Horns, or Hands,   

The Caution. A SONG.  
To the Tune of Oh Women, Monstrous Women.  

YOu Sep'ratists that Sequister  
Yourselves from Laws are good,  
Your Courses so irregular  
Shall now be understood;  
Your fond Expounding corrupts the Bibble,  
Yet you'll maintain it with your Twibble.  
Oh Roundheads, Roundheads, damnable Roundheads,  
What do you mean to do?   

He that does swear, though to a Truth,  
You count him far worse than a Liar,  
Yet you will firk your Sister Ruth,  
So it may edify her;  
You, like the Devil, abhor a Cross,  
But I'll have as good Reason from Pyms Stone-horse.  
Oh Roundheads, Roundheads, damnable Roundheads,  
What do you mean to do?   

Our Church's Hierarchy you hold  
Within a foul Suspicion;  
And say the Prelate's Sleeves are old  
Relics of Superstition;  
The very Rags of Rome they are  
Such as the Whores of Babylon wear.  
Oh Roundheads, Roundheads, damnable Roundheads,  
What do you mean to do?   

Therefore in Zeal and Piety,  
You'll die their Lawn in blood,  
And root out their Society,  
A work you think is good;  
The Malice is, some of your Ears  
Were cropped far shorter than your hairs.  
Oh Roundheads, Roundheads, damnable Roundheads,  
What do you mean to do?   

When you the Mitre have pulled down,  
You'll be hanged before contented,  
Your next Pluck must be at the Crown,  
A Plot long since invented:  
But Grigge swears Tyburn shall have her due,  
he'll be hanged himself, if he hang not you.  
Oh Roundheads, Roundheads, damnable Roundheads,  
What do you mean to do?   

The Cobblers were astonished,  
The Porters eke, also;  
To hear the Noise that echoed  
From your vast Tub below:  
But let him be hanged will never mend,  
The Cobbler thinks upon his end.  
But you to whom my Lines do tend  
Have a care of what you do.    

Lily contemned. A SONG.  

WHy art thou sad? Our Glasses flow  
Like little Rivers to the Main;  
And ne'er a Man here has a Shrew,  
What needest thou then complain?  
Then Boys mind your Glass,  
And let all News pass  
That treats not of this our Canary,  
Let Lawyers fear their Fate,  
In the turn of the State,  
We suffer if this do miscarry,  
Chor. 'Tis this will preserve us 'gainst Lilies predictions,  
And make us contemn our Fate and his Fictions.   

'Tis this that sets the City Ruff;  
And lyne● the Aldermen with Fur;  
It makes the Watchmen stiff and tough  
To call, where go you Sir?  
'Tis this doth advance  
The Cap of Maintenance,  
And keeps the Sword sleeping or waking;  
It Courage doth raise  
In such Men now adays,  
That heretofore cried at Head-aching,  
Chor. 'Tis this doth infuse in a Miser some pity,  
And is the Genius, and Soul of the City.   

Then why should we despair, or think  
The Enemy approacheth near?  
Let such as never used to drink  
Sack, be enslaved to Fear.  
Then to get Honour,  
And that waits on her,  
Strange Titles, Illustrious and Mighty.  
we'll have a smart Bout  
Shall speak us Men and stout,  
And I'll be the first that shall fight ye.  
Chor. He that stiffly can stand to't, and hath the best Brain;  
Shall be styled Son of Mars, and God of the Main.    

A Monster to be seen at Westminster. 1642.  
WIthin this House is to be seen  
Such a Monster as hath not been  
At any time in England, nay  
In Europe, afric, Asia.  
'Tis a Round body, without a Head  
Almost three years, yet not dead.  
'Tis like that Beast I once did see,  
Whose Tail stood where his Head should be;  
And, which was never seen before,  
Though't want a Head, 'thas Horns good store,  
It has very little hair, and yet  
You'll say it has more hair than wit,  
'Thas many Eyes and many Ears,  
'Thas many Jealousies and ●ears,  
'Thas many Mouths, and many Hands,  
'Tis full of Questions and Commands.  
'Tis armed with Muskets, Pikes, it fears  
Naught in the World but Cavaliers;  
'Twas born in England, but begot  
Betwixt the English and the Scot  
Though some are of Opinion Father  
That the Devil was its Father,  
And the City, which is worse,  
Was its Mother, and its Nurse.  
Some say (though perhaps in scorn)  
That it was a Cretan born,  
And not unlike, for't has the fashion  
Just as may be of that Nation;  
For 'tis a Liar, none o'th' least;  
A slow Belly, an Evil beast;  
Of what Religion none can tell,  
It much resembles that in Hell.  
Some say it is a Jew disguised,  
And why, because 'tis circumcised;  
For 'twas deprived long ago  
Of many a Member we well know.  
In some points 'tis a Jesuited Priest,  
In some it is a Calvinist:  
For 'tis not Justified, it saith  
By Good works, but by Public Faith.  
Some call't an Anabaptist: Some  
Think now that Antichrist is come.  
A Creature of an uncouth kind,  
Both for its Body, and its mind:  
Make haste and see't, else 'twill be gone,  
For now 'tis sick, and drawing on.   

London sad London. AN ECHO.  
WHat wants thee, that thou art in this sad taking?  
A King  
What made him first remove hence his residing?  
syding.  
Did any here deny him satisfaction?  
Faction.  
Tell me whereon this strength of Faction lies?  
On lies.  
What didst thou do when the King left Parliament?  
Lament.  
What terms wouldst give to gain his Company?  
Any.  
But how wouldst serve him, with thy best endeavour?  
Ever.  
What wouldst thou do if here thou couldst behold him?  
Hold him.  
But if he comes not what becomes of London?  
Undone.   

Upon bringing in the Plate.  

ALL you that would no longer  
To a Monarch be subjected,  
Come away to Guildhall, and be there liberal,  
Your Wish shall be there effected.  
Come come away, bring your Gold, bring your Jewels,  
Your silver Shaped, or Molten,  
If the King you'll have down, and advance to the Crown  
Five Members and K—   

Regard no Proclamations,  
They're Subjects fit to Jest on,  
Henry Elsings far better than C. R.  
Resolved upon the Question.  
Come come away, etc.   

You Aldermen first send in  
Your Chains upon these Summons,  
To buy Ropes ends, for all the King's Friends,  
They're Traitors to the Commons▪  
Come, come away, etc.   

Your Basins large, and Ewers,  
Unto this use allot them,  
If ere you mean your hands to clean  
From th'Sins by which you got them.  
Come, come away, etc.   

Bring in your Cans and Goblets,  
You Citizens confiding,  
And think it no scorn, to drink in a Horn  
Of your own Wives providing.  
Come, come away, etc.   

Ye brethren strong and lusty,  
The Sister's Exercise ye,  
Get Babes of Grace, and Spoons apace,  
Both Houses do advise ye.  
Come, come away, etc.   

Let the Religious Sempstress  
Her silver Thimble bring here,  
'Twill be a fine thing in deposing a King,  
To say you had a Finger.  
Come, come away, etc.   

Your child's redeemed Whistle  
May here obtain Admittance,  
Nor shall that Cost, be utterly lost,  
They'll give you an Acquittance.  
Come, come away, etc.   

The Gold and Silver Bodkin,  
The Parliament wooed ha' both,  
Which oft doth make, the House to take  
A Journey on the Sabbath.  
Come, come away, etc.   

You that have store of Money  
Bring't hither, and be thrifty,  
If th' Parliament thrive, they'll so contrive  
You shall have back Four for Fifty.  
Come, come away, etc.   

If when the councel's ended,  
Your Plate you will recover,  
Be sure you may the chief Head that day  
On the Bridge or Tower discover.  
Come, come away, etc.    

The Prentices Petition to the Close Committee.  
TO you close Members, we the Young men come  
(If Justice in this house has any Room?)  
With a Petition, but it is for peace;  
If you are vexed, pray let all Quarrels cease;  
First, for Religion.) If't be no offence,  
Nor hinder things of greater Consequence)  
We hope you do suppose there's some such thing,  
'Cause 'thas been often mentioned by the King.  
we'd have't established, and do hold it fit  
That no Lay-Levites aught to meddle with't.  
Next, that in spite of Treason, we may have  
A happy peace, but that we need not crave,  
For when our bodkins cease 'twil be your pleasure  
That arms may cease, not wanting will, but treasure;  
Else you'll but put the King to farther trouble,  
To beat you to't, and make you Subjects double.  
We know y'are powerful, and can wonders do  
Both by your Votes and Ordinances too;  
In case all those Murdered Innocent men  
May by your Votes be made alive again,  
Then your admiring Spirits shall persuade us  
That neither War nor Famine can invade us:  
Till then you'll give us leave to trust our Eyes,  
And from our sad Experience, now grow wise:  
Let not the colonel's gaping son o'th' City  
Be made the Mouth unto this close committee;  
Whose gaudy Troop, because they're boys, he boasts  
They are the Children of the Lord of Hosts;  
And knows no reason, (for indeed 'tis ' scant)  
Why States are not like Churches Militant.  
Next, that Truth, Wisdom, Justice, Loyalty,  
And Law, five Members of our Faculty  
(Who not by the King; but you, have been so long  
By Votes Expelled from your Rebellious throng)  
May be restored; and in spite of Pym  
Be heard to speak their mind as well as him.  
Which if not granted, we do tell you this,  
Your Lord (whose head's in a Parenthesis)  
Shall not secure you, but we shall untie  
That twisted Rabble of the Hierarchy,  
Clubs are good payments, and'mongst other things  
Know we are as many Thousands as you Kings.  
In the Interim pray tell your fore-horse Pym,  
Just as he loves the King, so we love him.   

London's Farewell to the Parliament.  

FArewell to the Parliament, with hay, with hay,  
Farewell to the Parliament, with ho,  
Your dear delight the City,  
Our wants have made us witty,  
And a— for the Close Committee,  
With a hay trolly, lolly, lo.   

Farewell the Lord of Essex, with hay, with hay,  
Farewell the Lord of Essex, with ho,  
He sleeps till eleven,  
And leaves the Cause at six and seven,  
But 'tis no matter, their hope's in Heaven,  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo.   

Farewell the Lord Wharton, with hay, with hay,  
Farewell the Lord Wharton, with ho,  
The Saw-pit did hide him,  
Whilst Hastings did outride him,  
Then came Brooks and he out-lyed him,  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo.   

Farewell Billy Stroud, with hay, with hay,  
Farewell Billy Stroud, with ho,  
He swore all wharton's lies were true,  
And it concerned him so to do,  
For he was in the Saw-pit too,  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo.   

Farewell the Lord Brooks, with hay, with hay,  
Farewell the Lord Brooks, with ho,  
He said (but first he had got a Rattle)  
That but one hundred fell in the Battle,  
Besides Dogs, Whores, and such Parliament Cattle,  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo.   

Farewell Say and Seal, with hay, with hay,  
Farewell Say and Seal, with ho,  
May these Valiant Sons of Ammon,  
All be Hanged as high as Haman,  
With the old Anabaptist they came on,  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo.   

Farewell K— with hay, with hay,  
Farewell K— with ho,  
Thy Father writ a Godly Book,  
Yet all was fish that came to the hook,  
Sure he is damned though but for his look.  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo.   

Farewell K— with hay, with hay,  
Farewell K— with ho,  
Thy House had been confounded,  
In vain he had compounded,  
If he had not got a Round-head,  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo.   

Farewell D— H— with hay, with hay,  
Farewell D— H— with ho  
'twas his Ambition, or his need,  
Not his Religion did the deed,  
But his Widow hath tamed him of the speed.  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo.   

Farewell John Hampden, with hay, with hay,  
Farewell John Hampden with ho,  
he's a sly and subtle Fox,  
Well read in Buchanan and Knox,  
And he's gone down to goad the Ox,  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo.   

Farewell John Pym, with hay, with hay,  
Farewell John Pym with ho,  
He would have had a place in Court,  
And he ventured all his party for't,  
But bribing proves his best support.  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo.   

Farewell John Pym with hay, with hay,  
Farewell John Pym with ho,  
For all the feigned disaster  
Of the Tailor and the Plaster,  
Thou shalt not be our Master,  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo,   

Farewell Major Skippon, with hay, with hay  
Farewell Major Skippon with ho,  
Ye have ordered him to kill and slay,  
To rescue him and run away,  
Provide you vote fair weather, and pay,  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo.   

Farewell our Worthies all, with hay, with hay,  
Farewell our Worthies all with ho,  
For they instead of dying,  
Maintain the truth by lying,  
And get victories by flying,  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo.   

Farewell our Scotch Brethren, with hay, with hay,  
Farewell our Scotch Brethren, with ho.  
They March but to the border,  
But will be brought no farther,  
For neither Ordinance nor Order,  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo.   

Farewell my little Levites, with hay, with hay,  
Farewell my little Levites, with ho,  
Though you seem to fear him,  
Yet you can scarce forbear him,  
And when you thank him, you but jeer him,  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo.   

Farewell fears and jealousies, with hay, with hay,  
Farewell fears and jealousies, with ho,  
Which, with lying Declarations,  
Tumults, traitors, and protestations,  
Have been the ruin of two Nations,  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo.   

Farewell little Isaac, with hay, with hay,  
Farewell little Isaac, with ho,  
Thou hast made us all, like Asses,  
Part with our Plate, and drink in Glasses,  
Whilst thou growst rich with 2 s. Passes,  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo.   

Farewell Plate and Money, with hay, with hay,  
Farewell Plate and Money, with ho,  
'Tis going down by water,  
Or something near the matter,  
And a Public Faith's going after,  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo.   

Farewell Members five, with hay, with hay,  
Farewell Members five, with ho,  
Next Petition we deliver,  
Sends you packing down the River,  
And the Devil be your driver,  
With hay trolly, lolly, lo.    

A SONG.  

NEw- England is preparing apace,  
To entertain King Pym, with his Grace,  
And Isaac before shall carry the Mace,  
For Roundheads Old Nick stand up now.   

No Surplice nor no Organs there,  
Shall ever offend the Eye, or the Ear,  
But a Spiritual Preach, with a 3. hours' Prayer,  
For Roundheads, etc.   

All things in Zeal shall there be carried,  
Without any Porridge read over the buried,  
No Crossing of Infants, nor Rings for the Married,  
For Roundheads, etc.   

The Swearer there shall punished be still,  
But Drunkenness private be counted no ill,  
Yet both kind of lying as much as you will,  
For Roundheads, etc.   

Blow winds, Hoist sails, and let us be gone,  
But be sure we take all our Plunder a long,  
That Charles may find little when as he doth come,  
For Roundheads Old Nick stand up now.    

Sir John Hotham's Alarm.  

COme Traitors, March on, to the Leader Sir John,  
Though King Charles his Friends disaffect you,  
Do not obey him, but obey Devil Pym,  
And the Parliament will protect you.   

Let us plead that we Fight, for the King and his Right,  
But if he desire for to enter,  
Let us Armed appear, and let us all swear  
Our lives for his sake we will venture.   

But if he give Command, to disarm out of hand,  
As we our Allegiance do tender,  
Let us presently Swear, that Commanded we are  
By the Parliament not to surrender.   

If he desire for to see, what Command that may be,  
We then will resolve him no further,  
But entreat him to stay, while we send Post away,  
He shall have a Copy of the Order.   

But if he Proclaim, me a Traitor by Name,  
And all you that adhere to my Faction,  
What an Honour it will be, when my Country see me,  
Second Pym in a Traitorous Action.   

But when the King sends, to require an amends  
Of the Parliament for such denial;  
Whether Treason or no, the Law shall ne'er know,  
I must be put to your Vote for a Trial.   

And to put it to the Voice, or the Parliaments choice,  
The House being now so empty;  
If there be such a thing, as God or a King,  
We'll carry it by five in the twenty.   

If so please the Fates, as to change our Estates,  
That the King his own Rights doth recover,  
We will turn to their way, and the Town will betray,  
Though a Ladder for our pains we turn over.    

The Public Faith.  
SOme tell of Africa Monsters, which of old,  
Vain Superstition did for Godheads hold,  
How the Egyptians, who first knowledge spread,  
Adored their Apis with the white Bulls head;  
Apis still fed with Serpents that do hiss,  
Hamon, Osiris, Monster Anubis.  
But Sunburnt afric never had, nor hath  
A Monster like our English Public Faith;  
Those fed on Snakes, and satisfied, did rest,  
This, like the Curtain Gulf, will have the best  
Thing in the City, to appease its still  
Increasing hunger, Glutting its lewd will  
With Families, whose substance it devours,  
Perverting Justice and the Higher Powers;  
Contemning without fear of any Law,  
Preying on all to fill its ravenous Maw;  
Whose Ostrich stomach, which no steel can sat,  
Has swallowed down Indies of Gold and Plate:  
This is the Public Faith, which being led  
By th' City's wealth, has in this Kingdom bred  
Such various mischiefs with its viperous breath,  
Blasting its peace and happiness to death;  
And yet this Idol which our world adores,  
Has made men prostitute their truth like Whores,  
To its soul Lust, which surely may as well  
And soon be satisfied, as th' Grave, or Hell;  
This preys on Horses, yet that will not do,  
Unless it may devour the Riders too:  
This takes up all the Riches of the Land,  
Not by entreaty, but unjust Command,  
Borrowing extortively without any day  
But the Greek Calends, than it means to pay;  
This 'gainst the Law of Nations does surprise  
The Goods of Strangers, Kings, & in its wise  
Discretion, thinks (though it's not worth their note)  
They're bound to take the Public Faith's trim Vote  
For their security, when this Public Faith  
Has broke more Merchants than e'er Riot hath,  
And yet, good men o'th' City, you are proud  
To have this Bankrupt Public Faith allowed  
More credit than your King, to this you'll lend  
More willingly than ever you did spend  
Money to buy your Wives and Children bread,  
By such a strange Enchantment being misled  
To your undo; you who upon Bond,  
Nay scarcely upon Mortgage of that Land,  
Treble your Money's value, would not p●rt  
With your loved Coin, vanquished by th' powerful art  
Of this Magician Public Faith, justly install  
Him Master of your Bags, the Devil and all  
That taught you get them by deceitful wares,  
And sucking in (like Morning's draughts) young Heirs:  
Well, certainly if this fine humour hold,  
Your Aldermen will have no other Gold  
But what's in Thumb-rings, for their ponderous Chains,  
They'll be the Public Faiths just lawful gains,  
And have the Honour afterwards to be  
Hanged in them for its Public Treachery.  
What will become of you then, Grave and Witty  
Inhabitants of this Enchanted City?  
Who is't shall those vast Sums to you re-pay,  
When Master Public Faith is run away?  
O● who shall those prodigious heaps renew,  
Which were prodigally decreased by you?  
Whom the whole world imagined men of thrift,  
What will your Orphans do? How will they shift,  
Whose whole Estates in th' City Chamber, hath  
Been given a spoil to ruin'd Public Faith?  
Perhaps you'll pawn your Charter to supply  
The worthy wants of your Necessity.  
Who is 't will take't, when all (but men misled  
Like you) know 'tis already forfeited?  
Who is't will then into New Coin translate  
Such monstrous Cupboards of huge antic Plate?  
To Public Faiths vast Treasury bring in,  
From the Gilt Goblet, to the Silver Pin,  
All that was Coinable, and what to do?  
Even to create you Knaves, and Traitors too.  
Faith if you chance to come off with your Lives,  
Your way will be to live upon your Wives,  
Their Trading will be good, when Fortune wears  
Your Colours in the Caps of th' Cavaliers,  
Whose Cuckolds you'll be then, & on your brow,  
Wear their Horns, as you Faith's do now;  
Then, than you'll howl, when you shall clearly see  
That Public Faith, was Public Treachery:  
Then you'll confess yourselves to have been undone  
By Public Faith's man, Isaac Pennington;  
Then you'll repent that ever you did fling  
Such monstrous Sums away against your King;  
When he in Triumph, with his Warlike Train,  
Shall to your terror view your Town again;  
Unless his Mercy mitigate his wrath,  
Justly conceived 'gainst you and Public Faith;  
That Reverend Alderman which did defile  
His Breeches at the Mustering ere while.  
Shall then again those Velvet Slops bewray,  
Cause Public Faith did make him go astray:  
Paul's shall be opened then, and you conspire  
No more against the Organs in the Choir,  
Nor threat the Saints i'th' Windows, nor repair  
In Troops to kill the Book of Common-Prayer;  
Nor drunk with Zeal, endeavour to engross  
To your own use, the stones of Cheapside Cross:  
Then, than you'll bow your heads, your horns and all,  
That so exalted were to save from thrall  
Your ruin'd Liberties, and humbly pray  
For Mercy, more than upon each Fast-day;  
When your Seditious Preachers to the throng,  
Make Prayers Ex Tempore of five hours long;  
Lest you by early penitence prevent  
Your certain danger, if not punishment,  
Which you by no means may so safely do,  
As quitting Public Faith, and Treason too:  
Then, then, though late, you to your grief will find,  
That you have walked (as Moles i'th' Earth do.)  
Of your fair reason, and obedient light,  
Involved in Mists of black Rebellious Night: blind  
If these Instructions will not make you see  
Your Error, may you perish in't for me,  
And to your Ruin walk in deathful path,  
That leads toth' Gallows with the Public Faith.   

The Sense of the House, or the Reason why those Members who are the Remnant of the two Families of Parliament cannot consent to Peace, or an Acccommodation.  
To the Tune of The New-England Psalm, Huggle Duggle, ho ho ho the Devil he laughed aloud.  

COme come beloved Londoners, fie fie you shame us all,  
Your rising up for Peace, will make the close committee fall;  
I wonder you dare ask for that, which they must needs deny,  
There's 30. swears they'll have no Peace, and bid me tell you why.   

First I'll no Peace quoth Essex, my Chaplain says 'tis Sin  
To lose 100 l. a day, just when my Wife lies in;  
They cry God bless your Excellence, but if I lose my Place  
They'll call me Rebel, Popular Ass, and Cuckold to my face.   

You Citizen Fools, quoth W— d' ye talk to to me of Peace,  
Who not only stole his Majesty's Ships, but robbed him of his Seas,  
No no I'll keep the Water still, and have my Ships well man'd,  
For I have lost and stole so much, I know not where to land.   

Do Brother do, says H— for Peace breeds us no quiet,  
Besides my Places to have lost, with sixteen Dishes diet,  
I played the Judas with the King, which makes the World detest me,  
Nay should his Majesty pardon me, 500 would arrest me.   

K— said, these Londoners deserve to lose their Ears.  
For now they'll all obey the King, like Citizen Cavaliers;  
Let's vote this Peace a desperate Plot, and send them a denial,  
For if they save the Kingdom, they'll give us a Legal trial.   

The Welsh-men rage quoth S— and call me villainous Goat  
For plundering Hereford's Alderman's Gowns to make my Bess a Coat,  
'Tis true the Town did feed me well, for which I took good Fleeces,  
But if Peace come they'll tear me and all my Whores in piece.   

Fight fight quoth Say, now now hold up these Jealousies and Fears,  
The work will show I laid the Plot above these 17. years;  
'Tis I that am your Engineer', but if for Peace you vote,  
Oh then they'll make me go to Church, or else they'll cut my Throat.   

My Father Goodwin quoth W— calls me a silly Lad,  
And wonders they'll ask Peace of me who have been lately mad;  
You choose me Irish General, and I choose to stay here,  
For should we fight among the Bogs, there's never a Saw-pit near.   

Those Heathen Prentices quoth Brooks, that made my Coachman stay,  
Bid me be bare, although I spoke but 13. Bulls that day,  
But if Peace lop off my learned Skull, than all my House you'll see  
The Sword of Guy, the Dun-cows rib, the Ass' tooth, and me.   

I made a Speech quoth R— when his Excellence first began,  
For which he swore by a Pottle of Sack to make me a Gentleman:  
But if the King get to Whitehall then all my hopes are past,  
My Father was first Lord of the House, and I shall be the last.   

Keep Silence, quoth Mr. Speaker, but do not hold your peace,  
Let's sit, and vote, and hold them too't, for I'll do what you please;  
I have had but poor 6000 l. besides some Spoons and Bowls,  
Nay, grant a Peace, and how shall I be Master of the Rolls?   

Then spoke 5. Members all at once; who for an Army cried,  
Last year, quoth they, you rescued us else we had all been tried:  
What though you be almost undone, you must contribute still,  
Or we'll convey, our Trunks away, and then do what you will.   

My Venom swells, quoth H— that his Majesty full well knows,  
And I, quoth Hampden, fetched the Scots, from whence this Mischief flows.  
I am an Ass quoth Haslerig, but yet I'm deep i'th' Plot,  
And I, quoth Stroud, can lie as fast, as Mr. Pym can trot.   

But I, quoth Pym, your Hackney am, and all your drudgery do,  
Have made good Speeches for myself, and Privileges for you:  
I can sit down and look on men, whilst others bleed and fight,  
I eat their Lordship's meat by day, and give't their Wives by night.   

Then Vane grew black i'th' face, and swore there's none so deep as I,  
The Staff and Signet slipped my hand, my Son can tell you why,  
The name of Peace they say 'tis sweet, but oh it makes me shrink,  
strafford's Ghost doth haunt me so, I cannot sleep a wink.   

Were Strafford living, Mildmay said, he would do me no ill,  
I hid myself ith ' Privy, when the House did pass his Bill:  
But all my Gold and Silver thread Gregory calls his own,  
Though in a Ship I made my will, I was not born to drown.   

You found me, quoth Sir R— P— I had been long a Knave;  
You promised I should be so still, if you my Vote might have.  
And I, quoth Laurence Whittaker, agreed to do so too,  
But if you serve old Courtiers thus, they'll do as much for you.   

This Peace, quoth Michael Oldsworth, will bring me never a Fee,  
Although my Lord have sworn for Peace, and will not follow me.  
Down, down with Bishops, Wheeler said, for I have robbed the Church▪  
Oh base, will you conclude a Peace, and leave me in the lurch.   

Who speaks of Peace quoth Ludlow, hath neither Sense nor Reason,  
For I ne'er spoke i'th' House but once, and then I spoke High Treason,  
Your meaning was as bad as mine, you must defend my Speech,  
Or else you make my mouth as foul as was my Father's breech.   

I'll plunder Him, quoth Baynton, that mentions Peace to Me,  
The Bishop would not grant my Lease, but now I'll have his Fee.  
A Gunpowder Monopoly quoth Evelyn raised my Father,  
But if you let this War go down, they'll call me Powder Traitor.   

Oh Jove, quoth Sir John Hotham, is this a time to treat?  
When Newcastle and Cumberland me to the Walls have beat?  
You base-obedient Citizens d' ye think to save your Lives?  
My Son and I will serve you all as I have served Five Wives.   

Indeed, quoth Sir Hugh Cholmley, Sir John you speak most true,  
For I have sold, and mortgaged, most of my Land to you;  
My Brother would have served the King, but was forbid to stay;  
The King fore saw at Keynton-field, Sir Harry would run away.   

I went down, quoth Sir Ralph Stapleton, with Musket, Pike and Drum,  
To fetch Sir Francis Wortley up, but truly he'd not come.  
Oh Lord, Sir Robert Harlow said, how do our Foes increase?  
I wonder who the Devil it was that first invented Peace.   

Treason, Treason, Treason, Sir Walter Earl cries out,  
Worse than blowing up the Thames, the Dagger, or the Clout.  
Hang me, quoth Miles Corbet then, for we are all confounded,  
And Cavaliers will Cuckold me, as well as did the Roundhead.   

Quoth Sir John Wray, Mr. Speaker? I'll end this matter strait,  
For this which is my Ninth Speech, I'm sure is none of my Eight;  
I tried it at my Table's end, my Neighbours know 'tis right,  
But Peace will make me speak less wit, and then farewell your Knight.   

A-vengeance, quoth Harry Martin then, I'll ha' no Accommodation,  
For it was I, that bravely tore his Majesty's Proclamation;  
Ith' House I spoke High Treason, I have sold both Land and Lease;  
I shall not then keep but 3. Whores, Apox upon your Peace.   

You see beloved Londoners, your Peace is out of season,  
For which you have the sense of the House, and every Members reason:  
Oh do not stand for Peace then, for trust me if you do,  
Each County in the Kingdom will rise and do so too.    

Essex Petition to the Best of Princes.  
Sir,  

THat All-Majesty (from whom you take  
Your Heaven-Anointed Sceptre) for whose sake  
You drink the Dregs of Bitterness, which turns  
Your Crown of Glory, to a Crown of Thorns;  
Viewed sinful Sodom, Sodom that offended  
Even him, as we do you, that vilely blended  
His gracious Promises, did wrest his Powers,  
And violate his Laws, as we do yours;  
Yet urged by him whose Zeal brooked no denial,  
Would have saved all, if ten were found but loyal.  
Great Prince, to whom the Breath of Heaven hath read  
The Principles of Mercy, in whose stead  
You sit as God to punish, or to spare,  
Whose equal Hand can ruin, or repair  
Our staggering Fortunes▪ Pity, and behold  
Rebellious Essex! People now grown old  
In Disobedience, who deservedly stand  
Like Calves, expecting Death from your Just hand.  
'Twas we that bleated first Rebellion out,  
Who being Pulpit-led, not apt to doubt  
Our Lecturing Zealots, and but green in reason,  
Were made too wise, and frighted into Treason:  
We are a Cock-brained Multitude, a Rabble  
Of all Religions, and we daily squabble  
About vain shades, and let the substance pass,  
Hating good Manners as we hate the Mass;  
Our new discretions every day convince,  
Our old Rebellions, 'gainst so mild a Prince  
Were scarcely fixed, but a fresh Ordinance comes,  
And damns our Conscience into deeper Sums;  
Breaks open our Houses, Rifles all our Stuff,  
Nay more, as if we had not yet enough,  
Plunders our very wits; nay if we do  
Show but a sorry shrug, Malignants too;  
That in so much our people now obeys  
As many Tyrants as the Year hath days:  
But we have ten, ten, ten times multiplied,  
And thousands more to that, which have denied  
To bend their knees to Baal, whereof some lie  
Cloistered in Grates, where they unpitied, cry  
For Superannuated Crusts, and there remain,  
Even taking Gods and Charles his Name in vain:  
Some scorning to be awed by Subjects, fled  
From their dear Wives and Children; led  
Like Thiefs to Gaols, saluted with the Curse  
Of every Dunghill scurf, with dirt and worse,  
Where they are sadly, but yet dearly fed,  
Some aged, some weak, some dying, and some dead:  
For their dear sake (great Charles) they undertake  
Deaths willing martyrdom, for Charles his sake;  
Be gracious to their County, let her know  
That she, a miserable Land, doth owe  
Her sweet Redemption to their Congruous merit,  
And least they'll abjure what now they scarce inherit,  
Let that accustomed Sunshine of your Eye  
every her soil, that she may still outvie  
Her Neighbouring Shires, & let that brand which now  
She wears, be set on th' Epidemic brow;  
And let the Loyal Gentry still be known  
By this firm Mark from the perfidious Clown;  
Let them, like treacherous slaves, be always bound  
To pay Rack-rents, and only Till the ground;  
Let neither them nor their base offspring dare  
To be so rich as buy a Purchase there.   

Dread Sovereign,  
Forgive, Forget, Remember, and Relent,  
Resemble him you so much represent,  
And when pleased Heavens shall set thy Sceptre free,  
Triumph in him, and we'll triumph in thee.    

The Crier.  

O Yes, if any Man or Woman,  
Of what degree soever,  
Lord, Knight, Esquire, Gentleman, or Yeoman,  
Feltmaker, Button-Maker, or Weaver,  
Coachman, Cobbler, or Bricklayer,  
Sheriff, Alderman, or Mayor,  
In City, Town, or Country, hath  
Lost his Religion, or his Faith,  
Let him forth with repair to th' Crier  
Of Westminster, where let him bring  
The Mark of what he doth require,  
And he shall hear on't, if God bless the King.   

O Yes, if any Man or Woman,  
Of what degree soever,  
From the Marquis, to the Yeoman,  
From the Straw-hat to the Beaver,  
From the Landlord, to the Dray-man,  
Whether the Clergy, or the Layman,  
Hath l●st a War-Horse-Armes, or Dragoones,  
That were the Treasure of Buffoons;  
Jewels▪ Money, Pearl, or Plate,  
Cups for Service, or for State;  
Come to the Crier, and you then  
Shall find them he knows where, but God knows when.    

The Cavaliers Prayer.  

GOd bless the King and Queen, the Prince also,  
And all his Loyal Subjects both high and low,  
For Roundheads can pray for themselves we know;  
Which no body can deny.   

The Devil take Pym and all his Peers,  
God bless Prince Rupert and his Cavaliers,  
For if they come hither Pym will stink with fears;  
Which no body can deny.   

God bless Rupert and Maurice withal,  
That gave the Roundheads a great downfall,  
And knocked their Noddles 'gainst Worcester wall;  
Which no body can deny.   

Lawn sleeves and Surplices must go down,  
For why, King Pym doth sway the Crown;  
But all are Bishops that wears a Black Gown;  
Which no body can deny.   

Let the Canons roar, and the Bullets fly,  
King Pym doth swear he'll not come nigh,  
He says, it's a pitiful thing to die;  
Which no body can deny.   

The Horners they are brave Blades,  
I do not know, but it is said  
The stout Earl of Essex is free of that trade;  
Which no body can deny.   

The Baker over Burton cannot domineer,  
For it is most firmly reported here,  
He's as free of the Pillory as ever they were;  
Which no body can deny.   

There is Isaac Pennington both wise and old,  
I do not know, but 'tis for truth told  
That he is turned poor Sexton of Paul's.  
Which no body can deny.   

There is a Lord W— both wise and round,  
He will meet Prince Rupert upon any ground,  
And if that his hands behind him be bound;  
Which few people will deny.    

To whom it concerns.  
COme, come, ye Cock-brained Crew, that can suppose  
No truth, but that which travels through the Nose;  
That looks on Gods Anointed with those Eyes,  
You view your Prentices; ye that can prise  
A Stable with a Church; that can Impeach  
A Grave Devine, and hear an Ostler preach:  
Are ye all mad? has your Fanatic zeal  
Stifled your stock of Senses at a Meal?  
Have ye none left to look upon these Times?  
With Grief, which you and the unpunished Crimes  
Have brought upon this miserable Land?  
Are ye all Bruits? not apt to understand  
The neighbouring stroke of Ruin, till't be past?  
And you become the Sacrifice at last?  
What would you have? can Reformation border  
On Sacrilege? or Truth upon Disorder?  
Can Rifleing, and Religion dwell together?  
Can the way hence be said the next way thither?  
Go, ply your Trades, Mechanics, and begin  
To deal uprightly, and Reform within;  
Correct your prick-eared Servants; and persuade  
Your long loved Armfuls; if you can thus trade  
In Pigs and Poultry: let them cease to smooth  
Your Rumpled Follies, and forbear to soothe  
Your pious Treasons, thus to kick and fling,  
Against the Lords Anointed, and your King.   

By the Author.  
That neither loves for Fashion nor for Fear,  
As far from Roundhead, as from Cavalier.   

To the City.  
DRaw near you factious Citizens; prepare  
To hear from me what hideous Fools you are;  
What lumps of sordid Earth; in which we find  
Not any least Resemblance of a Mind;  
Unless to Baseness and Rebellion bend  
Against the King, to aid the Parliament;  
That Parliament, whose Insolence will undo  
Your City's Wealth, your Lives, and Safety too:  
Are you so stupid, dull, you cannot see  
How your best Virtues now are Treachery?  
Apparent Treason, Murder, and the like:  
How with unhallowed hands your strive to strike  
Him, whom you should your Loyalty afford,  
(Great Charles) the blessed Anointed of the Lord?  
How you do daily contribute, and pay  
Money, your Truths and Honours to betray?  
Big with Phanatique thoughts, and wild desire:  
'Tis you, that blew up the increasing Fire  
Of foul Rebellion, you that only bring  
Armies into the Field against your King;  
For were't not for supportment from your Bags,  
That Great and Highest Court that only brags  
Of your vain folly, long ere this had been  
Punished for their bold Sacrilegious sin,  
Of Actual Treason, there had never come  
Upon this Kingdom such a Martyrdom.  
Arms hanged up as useless, and the State  
Retained his freedom; had you kept your Plate,  
No Keinton-Battails had with Mother's curse,  
Made Childless there the Treason of your Purse;  
The Public Purse o'th' City; which must be  
Esteemed the Cause of Public Misery;  
No Drums had frighted silken Peace from out  
The Neighbouring Countries, nor need you about  
Your City with your guilded Muskets go  
training, not for good Service, but for Show;  
That the whole Town may see your Feathers spread  
Over your Hats, as th' Horns do o'er your Head;  
The Humble Parliament had never dared  
To have prescribed Laws to their King, but spared  
Their Zeal in bringing Innovations, and  
Distractions o'er the beauteous face o'th' Land,  
They would not then have so Supremely brought  
Their Votes, to bring the Kingdom's Peace to nought;  
Nor with so slight a value looked on Him,  
King Charles, and only doted on King Pym;  
Nor for Authentic doctrine, have allowed  
As Law, the Precepts of Ingenuous Stroud;  
Hampden nor Martin had not then looked big  
Upon their King, nor Arthur Haslerigge;  
Nor yet K— on whom we now confer  
The style of Traitorous Earl of M—  
Secured by you, the Patrons of the Cause,  
Condemned his Loyalty, and the Kingdoms Laws;  
Nor misled Essex▪ had not you been, ne'er  
had acted on this Kingdom's Theatre  
So many Tragedy's; nor Warwick sought  
T'engross the Naval Honours, no nor thought  
On any Action so unjust, unmeet,  
As keeping from his Majesty his Fleet;  
'tis you have done all this, y'ave been the Head.  
The very Spring from whence this River spread  
The streams of foul Rebellion; which we know  
At last will drowned you with its overflow;  
You the Arch-Traytors are, you, those that slew  
The Kingdom's happiness, and th' Allegiance due  
Unto his Sacred Majesty; you, you that have  
Betrayed this Nation's Honour to the Grave  
of lasting Obloquy; you that have destroyed  
The smiling wealth of th' City, and made void  
The good Opinion, which the King before  
Had of your Loyalties, and th' Faith you bore  
To th' Royal Stem; which still has to your great  
Advantage made this City their Chief Seat.  
Fond and seditious Fools, d'ye think, ye  
Are wiser than Times numerous Progeny?  
That have Adored your City, when did They  
Your harmless Ancestors, strive to give away  
Their Wealth, and Duty from their Sovereign Lord,  
To make themselves Traitors upon Record?  
When did they their Plate and Coin bring in?  
To be the Cause of their own Ruyning?  
They never used to fright their King, nor draw  
Tumults together, to affront the Law.  
No, nor good Houses, their Corslets slept, and all  
The Arms they used hung up in each man's Hall.  
They did not then enamelled Muskets carry  
To Train in moorfield's, and in Finsbury:  
But did in Comely Archery excel,  
Like honest grave Children of Adam Bell,  
And Climme o'th' Clough, now each of you will be  
More than a furious Wi●liam Cloudeslee;  
And trace the Streets with terror, as if Venus,  
With Fulk and Mannwaring, were the only Men  
Whom you did owe Allegiance to; as if They  
Could give you privilege to disobey  
The Royal Mandate, which does them proclaim  
Guilty of Treason, and you of the same;  
As deeply stand Impeached, and will at last  
Pay dearly for't, when your vain hopes are past.  
All succours, which you credit for your Merit,  
Will be afforded you, by the help o'th' Spirit,  
That is the Devil; sure the Heavenly Powers,  
Will never Patronise such Acts as yours.  
Poor baffled City! baffled by a Crew  
Of Men, which are as arrant Fools as you;  
Surely your Brains can never be so dull  
As not conceive this, which each empty Skull  
Must needs resent; how that their only Aim  
Is, to create your City all one Flame,  
And as the Smoke and Sparks do up aspire,  
They'll sit and laugh (like Nero) at the Fire  
Themselves have made; unless your Heads be all  
Horns and no Flesh, you needs must see the Fall  
That threatens you, like Lightning: To eschew  
Which Ruin, 'twould be Wisdom to renew  
Your lost Allegiance, and Repentance bring,  
As a fresh Victim, to appease your King;  
For be assured, Who to the King's untrue,  
Must in their Nature needs be false to you.   

The MONSTER.  
PEace, Viper's peace, let Crying blood ne'er cease  
To haunt your bloody Souls, that love not Peace.  
And cursed be that Religion, that shall cry,  
A Reformation with Phlebotomye;  
Your Impious Firebrands, whom the very Tears  
Of Groaning England, buried in their Fears,  
Cannot extinguish; whom the bleeding Veins  
Of desperate Ireland, which even now remains  
A very Golgotha, cannot assuage  
Those Stripes, the earnest of Another Age  
Taste of your savage Piety, and lie  
The Lamb-less Martyrs of your Cruelty;  
Whilst you lie softly emb'red, to increase  
The flames of Christendom, and cry no Peace,  
Let sampson's coupled Messengers convey  
Those Firebrands hence, and let them make their way  
To their own Houses, consume and devaste,  
Burn down their Barns, and lay their Graynards' waste,  
Demolish all within doors, and without,  
Make havoc there, destroy both Branch and Root.  
Let all their Servants flee amazed; and cry,  
Fire, Fire, and let no helping hand be nigh;  
Let their Wiv●s live, but only live t' appear  
Thorns in their Sides, and Thunder in their Ears;  
May all their Sons run mad into the Street,  
And seeking Refuge there, there may they meet  
Th' encountering Sword, and whom it spares to kill,  
May they be Slaves, and labour at the Mill:  
Let all their Daughters beg, and beg in vain;  
Let them be ravished first, and then be slain;  
Let all their Kindred wander up and down,  
Like Vagabond▪ be lashed, from Town, to Town:  
Let baseness be Entitled on their Names,  
Too firm for all recoveries: O let Shames,  
Reproach, and Lasting Infamy, remain  
In deeper Characters than that of Cain;  
Let Caitiff P— and that Bloody Plot,  
Be Sanctified now, or at least forgot;  
And let those Vipers vindicate their Crimes  
In every Almanac to after times;  
Where may there Treason live among their senses,  
More firm than Reigns of either Kings or Princes.  
Thus may these Firebands thrive, and if this Curse  
Succeed not, let it yield unto a worse.  
For them, let them burn still, till Heaven thinks good,  
To Quench them in their Generations Blood;  
So that the World may hear them hiss and cry,  
Who loved not Peace, in Peace shall never die.   

The Earl of Essex his Speech to the Parliament after Keinton Battle.  
HAil to my Brother Roundheads, you that sit  
At home, and study Treason, 'bove my Wit  
Or Valour to maintain; it's you whose hearts  
And brains are stuffed with all Devilish darts  
Of Rapine, and Rebellion; you whose dark  
Religious Villainies, hates the least spark  
Of Justice or Obedience to the King;  
To you, and none but you, true News I bring,  
With all my Fellow Rebels that survive,  
'Mongst whom in faith myself scaped scarce alive:  
For when the Cavaliers, and Popish Scholars  
Charged us so hot, my Coach full of Rex-dollers  
I could have given to have been ten miles off;  
And though the Zealots of our Party scoff,  
And taunt the King's wellwishers, take't from me,  
Happy were all the Roundheads that did flee;  
They scaped a scowering, which through very fear  
Took me and all my Regiment in th' Rear,  
At the first Charge; for that when we should fight,  
We sneaked away▪ and had more mind to—  
For had I dared, to venture my dear life,  
I should have wrought once for the Whore my Wife;  
Yet I dare swear that we had won the day,  
Had not so many fallen and run away:  
And yet for all this Blood that hath been spilt,  
My Sword is guiltless, for fast by the hilt  
I held it in my Scabbard, and still cried,  
Well done, Fight on, unto the Fools that died;  
Whilst I stole towards Warwick, to avoid  
The Field, with the sad Spectacle quite cloyed:  
I lost my Coach, and (which doth make me fret)  
I lost ●lake's Letter in my Cabinet,  
That revealed all our Treason, he good man  
Suffered at Oxford, and unless I can  
Repent, 'tis said, that I must die like him,  
Be Hanged and Quartered, and you Mr. Pym:  
We must be cautious, for the Cavaliers  
Have desperate souls, concerning those base fears  
That brought me back again; besides, the King  
Has a Just Cause you know, and though we bring  
The silly Multitude into the Noose,  
Our own hearts tell us we are like to lose  
Our heads, if Charles prevail; which we must do  
If he proceeds thus, to kill ten for two,  
You must provide new Armour, and more Arms,  
And a new General, that dares hear Alarms  
Of Drums and Trumpets; one that may have sense  
And valour to excel my Excellence.  
The Peevish Women as I passed the Strand,  
Bless me knee deep, and would have kissed my hand,  
As King, whilst I most courteously veiled  
My Hat, and Feather to them, others railed;  
And them as wished, or knew I had the worst,  
For one that prayed for me, dovoutly cursed.  
The truest News of all I hope to tell ye,  
Is that I have more mind to fill my belly,  
Then fight again, for that same Dutchland Devil,  
Rupert, the Prince of mischief, and all evil,  
My Victuals took away, and burst my Wagons,  
Whilst the King's Forces fought with fiery Dragoons,  
And beat me out o'th' Field; although we blind  
The Multitude, and say w' had sea and wind,  
Yet I protest the Elements themselves  
Conspired to ruin us, Rebellious Elves:  
And to conclude, some Jeering Cavalier,  
Has put upon us, in a Song, this Jeer,  
Rather than they should have the better a,  
That you and I were drawn and hanged, etc.   

A Dialogue between two ZEALOTS upon the &c. in the Oath.  

SIr Roger from a zealous piece of Frieze,  
Raised to a Vicar of the Children three;  
Whose yearly Audit may, by strict account,  
To twenty Nobles, and his vails Amount;  
Fed on the common of the female charity,  
Until the Scots can bring about their parity,  
So shotten, that his Soul like to himself,  
Walks but in Querpo: this same Clergy Elf,  
Encountering with a Brother of the Cloth,  
Fell presently to Cudgels with the O th':  
The Quarrel was, a strange misshapen Monster  
etc. (God bless us!) which they construe  
The brand upon the buttock of the Beast,  
The Dragon's tail tied on a knot, a nest  
Of young Apocraphas, the fashion  
Of a new mental Reservation.  
While Roger thus divides the text, the other  
Winks and expounds, saying, My pious Brother,  
Harken with reverence; for the point is nice,  
I never read on't, but I fasted twice;  
And so by revelation know it better,  
Than all the Idolaters o' the Letter.  
With that he swelled, and fell upon the Theme,  
Like great Goliath with his Weavers beam:  
I say to thee, etc. thou liest,  
Thou art the curled lock of Antichrist:  
Rubbish of Babel, for who will not say,  
●ongues were confounded in & c?  
Who swears etc. swears more Oaths at once  
Than Cerberus out of his triple Sconce:  
Who views it well, with the same eye beholds  
The old half Serpent in his numerous folds.  
Accursed etc. thou, for now I scent,  
What lately the prodigious Oysters meant.  
Oh Booker, Booker, how cam'st thou to lack  
this Sign in thy prophetic Almanac?  
It's the dark Vault wherein th' infernal plot  
Of Powder 'gainst the State was first begot.  
Peruse the Oath, and you shall soon descry it,  
By all the Father Garnets' that stand by it;  
'Gainst whom the Church, whereof I am a Member,  
Shall keep another fifth day of November:  
Yet here's not all, I cannot half untruss  
etc. it's so abominous.  
The Trojan Nag was not so fully lined!  
Unrip etc. and you shall find  
Og the great Commissary, and which is worse,  
Th' Apparatour upon his skew-balled horse.  
Then (finally my Babe of Grace) forbear,  
etc. will be too far to swear;  
For 'tis (to speak in a familiar style)  
A Yorkshire wea-bit, longer, than a mile.  
Then Roger was inspired, and by Gods-diggers,  
he'll swear in words at large, and not in Figures.  
Now by this drink, which he takes off as loath  
To leave etc. in his liquid Oath.  
His Brother pledged him, and that bloody wine,  
He swears shall seal the Synods Catiline.  
So they drunk on, not offering to part  
Till they had quite sworn out th' eleventh quart:  
While all that saw and heard them, jointly pray,  
They and their tribe were all, etc.    

The Public Faith.  
STand off my Masters: 'Tis your pence a piece,  
Jason, Medea, and the Golden Fleece;  
What side the line good Sir? Tigris, or Po?  
Lybia? Japan? Whisk? or Tradinktido?  
St. Kits? St. Omer? or St. Margaret's Bay?  
Presto begun? or come aloft? what way?  
Doublets? or Knap? the Cog? low Dice? or high?  
By all the hard names in the Litany,  
Bell, Book and Candle, and the Pope's great toe  
I conjure thy account: Devil say no.  
Nay, since I must untruss, Gallants look to't,  
Keep your prodigious distance forty foot,  
This is that Beast of eyes in th' Revelations,  
The Basilisk has twisted up three Nations.  
Ponteus Hixius doxius, full of tricks,  
The Lottery of the vulgar lunatics.  
The Knapsack of the State, the thing you wish,  
Magog and Gog stewed in a Chaffendish.  
A bag of Spoons and Whistles, wherein men  
May whistle when they see their Plate again.  
Thus far his Infancy: his riper age  
Requires a more mysterious Folio page.  
Now that time speaks him perfect, and 'tis pity  
To dandle him longer in a close Committee,  
The Elf dares peep abroad, the pretty Fool  
Can wag without a truckling standing-stool;  
Revenge his Mother's infamy, and swear  
he's the fair Offspring of one half-score year;  
The Heir of the House and hopes, the cry  
And wonder of the People's misery.  
'Tis true, while as a Puppy it could play  
For Thimbles, any thing to pass the day;  
But now the Cub can count, arithmetize,  
●link Masenello with the Duke of Guise;  
Sign for an Irish purchase, and traduce  
The Synod from their Doctrine to their Use;  
Give its Dam suck, and a hidden way  
Drink up arrears a tergo mantica.  
An everlasting Bale, Hell in Trunk-hose,  
Uncased, the Devil's Don Quixot in prose.  
The Beast and the false Prophet twined together,  
The squint-eyed emblem of all sorts of weather.  
The refuse of that Chaos of the earth,  
Able to give the World a second birth.  
Africa avaunt! Thy trifling Monsters glance  
But Sheeps-eyed to this Penal Ignorance.  
That all the Prodigies brought ●orth before  
Are but Dame Natures blush left on the score.  
This strings the Baker's dozen, christens all  
The crosslegged hours of time since Adam's fall.  
The Public Faith? why 'tis a word of kin,  
A Nephew that dare● Cozen any fin.  
A Term of Art, great Bohemoths younger Brother,  
Old Machiavelli, and half a thousand other.  
Which when subscribed writes Legion, names on truss,  
Abaddon, Belzebub, and Incubus,  
All the Viceroys of darkness, every spell  
And Fiend wrapped in a short Tri●●illable.  
But I forestall the Show. Enter and see,  
Salute the Door, your Exit shall be free.  
In brief 'tis called Religion's ease, or loss;  
For no one's suffered here to bear his cross.   

A Committee.  
CAst Knaves my Masters, fortune guide the chance,  
No packing I beseech you, no by-glance  
To mingle pairs, but fairly shake the bag,  
Cheats in their spheres like subtle spirits wag.  
Or if you please the Cards run as they will,  
There is no choice in sin and doing ill.  
Then happy man by's dole, luck makes the odds,  
He acts most high that best out-dares the gods.  
These are that Raw-boned Herd of Pharaoh's Kine,  
Which eat up all your Fatlings, yet look lean.  
These are the after-claps of bloody showers,  
Which, like the Scots, come for your guide and yours.  
The Gleaners of the Field, where, if a man  
Escape the sword, that milder frying-pan;  
He leaps into the fire, cramping the claws  
of such can speak no English but the Cause.  
Under that foggy term, that Inquisition,  
YE are wracked at all adventures On suspicion:  
No matter what's the crime, a good estate's  
Delinquency enough to ground their hate.  
Nor shall calm innocence so scape, as not  
To be made guilty, or at least so thought.  
And if the spirit once inform, beware,  
The flesh and world but renegadoes are.  
Thus once concluded, out the Teazers run,  
And in full cry and speed till Wat's undone.  
So that a poor Delinquent fleeced and torn  
Seems like a man that's creeping through a horn,  
Finds a smooth entrance, wide, and fit, but when  
he's squeezed and forced up through the smaller end,  
He looks as gaunt and pined, as he that spent  
A tedious twelve years in an eager Lent;  
Or bodies at the Resurrection are  
On wing, just rarifying into air.  
The Emblem of a man, the pitied Case  
And shape of some sad being once that was.  
The Type of flesh and blood, the Skeleton  
And superfices of a thing that's gone.  
The winter quarter of a life, the tinder  
And body of a corpse squeezed to a cinder;  
When no more tortures can be thought upon,  
Mercy shall flow into oblivion.  
Merciful Hell! thy Judges are but three,  
Ours multiform, and in plurality!  
Thy calmer censures flow without recall,  
And in one doom souls see their final All.  
We travel with expectance: Sufferings here  
Are but the earnests of a second fear.  
Thy plagues and pains are infinite; 'tis true;  
Ours are not only infinite, but new.  
So that the dread of what's to come, exceeds  
The anguish of that part already bleeds.  
This only difference swells 'twixt us, and you,  
Hell has the kinder Devils of the two.   

The Model of the New Religion.  
WHoop! Mr. Vicar in your flying frock?  
What news at Babel now? how stands the Cock!  
When wags the flood? no Ephimerides?  
Nought but confounding of the languages?  
No more of th' Saint's arrival? or the chance  
Of three pipes two pence and an ordinance?  
How many Queer-religions? clear your throat,  
May a man have a pennyworth? four a groat?  
Or do the Junsto leap at truss-a-fayle?  
Three Tenants clap while five hang on the tail?  
No Querpo model? never a knack or wile?  
To preach for Spoons and Whistles? cross or pile?  
No hints of truth on foot? no sparks of grace?  
No late sprung light? to dance the wild-goose chase?  
No Spiritual Dragoones that take their flames  
From th' inspiration of the City Dames?  
No crumbs of comfort to relieve your cry?  
No new dealt mincemeat of Divinity?  
Come let's project: by the great late Eclipse  
We justly fear a famine of the lips.  
for Sprats are risen an Omer for a souse,  
Which gripes the conclave of the lower House.  
Let's therefore vote a close humiliation  
For opening the sealed eyes of this blind Nation,  
That they may see confessingly, and swear  
They have not seen at all this fourteen year.  
And for the splints and s●avins too, 'tis said  
All the joints have the Riffcage, since the head  
Swelled so prodigious, and excized the parts  
From all Allegiance, but in tears and hearts.  
But zealous Sir, what say to a touch at Prayer?  
How Quops the spirit? In what garb or air?  
With sauce erect, or pendent, winks, or haws?  
Snivelling? or the extension of the jaws?  
Devotion has its mode: Dear Sir, hold forth,  
Learning's a venture of the second worth.  
For since the people's rise and its sad fall,  
We are inspired from much, to none at all.  
Brother adieu! I see y'are closely girt,  
A costive Dover gives the Saints the squirt.  
Hence (Reader) all our flying news contracts  
Like the State's Fleet, from the Seas into Acts:  
But where's the Model all this while, you'll say  
'Tis like the Reformation, run away.   

To a Fair Lady weeping for her Husband Committed to Prison by the Parliament. 1643.  

TUsh, let them keep him if they can,  
He's not in hold while you are free,  
Come, sigh no more, but pledge the man,  
What though in Fetters, yet can he  
Be Prisoner unto none but thee;  
Then dry your Eyes, for every tear  
Makes them like drowned worlds appear.   

Post through the Air, my fancy went,  
With wings disguised, and there stood by  
When he was brought to th' Parliament,  
And straight to th' Bar, to th' Bar, they cry,  
The smiling Captain asked, Why?  
With that they soon drew up his Charge,  
Which Lady you shall hear at large.   

Imprimis, he was married late  
With a Gold Ring, unto a Dame,  
Would make the best of us a Mate;  
Witty, Pretty, Young, and Acquaint,  
And fairer than ourselves can Paint:  
Her lips do set men's teeth on edge,  
Sure 'tis a Breach of Privilege.   

And her Malignant beauty, can  
Provoke our Members up to rise,  
Nay make our General prove a man;  
And the Star-Chamber of her Eyes,  
Robs Subjects of their Liberties:  
And then her voice keeps Ears in awe,  
Even like the High-Commission Law.   

Nay more, the fair Delinquent hath  
A pair of Organs in her throat,  
Which when she doth inspire with breath,  
She can command in every note,  
More than both our Houses Vote  
Her very Hair, put in Array,  
Can fetter our Militia.   

Her Cheeks still Nature's Patent have,  
Not yet called in, for only 〈◊〉  
In them engrossed all that's brave,  
And other Lady's Hucksters be,  
Her Beauty's the Monopoly;  
When theirs is spent, to her they come,  
And chaffer with her face for some.   

She keeps an Altar on her brow,  
Her Eyes two Tapers on each side,  
There Superstitious Lovers bow;  
Her Name is Mary too beside,  
Who owns a Faith that's sanctified;  
Let's clap up him till further leisure,  
And send for her to wait our pleasure.   

Then go fair Lady, follow him,  
Fear no Trumpet, fear no Drum,  
Fair Women may prevail with Pym,  
And one sweet smile when there you come,  
Will quickly strike the Speaker dumb:  
If not, then let one tear be spent,  
And 'twill dissolve the Parliament.    

Mr. Fuller's Complaint.  

ENgland once Europe's joy,  
Now her scorn;  
Ambitious to be forlorn,  
Self, by self torn;  
Stand amazed?  
Thy woes are blazed,  
By silence best,  
And wanting words, even wonder out the rest.   

Help Gracious King,  
The source and spring  
Of all our bliss,  
Alas the fault's not his;  
Good Prince how is he grieved,  
That he's mistake?  
Or what's a Curse,  
Far worse, he is not believed.   

Help long-wished for Parliament,  
If so good by your intent;  
And will,  
And skill,  
Why ill is your success?  
Alas Malignant humours lurk,  
And cause the Physic not to work,  
To give our woes redress.   

Help in the Law, ye Learned Sages,  
Studied well in former ages:  
But our Rents  
Are above all Precedents;  
In fight, what's might,  
That's right:  
For Statutes are by Lawyers awed,  
And Common-law by Canon-law outlawed.   

Help ye Divines our souls to plaster,  
Settle the Legacy which your Master  
Bequeathed to his own at his decease,  
Even Peace:  
Alas alas in Gilead,  
Where is no balm for to be had;  
O Cruel,  
They that should holy water bring, bring fiery fuel.   

No help, no help,  
Why then 'tis vain  
For to complain;  
And why men sin with all their heart,  
Sorrow only but in part;  
And still they cry  
That all is ill,  
And love to make't and keep't so still.   

Since than our wounds  
Are grown so wide,  
And all means tried,  
And all denied;  
Good God help us at last,  
Before all help be past,  
For this is sure,  
Men made the wounds, but God alone can help the cure.    

Upon wearing the King's Colours.  
ALas, what take ye pepper in the Nose  
To see King Charles his Colours worn in Pose?  
'Twas but an Ornament to grace the Hat,  
And must we have an Ordinance for that?  
O serious worthies! how can you dispense  
With so much time to draw a Grievance thence?  
But you do very well to make it known,  
When others Liberties surmounts your own;  
You can and will suppress it, well, you may  
Do even what you please, we must obey;  
I hope you'll take in hand the Tailor's Trade,  
And teach us how our Apparel must be made,  
That women in a Vote shall plainly see  
How wide their Smocks and Petticoats shall be:  
If this continue, faith turn Barbers too,  
And cut our hair of the same length you do;  
And let it be no less a Crime then Treason,  
To wear, do, or speak any thing that's reason:  
As for the King, you'll say he's King, 'tis true,  
But he can rule himself, and order you:  
What, can he so? he's mightily too blame,  
And fallen into displeasure for the same;  
He will not grant that you're his Friends, 'tis true,  
Should you rule two Kingdoms as a third does you,  
Lest from a Ribbin then, should spring a Faction,  
'Twas wisely done to stop its growth i'th' Action;  
Yet in despite of you, that this control,  
I'll wear my Sovereign's Colours in my Soul.   

A Western Wonder.  

DO you not know, not a fortnight ago,  
How they bragged of a Western wonder?  
When a hundred and ten, slew five thousand men,  
With the help of Lightning and Thunder.   

There Hopton was slain, again and again,  
Or else my Author did lie;  
With a new Thanksgiving, for who are living,  
To God, and his Servant Ch●dleigh.   

But now on which side, was this Miracle tried,  
I hope we at last are even;  
For Sir Ralph and his Knaves, are risen from their Graves,  
And Cudgeled the Clowns of Devon.   

And now St— came, for his Honour was lame  
Of the Gout three months together;  
But it proved when they fought, but a running Gout,  
For his heels were lighter than ever.   

For now he outruns, his Arms and his Guns,  
And leaves all his money behind him;  
But they follow after, unless he take water  
At Plymouth again, they will find him.   

What Reading hath cost and St— hath lost,  
Goes deep in the Sequestration;  
These wounds will not heal, with your new Great Seal,  
Nor Jepsons Declarations.   

Now peter's, and Case, in their Prayer and Grace,  
Remember their new Thanksgiving;  
Isaac and his Wife, now dig for their life,  
And shortly must do't for their living.    

A SONG.  

THe world is now turned upside-down,  
'Tis thought K. Charles will keep his Crown,  
The Roundheads now shall all be put down,  
And alas poor Parliament now, now, now.   

Prince Rupert made fair work t'other day,  
He killed all the Troopers that durst to stay,  
The rest he killed, their Horses running away:  
And alas poor Parliament now, now, now.   

And Essex his horns hung so in his light,  
Alas poor Cuckold, he could not see to fight,  
And both Houses they were all ready to—  
And alas poor Parliament now, now, now.   

Then send for W— and give him good pay,  
He'll hoist up his Sails and carry you away,  
In hopes you'll stand his Friend another day:  
And alas poor Parliament now, now, now.    

Upon Alderman Atkins bewraying his Slops on the great Training day.  
I Sing the strange adventures and sad Fate,  
That did befall a Colonel of late,  
A portly Squire; a Warlike hardy wight,  
And pity 'tis, we cannot call him Knight,  
A stout man at Custard, and Son of Mars,  
But oh the soul disaster of his.—  
Before the Worthies, and the rest beside.  
Who saw how he his Courser did bestride,  
Wielding his Truncheon, like a Weavers beam,  
And yet— his hose in every seam;  
I cannot tell how fair he was i'th' Cradle,  
But sure I am he was foul enough i'th' Saddle:  
For feats of Arms none could come near him then,  
He smelled so strong, and when eight thousand men  
Discharged their Muskets, he discharged too,  
But what? his Office and his Guts? what though  
He made a House of Office of his Hose?  
Stand further off, if it offend your Nose:  
Belike he meant to handsel his New Satin,  
Or, like fat Oxen, in his dung to batten;  
But when in triumph he from Finsbury  
Came home to Leaden-hall, he called to see  
His Helena, his sultaness, when she  
At's first approach smelled out his Knavery;  
And lest by the hot skirmish of the day,  
Her Paris might miscarry in the way,  
Or met with some wounds, sends for in all haste  
Shambrook the skilful Chirurgeon, who begins at th' waste  
T'untruss, and as he fumbling downwards tends,  
He had the business at his finger's ends;  
Foh, quoth the Chirurgeon, call the Kitchen Quean  
With clout in hand to make his Worship clean;  
Then about the Master all the Servants shuffled,  
He, like old Lockwood in the Counter, scuffled,  
Showed two broad mighty Haunches all bew rayed,  
Nay then, quoth Shambrook, how shall I be paid;  
The Devil a wound I see, is this the prime  
Of six City Colonels in good time?  
They say that shitten luck is good, and I  
Will put it to the Vote of Chivalry,  
Whether all be not likely well to jump  
In th' New Militia, when a— is trump.   

The Downfall of Cheapside-Crosse, May 2, 3, 4. 1643.  
WHat hast thou done poor Cross, that this hard doom  
Is laid upon thee? what is now become  
Of all thy gilded Images? for behold,  
That now is Stone and Brick, which once seemed Gold,  
The City-Rulers, in their Graver wit,  
And late got Power, have now thought it fit,  
That thou shouldst be demolished, and plucked down  
By th' warrant of Lord Isaac Pennington;  
London's chief (ut vis) who thinks store of good  
He doth, in prisoning, hanging, shedding blood,  
In robbing, plundering each that's good to's King,  
Because no Plate, nor Money, they will bring  
Into Guildhall: nay then it is no wonder,  
If by his Order thou art plucked asunder,  
When first the top of thee with many a knock  
They did beat down, (Lord) how the silly flock  
Of Roundheads shouted, looking up to th' Skies,  
Giving God thanks for the great Victories  
They had got 'gainst thee, whilst the Drums did beat,  
And Trumpets sounding; truly it was meet:  
They threw their Hats up, and their Musket's shot,  
They shook their Heads, and clapped their Hands, what not?  
And thus when any Picture, Leg, or Arm  
Was thrown to th' Ground, the Roundheads all did swarm,  
And sundry heaps tumbling one on another,  
Striving who first should see it, than a Brother  
A long Prayer made for thanks, that now they might,  
Do what they list, be it nor Just, nor Right;  
For now they keep the whole City in awe,  
With wrong-expounded, and misconstrued Law,  
Doing what they think fit, what's good i'th' eyes  
Of them, being led even as their Spirits rise.  
But for their Misdemeanours let this Curse  
Light upon them, or a ten-times far worse:  
May they no Silver have, nor yet no Gold,  
Because there's Crosses in't: and, to be bold,  
May they lead Lives so crossed with grief and care,  
That, at the last, may bring them to despair,  
May they no good thing quietly enjoy,  
May they even perish as they walk, and die,  
And may they still crossed be, and crossed again,  
May Crosses mixed with Losses be their pain,  
Nay, because Crosses they desire none,  
May they have ever Crosses two for one,  
May all their Noses rot, that we may know  
Them, may their Ears as long as Asses grow,  
May their Hair ne'er be long, and may their hands  
Even pine away, may they stink as they stand:  
And to conclude, may they all lead cross Lives,  
Nay, which is worse, be troubled with cross Wives.   

A Vindication of Cheapside-Crosse against the Roundheads.  
MUst I then down? is an eternal doom  
Past out against me? must I needs to Rome?  
And why? it is contrary to the Laws,  
To judge th' offendor ere they hear the Cause.  
Why come you armed against me? what may be  
The cause of difference 'twixt you and me?  
Have I transgressed the Law? or did I ever  
Our gracious Sovereign from his People sever?  
Did I to a factious Covenant subscribe,  
Or turn a Jacks-on-both-side for a bribe?  
Rebels have long our wished for bliss deferred,  
All rose in arms, but yet I never stirred.  
When such a Prick-ear troop upou me gazed,  
Crying (no Cross) good faith I stood amazed:  
I was struck dumb with wonder, and which worse,  
Because I'd gold about me, feared my Purse.  
This zealous rabble came not to adore me,  
Yet (thanks to th' Butchers) some fell down before me,  
Others ran quite away, the rest disputed,  
Misusing Scripture phrases, but confuted.  
Wisdom they called Apocryphal, threw di●t on  
All Father's faces, but Saint P— and Burton.  
Was God i'th' middle of this Congregation?  
Or were they led by instinct, or revelation?  
King's do●t their Crowns, and Cardinals their Copes,  
All must be bare unto a crew of Crops.  
But does Religion such a hatred bring,  
To hate the very picture of a King?  
Brethren what would you have? or what d'ye fear?  
I draw no sword, nor do I wear long hair.  
I'll do no wrong (though armed with Pikes about)  
Would you know why? 'twas to keep Roundheads out,  
Who have not sworn, but ta'en a Protestation  
To leave no golden Cross to bless our Nation.  
They will divide my Coat, my Flesh, my Bones,  
they'll share the Gold, and give their Wives the Stones.  
They say they'll pluck the Tower of Babel down,  
All things go right when there's no Cross it'h Town.  
But who can live without them? Crosses are  
The good man's blessings, and his certain share.  
He that would win an everlasting Crown,  
Must elevate his Cross, not throw it down.  
They'll have no Common Prayer, but do abhor  
All that is common, but a common W—  
Will you ●ear reason? that's not common to ye,  
Will Prayers prevail? He pray ex tempore.  
You think 'tis justice that your factious crew  
Are cross to me 'cause I am Cross to you:  
You will have flesh for flesh, It's very dear  
That Peter's nose should pay for Malchas ear.  
If he should snuffle now, that were a jest,  
That very thing would make him full blest:  
You'll run to hear him, and cry's doctrine strong,  
Though nonsense, in regard he stands so long.  
Put out his eyes next time, and you may may find  
A second like the first, and doctrine blind.  
Some call me Popish, and report they see  
Divers adore me, what's all that to me?  
Because they worship me shall I fall down  
Unto such Calves, Mechanics of the Town.  
'Tis Popery, let them kneel that list, I'll stand?  
Before I'll bow, I'll fly to some new Land.  
Be sorry Brethren, I am pleased to think  
'Twas from too little wit, or too much drink.  
I'll be a Roundhead spiritually sent  
To pardon your affronts, if you'll repent.  
I am a foe to Rome, for you shall find  
When I am gone, there's the more room behind.   

A Song in defence of Christmas.  

NOw Christmas is come, let us beat up the Drum,  
And call our good Neighbours together,  
And when they appear, let us make them good cheer,  
That will keep out the wind and the weather,  
To feast at this season, I think 'tis no treason,  
I could give you a reason why,  
Though some are so pure, that they cannot endure to see a Nativity Pye.   

I cannot but wonder, that the Soldiers should plunder,  
For keeping our Saviour's birth,  
For all Christians then, or I cannot tell when,  
Should show forth their joy and their mirth.  
But our Saints now adays, despise good old ways,  
'Gainst which they both preach and pray,  
But to give them their deuce, they're no better than Jews,  
That speak against Christmas day.   

These like the good cheer, all times o'th' year,  
'Tis the birth day that doth them annoy,  
Plumb-porrage and brawn, and the Do and the Fawn,  
With the Creature, they love to enjoy,  
They often have meetings, and then there's such greetings,  
Such traceing of Sisters about,  
They preach and they pray, but I must not now say  
What they do when their Candles are out.   

Yet I cannot forbear, to tell in your ear  
What befell at a breaking of bread,  
How a Virgin full neat, went thither to eat,  
But it cost her, her Maidenhead;  
These men of high merit, though much for the spirit,  
Are yet for the Flesh now and than,  
For a new Babe of Grace, was got near the Place,  
By a Congregational man.   

The Dippers and Ranters, and our Scotch Covenanters,  
That brag of their Faith and their Zeal,  
These abound in their feign, but I'll make no complain,  
Nor will I their Secrets reveal,  
The poor Cavaliers, that still lives in fears  
Of Prisons, and Sequestration,  
Though they keep Christmas day, are more honest than they,  
But Honesty's quite out of fashion.   

If you view our great Cities, and our Country Committees,  
You will not find overmuch there,  
Our Divines, though they preach it, themselves do scarce reach it;  
And our Lawyers have little to spare.  
I could tell of some more, that have no great store,  
Of our Gentry, both Old and New,  
But I think it is best, with edge tools not to jest,  
Nor to speak all we know to be true.   

But the poor Cavalier, as to mirth and good cheer,  
But now bid Christmas adieu,  
If the Taxes hold on, their Money will be gone,  
They will want both to bake and to brew,  
Their Healths are put down, who adhered to the Crown,  
'Tis they that must fast and pray,  
For to any man's thinking, both their eating and drinking,  
Is like to be taken away.    

The Bishop of Ossery on the Rebels.  
LEt proud Babylon cease to boast  
Of her Pyramids stately spires,  
This Rebellion is more strange,  
Surmounting all Infernal fires.  
No Age the like hath ever bread,  
Nor shall when these Rebels be dead.   

A Bill on St. Paul's Church Door.  
THis House is to be let,  
It is both wide, and fair;  
If you would know the price of it,  
Pray ask of Mr. Maior.  
Isaac Pennington.   

A SONG.  

WHat though the Zealots, pull down the Prelates,  
Push at the Pulpit, and kick at the Crown,  
Shall we not ever, strive to endeavour  
Once more to purchase our Royal Renown?  
Shall not the Roundhead first be confounded?  
Sa, sa, sa, sa boys, ha, ha, ha, ha boys,  
Then we'll return home, with Triumph and Joy,  
Then we'll be merry, drink Sack and Sherry,  
And 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 into Prison, and steal our Estates;  
Though we are forced, to be un-horsed,  
And walk on foot, as it pleaseth the Fates,  
In the King's Army, no man will harm ye;  
Then come along Boys, valiant and strong Boys,  
Fight for your Goods, which the Roundheads enjoys;  
And when you venture, London to enter,  
And when you come Boys, with Phife and Drum Boys,  
Isaac himself shall cry, Vive le Roy.   

If not then, choose him, 'twill not excuse him,  
Since honest Parliaments never made them Thiefs;  
Charles ne'er did further, Thiefs dipped in Murder,  
Never by Pardon, long Lease, or Reprieves;  
For such Conditions, and Propositions  
Will not be granted, then be not daunted,  
We will our honest old Customs enjoy:  
Paul's now rejected, shall be respected,  
And in the Choir, Voices sing hire,  
Thanks to Jehovah, then Vive le Roy.    

On two Parliaments dissolved.  
TWo Parliaments dissolved! then let my heart;  
As they in Faction, it in fraction part,  
And, like the Levite sad with rage, ascribe  
My piece-meal Portion to each broken Tribe,  
And say, that Bethlehem, Judah's love, hath been  
Wronged by the Fag-end crew of Benjamin.  
O Let such High presumption be accursed,  
When the last Tribe shall wrong the best, and first;  
While, like the Levite, our best Charles may say,  
The Ravenous Wolf hath seized the Lion's prey.  
Thus oft Inferior Subjects are not shy,  
A love to mock at Sacred Majesty.  
What Faculty should not be injured,  
If that the Feet had Power to spurn the Head?  
And King's Prerogative may soon fall down,  
When Subjects make a Footstool of a Crown:  
The Stars, the Heaven's Inferior Courtiers, might  
Command the Darkness, but not rule the Light,  
Nor him that made it; should they all combine  
With Luna at the fu●l, our Sun should shine  
Brighter than they, nor can he be subdued,  
Though he but one, and they a Multitude.  
Say, Subjects ye were Stars, and 'twere allowed,  
You justly of the Number might be proud;  
Yet to your Sun be humble, and know this,  
Your Light is borrowed, not your own, but His.  
When the unfettered Subjects of the Seas,  
The Fountains, felt their feet, and ease,  
No sooner summoned, but they nimbly went  
To meet the Ocean at a Parliament.  
Did then these petty Fountains say their King,  
The Ocean, was no Ocean, but a Spring?  
Let me alone, if fresh excess of store  
Can make me poorer than I was before.  
And shall we then the power of King's dispute?  
And count it less, when more is added to't?  
No, let the Common body, i● it can,  
Be not a River, but an Ocean,  
And swell into a Deluge, till it hide  
The top of Mountains in its teeming pride.  
Kings, like Noah's Ark, are nearer to the Skies,  
The more the Billows underneath them rise.  
You then, who if your hearts were first in love,  
Might sit in Counsel with the Gods Above:  
You, that do question your King's Power Below,  
If you come there, will you use Heaven's King so?  
Do not aspire, you must take up you rest  
More safe Below, than in the Eagles nest.  
Hath Clemency offended? will you harm,  
And pluck the Sun from Heaven that makes you warm?  
No King nor Bishops please? what, have we got  
An Outside English, and an Inside Scot?  
If Faction thus our Country's Peace distracts,  
You may have want of Parliaments, not Acts.  
Ill-ended Sessions, and yet well begun,  
Too much being spoke hath made too little done.  
So Faction thrives, Puritanism bears sway,  
None must do any thing but only Say.  
Stoop, stoop, you baren-headed Hills, confess  
You might be fruitfuller, if ye were less.  
Tremble ye threadbare Commons: are you vexed  
That Lambs feed on ye? Lion's will come next.   

Colonel Vennes Encouragement to his Soldiers. A SONG.  

Fight on brave Soldiers for the Cause,  
Fear not the Cavaliers,  
Their threatenings 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 Kingdoms 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 beggared 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 killed,  
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 of 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 Mechanics 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 allay,  
He sees we stand for Peace and Truth  
The clean contrary way.   

The Publique-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 Hope's decay,  
Our Acts will bear us up to Heaven  
The clean contrary way.    

A Second Western Wonder.  

YOu heard of that wonder, of the Lightning and Thunder,  
Which made the lie so much the louder;  
Now li●t to another, that Miracles Brother,  
Which was done with a Firkin of Powder.   

Oh what a damp, struck through the Camp,  
But as for Honest Sir Ralph,  
It blew him to the vieth, without beard, or eyes,  
But at least three heads and a half.   

When out came the book, which the New-monger took  
From the preaching Ladies Letter,  
Where in the first place, stood the Conqueror's face,  
Which made it show so much the better.   

But now without lying, you may paint him flying,  
At Bristol they say you may find  
Great William the Con, so fast he did run,  
That he left half his name behind.   

And now came the Post, saves all that was lost.  
But alas, we are passed deceiving,  
By a trick so stale, or else such a tail  
Might mount for a new thanksgiving.   

This made Mr. Case, with a pitiful face,  
In the Pulpit to fall a weeping,  
Though his mouth uttered lies, truth fell from his eyes,  
Which kept our Lord Mayor from sleeping.   

Now shut up shops, and spend your last drops,  
For the Laws of your Cause, you that loathe 'em,  
Lest Essex should start, and play the Second part,  
Of Worshipful Sir John Hotham.    

The Battle of Worcester.  

ALl you that be true to the King & the State,  
Come listen, and I'll tell you what happened of late,  
In a large field near Worcester's gate.  
Which no body can deny.   

Brave Sir John Byron, true to the Crown,  
With forces too few, 'tis very well known,  
Went thither, 'tis said, to keep the Town,  
Which no body can deny.   

But whether 'twas true, ye have learned to guests,  
As for my own part I think no less,  
To give you a taste of our Future success,  
Which more body can deny.   

Thither came Fines with arms Complete,  
The Town to take, and Byron defeat,  
Provisions were made, but he stayed not to eat,  
Which no body can deny.   

But as soon as he heard our great Guns play,  
With a Flea in's ear, he ran quite away,  
Like the lawful begotten Son of Lord Say,  
Which no body etc.   

Nay had the old Crop-eared his Father dared  
To approach the walls, his design had been marred,  
For Byron would not have proved a Ward.  
Which no body can deny.   

Pox on him he keeps his Patent yet,  
But I hope next Term he shall not fit,  
'Twas but quam diu se bene Gesserit,  
Which no body, etc.   

But now behold, increased in force,  
He comes again with ten Troops of Horse,  
Oh bloudy-Man he had no remorse,  
Which no body, etc.   

They marched up boldly, without any fear,  
Little thinking Prince Rupert was come so near,  
But alas poor souls it cost them dear,  
Which no body, etc.   

The Prince like a Gallant man of his trade,  
Marched out of the Town till this quarter was made,  
Sir, the Enemies are near at hand it is said:  
Which no body, etc.   

Where, where are they? Prince Rupert cries,  
And looking about with fiery eyes,  
Some thirty behind a hedge he spies.  
Which no body, etc.   

This Forlorn-hope he no sooner saw,  
But 4. or 5. more did towards them draw;  
He asked, who's there? one answered him, haw,  
Which no body, etc.   

The man you'll say was rudely bred;  
The Prince shot a Bullet into his head,  
His haw had been better spared then said,  
Which no body, etc.   

Prince Maurice then, to second his Brother,  
Discharged his Pistol, and down fell another,  
'Twere pity but news were sent to his Mother,  
Which no body, etc.   

Lord Digby slew one to his great fame,  
So did Monsieur de Lisl●, and Sir Rich. Crane,  
And another French man, with a harder name,  
Which no body, etc.   

Prince Rupert to his own Force retired,  
And bade them not shoot till their Doublets were fired,  
His Courage and Conduct were both admired,  
Which no body, etc.   

He Charged but twice, yet made them shrink,  
'Twere hard to get off now one would think,  
Yet both can do it as easy as drink.  
Which no body, etc.   

Then have amongst ye, quoth Sir jews Dives,  
For a good Cause you know always thrives,  
His heart in his shoulders cost many men's lives,  
Which no body, etc.   

John Byron did as bravely fight;  
To the Prince of Wales his great delight,  
He came home in safety and was made a Knight.  
Which no body, etc.   

My Friend David Walter in Doublet white,  
Without any Arms either rusty or bright,  
Charged through them twice like a little spirit,  
Which no body, etc.   

But oh Prince Maurice, where was he?  
Where one of us would be loath to be,  
Surrounded with Butchers three times three,  
Which no body, etc.   

These men of East-cheap little said,  
But all their blows at his head they made,  
As if they had been at work at their Trade,  
Which no body, etc.   

Then came a Frenchman fiery and keen,  
He broke the Ring and came in between,  
Ere a man let a— not a Butcher was seen.  
Which no body, etc.   

Brave Lord Wilmot, by whose hands did fall  
Many a Rebel stout and tall,  
Came to him without any Arms at all,  
Which no body, etc.   

Their Horses then close up they spurred,  
The wounds they gave were all with the Sword,  
Their Pistols proved not worth a—  
Which no body, etc.   

But the Parliament having quite forgot  
To Vote that Sandys should not be shot  
By the hand of a monsieur he went to the pot.  
Which no body, etc.   

Douglas a Scotchman of great fame  
Was slain that day for want of the same;  
The Houses in this were much to blame,  
Which no body, etc.   

Of all their chief Commanders that day,  
I hold it fit I should something say,  
His name was Brown, and he ran away,  
Which no body, etc.   

If a few more o'em should show such a freak,  
Both Houses surely would quickly break,  
And honester men would have leave to speak,  
Which no body, etc.   

They fly, they fly, Prince Rupert cried,  
No sooner said, but away they hied;  
The force of his Arms they durst not abide,  
Which no body can deny.    

Smectymnuus, or the Club-Divines.  
SMectymnuus! the Goblin makes me start!  
I'th' Name of Rabbi Abraham, what art?  
Syriack? or Arabic? or Welsh? what skilt?  
Ap all the Brick-layers that Babel built!  
Some Conjurer translate, and let me know it,  
Till then 'tis fit for a West-Saxon Poet.  
But do the Brotherhood then play their Prizes  
Like Mummers in Religion with disguises?  
Outbrave us with a name in Rank and File,  
A name▪ which if 'twere trained, would spread a Mile;  
The Saint's monopoly, the zealous cluster,  
Which, like the Porcupine, presents a muster,  
And shoots his quills at Bishops and their Sees,  
A Devont litter of young Maccabees.  
Thus Jack of all trades hath devoutly shown  
The twelve Apostles on a cherry-stone,  
Thus fashion's Al-a-Mode in Treason's fashion;  
Now we have heresy by Complication.  
Like to Don Quixots Rosary of slaves  
Strung on a chain; a Murnival of Knaves  
Packed in a trick, like Gypsies when they ride,  
Or like Colleagues, which fit all on a side:  
So the vain Satirists stand all a row,  
As hollow teeth upon a Lutestring show:  
Th' Italian Monster, pregnant with his Brother,  
Natures Diaeresis, half one another,  
He, with his little sides-man Lazarus,  
Must both give way unto Smectymnuus.  
Next Sturbridge Fair is Smecks, for lo his side  
Into a fivefold Lezar's multiplied.  
Under each arm there's tucked a double gyssard,  
Five faces lurk under one single vizard:  
The Whore of Babylon left these brats behind,  
Heirs of confusion by Gavelkind.  
I think Pythagoras' foul is rambled hither,  
With all the change of Raiment on together:  
Smec is her general Wardrobe, she'll not dare  
To think of him as of a thorough fare;  
He stops the Gossipping Dame; alone he is  
The purlew of a Metempsichosis.  
Like a Scotch Mark, where the more modest sense  
Checks the loud phrase, and shrinks to 13. pence▪  
Like to an Ignis fatuus, whose flame,  
Though sometimes tripartite, joins in the same:  
Like to nine Tailors, who if rightly spelled,  
Into one man are Monosyllabeled:  
Short-handed zeal in one hath cramped many,  
Like to the Decalogue in a single penny.  
See, see! how close the curs hunt under sheet,  
As if they spent in Choir, and scanned their feet;  
One Cure, and five Incumbents leap a truss:  
The title sure must be litigious!  
The Sadduces would raise a question,  
Who must be Smec at th' Resurrection.  
Who cooped them up together were to blame,  
Had they but wiredrawn, & spun out their name,  
'Twould make another Prentices Petition  
Against the Bishops and their Superstition.  
Robson and French (that count from five to five,  
As far as nature fingers did contrive,  
She saw they would be sessors, that's the cause  
She cleft her hoof into so many claws,)  
May tyre their Carret-bunch, yet ne'er agree  
To rate Smectymnuus for Pole-money.  
Caligula, whose pride was mankind's bail,  
(As who disdained to murder by retail)  
Wishing the world had but one general neck,  
His glutton blade might have found game in Smec.  
No echo can improve the Author more,  
Whose lungs pay use on use, to half a score:  
No Felon is more lettered, though the brand  
Both superscribes his shoulder and his hand.  
Some Welshman was his Godfather, for he  
Wears in his name his Genealogy.  
The Banes are asked, would but the time give way,  
Beewixt Smectymnuus and Et caetera;  
The Guests invited by a friendly Summons,  
Should be the Convocation and the Commons;  
The Priest to tie the Fox's tails together,  
Mosely, or Sancta Clara, choose you whether.  
See, what offspring every one expects!  
What strange pluralities of men and sects?  
One says he'll get a Vestery, another  
Is for a Synod: But upon the Mother:  
Faith! cry St. George, let them go to't, and stickle,  
Whether a Conclave or a Conventicle:  
Thus might Religions catterwaul, and spite,  
Which uses to divorce, might once unite.  
But their cross Fortunes interdict their trade,  
The Groom is Rampant, but the Bride displayed.  
My task is done, all my Hee-Goats are milked,  
So many Cards i'th' stock, and yet be bilked?  
I could by Letters now untwist the Rabble,  
Whip Smec from Constable to Constable.  
But there I leave you to another dressing,  
Only kneel down and take your Father's blessing,  
May the Queen Mother justify your fears,  
And stretch her Patent to your leather ears.   

A Lenten Litany. Composed for a confiding Brother, for the benefit and edification of the Faithful Ones.  

FRom Villainy dressed in the Doublet of Zeal,  
From three Kingdoms baked in one Common weal,  
From a gleek of Lord Keepers of one poor Seal,  
Libera nos, etc.   

From a Chancery-writ, and a whip and a bell,  
From a Justice of Peace that never could spell,  
From Colonel P. and the Vicar of Hell.  
Libera nos, etc.   

From Neat's feet without socks, and threepeny Pies.  
From a new sprung Light that will put out ones eyes,  
From Goldsmiths-hall, the Devil, and Excise,  
Libera nos, etc.   

From two hours talk without one word of sense,  
From Liberty still in the future tense,  
From a Parliament long-wasted Conscience,  
Libera nos, etc.   

From a Coppid Crown-tenent pricked up by a Brother,  
From damnable Members, and fits of the Mother.  
From Ears like Oysters that grin at each other,  
Libera nos, etc.   

From a Preacher in buff, and a Quarter-staff-steeple▪  
From th' unlimited Sovereign Power of the People,  
From a Kingdom that crawls on its knees like a Cripple,  
Libera nos, etc.   

From a vinegar Priest on a Crabtree stock,  
From a foddering of Prayer four hours by the Clock.  
From a holy Sister with a pitiful Smock,  
Libera nos, etc.   

From a hunger-starved Sequestrators maw,  
From Revelations and Visions that never man saw,  
From Religion without either Gospel or Law,  
Libera nos, etc.   

From the Nick and Froth of a Penny Pot-house,  
From the Fiddle and Cross, and a great Scotch Louse,  
From Committees that chop up a Man like a Mouse,  
Libera nos, etc.   

From broken shins, and the blood of a Martyr,  
From the Titles of Lords, and Knights of the Garter,  
From the teeth of mad-dogs, and a Country man's quarter,  
Libera nos, etc.   

From the Public Faith, and an Egg & Butter,  
From the Irish Purchasers, and all their clutter,  
From Omega's nose, when he fettles to sputter,  
Libera nos, &c:   

From the zeal of Old Harry locked up with a Whore,  
From waiting with Plaints at the Parliament door,  
From the death of a King without why or wherefore,  
Libera nos, etc.   

From the French disease; and the Puritan fry,  
From such as ne'er swear, but devoutly can lie,  
From cutting of capers full three story high,  
Libera nos, etc.   

From Painted glass, and Idolatrous cringes,  
From a Presbyter's Oath that turns upon hinges,  
From Westminster Jews with Levitical fringes,  
Libera nos, etc.   

From all that is said, and a thousand times more,  
From a Saint, and his Charity to the Poor,  
From the Plagues that are kept for a Rebel in store.  
Libera nos, etc.   

The Second Part.  

THat if it please thee to assist  
Our Agitators, and their List,  
And Hemp them with a gentle twist,  
Quaesumus te, etc.   

That it may please thee to suppose  
Our actions are as good as those  
That gull the People through the Nose,  
Quaesumus te, etc.   

That it may please thee here to enter,  
And fix the rumbling of our centre,  
For we live all at peradventure,  
Quaesumus te, etc.   

That it may please thee to unite  
The flesh and bones unto the spirit,  
Else Faith and literature good night,  
Quaesumus te, etc.   

That it may please thee O that we  
May each man know his Pedigree,  
And save that plague of Heraldry,  
Quaesumus te, etc.   

That it may please thee in each Shire  
Cities of refuge Lord to rear,  
That failing Brethren may know where,  
Quaesumus te, etc.   

That it may please thee to abhor us,  
Of any such dear favour for us,  
That thus have wrought thy people's sorrows,  
Quaesumus te, etc.   

That it may please thee to embrace  
Our days of thanks and fasting face,  
For robbing of thy holy place,  
Quaesumus te, etc.   

That it may please thee to adjourn  
The day of judgement, lest we burn,  
For lo it is not for our turn,  
Quaesumus te, etc.   

That it may please thee to admit  
A close Committee there to sit,  
No Devil to a Humane wit!  
Quaesumus te, etc.   

That it may please to dispense  
A little for convenience,  
Or let us play upon the sense,  
Quaesumus te, etc.   

That it may please thee to embalm  
The Saints in Robin Wisdom's Psalm,  
And make them musical and calm,  
Quaesumus te, etc.   

That it may please thee, since 'tis doubt,  
Satan cannot throw Satan out,  
Unite us and the Highland rout.  
Quaesumus te, &c▪     

AN ELEGY On the Death of Sir B●vile Grenvile.  
TO build upon the merit of thy Death,  
And raise thy Fame from thy expiring Breath,  
Were to s●eal Glories from thy Life, and tell  
The World, that Grenvil only did die well.  
But all thy Days were fair, the same Sun rose,  
The Lustre of thy Dawning, and thy Close.  
Thus to her Urn th' Arabian wonder flies,  
She lives in Perfumes, and in Perfumes dies:  
ere storms, and tumults (Names undreaded here)  
Could in their Bloome and Infancy appear;  
He in the stock and treasure of his mind  
Had heaps of Courage, and just heat combined.  
Where, like the thrifty Ant, he kept in store  
Enough for Spring, but for a Winter more.  
In Peace he did direct his thoughts on Wars,  
And learned in silence how to combat Jars.  
And though the Times looked smooth and would allow  
No tract of Frown or Wrinkle in their Brow:  
Yet his quick sight perceived the Age would lower,  
And, while the Day was fair, foresaw the Shower.  
At this the prudent Augur did provide  
Where to endure the storm, not where to hide,  
And sought to shun the Danger now drawn nigh,  
Not by Concealment but by Victory.  
As valiant Seamen, if the Vessel knock,  
Rather sail o'er it, than avoid the Rock.  
And thus Resolved, he saw on either hand,  
The Causes, and their bold Abettors stand.  
The Kingdom's Law is the pretence of each,  
Which these by Law preserve, these by its breach,  
The Subject's Liberty each side maintains,  
These say it consists in freedom, these in Chains,  
These love the decent Church, but these not pass  
To dress our Matron by the Geneva Glass?  
These still enshrine their God; but these adore  
Him most at some Ara●nah's Threshing-floor.  
Each part defends their King a several way,  
By true Subjection these, by Treasons they.  
But our Spectator soon unmasked the sin,  
And saw all Serpent through that specious skin.  
And midst their best Pretext did still despair,  
In any dress to see their Moor look fair.  
And though the Number weighed i'th' popular scale  
As light things float still with the tide and gale,  
He with the solid mixed, and did conclude,  
Justice makes Parties great, not Multitude.  
And with this constant Principle possessed,  
He did alone expose his single Breast,  
Against an Army's force, and bleeding lay,  
The great Restorer o'th' Declining Day.  
Thus slain thy Valiant Ancestor did lie,  
When his one Bark a Navy durst defy,  
When now encompassed rounds he Victor stood,  
And bathed his Pinnace in his conquering Blood.  
Till all his Purple current dried and spent,  
He fell, and left the Waves his Monument,  
Where shall next famous Grenvills Ashes stand?  
Thy Grandsire fills the Seas, and Thou the Land.   

To my Lord Bishop of S. on New-year's day.  

THough with the course and motion of the year,  
Not only Stars and Sun  
Move where they first begun;  
But Things and Actions do  
Keep the same Circle too,  
Returned to the same point in the same Sphere.   

Griefs and their Causes still are where they stood,  
'Tis the same Cloud and Night  
Shuts up our Joys and Light:  
Wars as remote from Peace,  
And Bondage from Release,  
As when the Sun his last years Circuit road.   

Though Sword and Slaughter are not Parted hence,  
But we like years and times,  
Meet in unequal chimes,  
Now a Cloud and then a Sun,  
Undo and are undone,  
Let loose and stopped by th' Orbs intelligence.   

Though Combats have so thick and frequent stood,  
That we at length may raise  
A Calendar of days,  
And style them foul or fair,  
By their success, not Air:  
And sign our Festivals by Rebels blood.   

Though the sad years are clothed in such a dress,  
That times to times give place,  
And seasons shift their grace,  
Not by our Cold or Heat,  
But Conquest or Defeat:  
And Loss makes Winter, Summer, happiness.   

Nay though a greater Ruin yet await;  
Such as the Active curse, 
The new disease.   
Sent to make worst times worse,  
Death's keen and secret dart,  
The shame of Herbs and Art  
Which proves at once our Wonder and our Fate.   

Though these conspire to fully our request,  
And labour to destroy,  
And kill your New-year's joy.  
Yet still your wont Art  
Will keep our wish in heart.  
Proportioned not tothth' times but to your breast  
Thus in the Storm you Calm and Silence find,  
Nor Sword nor Sickness can approach your mind.    

A satire, Occasioned by the Author's Survey of a Scandalous Pamphlet, entitled  
The King's Cabinet opened.  
WHen Laws and Princes are despised and cheap,  
When High patched Mischiefs all are in the heap;  
Returns must still be had; Gild must strive more  
Though not to ' Ennoble, yet to Enlarge her store.  
Poor cheap Design! the Rebel now must fly  
To Packet War, to Paper-Treacherie.  
The Basilisks are turned to Closet-Spies,  
And to their Poisonous add Enquiring eyes:  
As Snakes and Serpents should they cast their sting,  
Still the same Hate, though not same Poison fling;  
And their Vain teeth to the same point address,  
With the like Rancour, though unlike Success:  
So those that into undiscerning veins,  
Have thrown their Venom-deep, and their dark stains,  
By frail Advantages, still find it good,  
To keep th' Infection high i'th' People's Blood.  
" For Active Treason must be doing still:  
" Lest she unlearn her Art of doing ill.  
Who now have waded through all Public awe,  
Will break through Secrets and profane their Law.  
Know you, that would their Act and Statute see,  
Nature kept Court, and made it her Decree.  
When Angels talk, all their Conceits are brought  
From Mind to Mind, and they discourse by Thought.  
A Close Idea moves, and Silence flies  
To post the Message, and dispatch Replies,  
And though Ten Legions, in the Round are bend,  
They only hear to whom the Talk was meant.  
Now, though in Men a different Law controls,  
And Souls are not Ambassadors to Souls:  
Nature gave Reason power to find a way,  
Which none but these could venture to betray.  
" Two close safe Paths she did bequeath to men,  
" In Presence, Whisper; and at Distance, Penne.  
Public Decrees and Thoughts were else the same,  
Nor went it to Converse, but to Proclaim.  
Conceits were else but Records, but by this care  
Our Thoughts no Commons, but Enclosures are:  
What bold Intruders than are, who assail  
To cut their Prince's Hedge, and break his Pale?  
That so Vmanly gaze, and dare be seen  
Even then, when He converses with his Queen?  
Yet, as who breaks the tall Bank's rising Side,  
And all the Shore doth levy with the Tide,  
Doth not confine the Waves to any Bound,  
But the whole Stream may gain upon the Ground;  
So these, straight Prospect scorn, and Private View,  
" The Crime is small that doth engage a Few.  
These print their Shame, they must complete their Sin:  
Not take some Waves, and shut the Sluice again  
But, to the Raging of their Sea, they do  
Let in the Madness of the People too.  
But, 'cause their Crime must wear a Mask and Veil,  
And fain the Serpent would conceal his Tail.  
No sooner comes the Libel to our view,  
But see a stayed demure, grave Preface too:  
Which seems to show they would not thus intrude,  
Nor press so far, but for the Public good:  
But as some London Beggars use to stand,  
In Grecians Coats with Papers in their hand,  
Who are (as them indifferent Parts we meet)  
English at Home, but solemn Greeks i'th' street.  
Of whom unclothed, and when the truth is heard,  
Constantinople only knows the Beard.  
So this sly Masker, lay its Tinsel by,  
Is only Painted Zeal, and Pageantry,  
We need not let our satire here compute,  
How it profanes God in his Attribute. 
See the Preface   
But for it●s Light it need no B●shell call,  
A Sempstress Thimble will Eclipse it all.  
O! in what meekness it pretends to creep!  
How well the Tiger personates the Sheep!  
It not Returns ill Language to the King,  
Though the next Lines the Psalms against Him bring.  
Then it to th' Business comes, and lets us know,  
Who reads it either is its Friend, or Foe.  
If Friend, the Scandals all must true appear:  
If Foe (alack the man is ne'er the near.)  
Foe no Light moves, no Miracles like these,  
he'll say they're not the Kings too, if he please.  
And tell us pray? what, mayn't your last words stand?  
You sergeant his Seal, why not his Hand?  
But to admit, We now deduce and bring,  
What after-notes clearly imply o'th' King.  
First, They His Comfort from His Secrets wrest.  
They do allow the King, but not the Breast,  
The Sacred Knot must have a Tye, and Force,  
To join their Hands, but yet their Thoughts Divorce:  
And, as the Ivye weds her Consort-Tree,  
Though joined, and close their chaste Embraces be,  
Yet in those Twins and Circuits we can find  
No Traffic, no Commerce of mind with mind:  
So must the Sacred Laws of Marriage pierce;  
Here she may Sprout and Grow, but not Converse.  
And, like a Plant removed by Grafters toil,  
She finds not Nuptials, but a change of Soil.  
England to th' Queen transplanted thus must prove,  
No Foreign Kingdoms, but a Foreign Grove.  
But, lest this groundless seem, they reasons vex,  
And tell the World she's of the Weaker Sex.  
In what wild Brains this Madness first begun!  
They're wondrous angry, 'cause the Queen's no Man.  
Fond Sirs forbear, do not the world perplex:  
Reason and Judgement are not things of Sex.  
Souls and their Faculties were never heard  
To be confined to th' Doublet, and the Beard.  
Consult one Age from this, and you shall find  
A Queen the Glory of your Annals shined.  
But who to far and distant Objects flies,  
Must say the Sun wants Lustre, or he Eyes.  
Our Present injured Queen returns that store,  
And doth again, what could be done before:  
By the King's Judgement, shows Her own is Right,  
And still she meets His Ray with her own Light.  
Thus the wise King to Shebah's Queen was known,  
Who knew Him wise by Wisdom of her own.  
But as all Public Knowledge barred must be,  
So Houshold-Acts must have their Mystery:  
No Circumstance can pass, no Servant made,  
But must be wrapped in silence and close shade.  
One Place in Court a Riddle must afford,  
Worthy a secret Sibyls dark Record.  
As the King's Acts must all their limits prove,  
So their Restraint and Reins must check his Love.  
Esteems of's Consort by their pitch must fly,  
Nor must He rate his Dear Queen's Health too high.  
He must affect thus far, and then no more,  
His Tides must be proportioned to their shore;  
His Tenderness their Weights and Balance wear,  
By Grains and Scruples they Confine His Care,  
But (Savage) know, there can no ransom be  
Poised with the Health of such a Queen as She.  
She that at once such weighty Acts can do,  
That can be Queen and yet negotiate too:  
Send and be sent, and without more demur,  
Be both the Queen and her Ambassador.  
That gives dispatch for Ships, and when she please,  
Divides the Empire with the Queen o'th' Seas:  
Who dares the threats of any danger stand,  
The stubborn Rock, or the Devouring Sand.  
And though the Sea swell like Her fate, and Grave,  
Look at Her Consort, and despise the Wave.  
The Captive Queen did (thus) the Tyrant tell,  
I am no Captive so my King be well. 
Q. Curtius, lib. 3.   
By these her worth and rate is faintly known,  
Past stories blush when she erects Her own.  
Search old grey Annals, you may find at length,  
Some Queen in Vigour, and her midday strength;  
Who in her injured Consorts cause, refers  
To Copies glancing at these Acts of Hers.  
But if Infirm and Sickly Queens we scan,  
No story patterns her, None ever can  
Show us a Queen fraught with such wide Affairs,  
Here private Weakness, there a Kingdom's cares,  
Perplexed and tortured from her rest and ease,  
By a Rebellion here, there a Disease:  
Advice, and Medicines at one time we view,  
A Counsel-board, Board of Physicians too.  
Yet her Capacious Soul both these defeats,  
While this hand holds Instructions, that Receipts.  
These are our famed Queens Crimes, but yet one more  
Must be the main Ingredient of the store.  
Which seems to press so deep, there's nought so bright,  
But this may sully all its lustre quite:  
'Tis her Religion's Care: She tries Her Powers  
To keep that still, do not we so for Ours?  
Why to one Face so different shapes have been,  
What Virtue is in Us, in Her is Sin.  
Our different Faiths did long together grow,  
And neither suffered, neither loss did know:  
And like a stream, which 'twixt two fields doth flow,  
Which as it Moistens, so Divides them too:  
So did the Kingdom's Law throw Dew and growth,  
In Weight and just proportion unto both,  
And like a parting Current, slide along  
To keep them wide, that neither neither Wrong.  
Our Faiths were then but Two, but since a spirit  
So many Mushroom Sects raised in a Night:  
The Protestant (as she could Parties gain  
Who unconcerned were in the Dregs and stain)  
Did recommend her Votaries, and bring  
Her Faith to its Defender, our Just King.  
Who with such Zeal hath kept her Rites entire,  
As well from Languishing, as from strange Fire:  
That still the Censer savours its true scent,  
Without Accession, yet no Perfume spent;  
The happy Martyrs find their Faith had stood  
In Him, as when they bathed it in their blood.  
They joy to see, that He his God adores,  
Not at High-places, nor at Threshing-floores,  
But spite of Scandals, pays his Homage still  
In the Just Beauty of the Sion-Hill.  
The Other Sects, though as in Common-fields,  
Which Swine, and Horses, Mules and Oxen yields,  
Who though at Distance fed, Approaching clash,  
And disproportioned shapes together dash▪  
So they, though one Rebellion them sustain,  
Themselves Accuse, and are Accused again.  
Could they comply, then possibly might dwell  
Some faint Agreement, though no Peace in Hell:  
Now, these nice tastes no Foreign aids endure,  
(Their Rebel Scots are English Rebels sure,)  
No, nor the Papists: much it with them sticks,  
Lest these men's Poniard's should be Heretics:  
Their souls would be profaned, and clean undun,  
Should they be slain by an Idolatrous Gun.  
Go lay your Vizard by, your Masking stuff,  
The Devil is tired, and Hell hath laughed enough:  
The world descries the Cheat, 'tis quickly known  
They no Faith hate, who have Resolved on None.  
These may not fight: that is, the King you'd have  
Tamely forsake his Crown, and be your Slave.  
His Easier Subjects long ago you got,  
All who approved your Bait, and swallowed that.  
Indeed, Discerning souls the snare forsook,  
And through the Wave did still descry the Hook:  
But yet so close designs were cast about,  
Your Race was half run ere the King set out,  
Yet you complain, and guilty fears do gnaw,  
Lest you should scanted be for Space and Law:  
Conscious, though you your cause did forward meet,  
Its Gild and Sin hangs Plummets at its feet.  
Are not the Jews, Walloons, the Turks, and all meet,  
Whom from as different Gods as Lands you call,  
An Army strong to keep the cause in heart,  
But that the King must with His Subjects part?  
Can no Accession so much safety send,  
But you will Dread Him still before you end?  
Sometimes at Ebbs his God doth let Him stand,  
That so the Rescue may declare His hand.  
But, what (you hope) may make the King's side pause,  
Is what he writes about the Penal Laws.  
Poor shallow souls, I deem it one from hence  
To forfeit Loyalty, and forfeit Sense.  
Shall such as waste their Blood be quite debarred,  
And kept without the Pale from all Reward?  
Shall fame report, shall after Ages tell,  
So just a King regards not who do dwell?  
But you pretend, this was a State-Decree,  
Nor without Power which made may cancelled be  
The King never says it shall: but cannot doubt  
That when his God hath brought his work about,  
And shifted Jars and Tumults into Ease,  
And set him 'midst his Counsel in High peace:  
Their joint united suffrage will think fit  
To give this Act, or something Great as it.  
But see, His Pardon then to Ireland came,  
(Wild Rebels) offers he not you the same?  
He holds still out the same fresh cheerful Ray,  
You shut your Windows and exclude the Day:  
Embrace the shine, or else expect the stroke,  
The Flint the Sun ne'er melts, at last is broke.  
But now the Floodgates op●, and a free ●luce,  
●ets in all senseless Doctrines, and wild use;  
And by Comparing what's said long ago,  
Finds Disproportion in the King's Acts now.  
His past Resolves it up to Present brings,  
His Vows to Vows, and Things to combat Things.  
A Different face throughout, and a fresh Scene  
Succeed: and all his Acts seem shifted clean.  
Weak men! who are deprived by Gild or chance,  
Of all the lights of Common Circumstance;  
That have unlearned that Actions shift their Face,  
And da●e their worth from Persons, Time, and Place.  
And sundry such, from whose Neglects appear  
Acts as Sins there, which are Tried Virtues here.  
For instance then, o●t as the King reflects  
His Oath's enjoin, His People he protects.  
Which Oaths extent, and Circuit we may view  
Spread o'er th' Five Execrable Members too.  
Yet (far as't them concerns) that Chain is broke,  
That Oath left Him, because they le●t His Yoke▪  
Now of this Pitch, and Size, do still appear  
All Airy Scruples which are started there.  
The King Declared, He thought you meant no ill,  
Say, would you have the King Declare so still?  
Allow but Different Circumstance, and we  
Find all your Scandals will his Glories be.  
Now, as the worst things have some things of stead,  
And some T●ades treasure Jewels in their Head.  
So doth this Libels womb Girt, and contain.  
What though it compass Round? it cann●t slain  
Lines of so clear, yet ●o Majestic strain;  
A most Transparent, yet a close-wove Vein;  
Which when we reach its Sense, we may descry,  
We see more by its Light, than our own Eye.  
So Phoebus (when the Cloud and Night is done)  
Lends us his Light, to know he is the Sun.  
Yet this expressive clearness is but bark,  
An Outside Sun which guards us from the dark.  
Here the Bright Language shuts in Brighter sense,  
Rich Diamonds sleep within a Crystal Fence.  
Gems of that rate, to Tully they'd appear  
Fit purchase for his Critic Senate's Ear:  
And their whole Shine in a full Lustre tends  
To God, His Conscience, Consort, and his Friends.   

THE CLOSE.  
No winding Characters, no secret Maze,  
Could so perplex, but they have found their ways.  
They thread the Labyrinth, and what to do?  
whenever tends the Guide? what purchase in this Clew?  
Rash Alexander forced King Gordius Knot, 
Q. Curtius lib. 2.   
And so in hand found he a Rope had got.  
A New Diurnal of Passages more  
Exactly drawn up then heretofore.  
Printed and Published, 'tis ordered to be,  
By Henry Elsing the Clerk of the P.   

1 June 1643.  
Since many Diurnals (for which we are grieved)  
Are come from both Houses, and are not believed;  
The better to help them for running and flying,  
We have put them in Verse to Authorise their lying.  
For it has been debated, and found to be true,  
That lying a Parliament Privilege too:  
And that they may the sooner our Conquests rehearse,  
We are minded to put them in Galloping Verse;  
But so many Maimed Soldiers from Reading there came,  
That in spite of the Surgeons, make our Verses go lame.  
We have ever used Fictions, and now it is known,  
Our Poverty has made us Poetical grown.   

Monday.  
On Monday both Houses fell into debate,  
And were likely to fall by the ears as they sat;  
Yet would they not have the business decided,  
That they (as the Kingdom is) might be divided.  
They had an intention to Prayers to go,  
But Ex tempore Prayers are now Common too.  
To Voting they fall, and the key of the work,  
Was the raising of Money for the State and the Kirk▪  
'Tis only Free-loan, yet this Order they make,  
That what Men would not lend they should Plunder and take;  
Upon this, the word Plunder came into their minds,  
And all of them did labour a new one to find;  
They called it distraining: yet thought it no shame,  
To persist in the Act, which they blushed for to name.  
They Voted all Persons from Oxford that came,  
Should be apprehended: and after the same,  
With an Humble Petition, the King they request,  
He'd be pleased to return, and be served like the rest.  
A Message from Oxford conducing to Peace,  
Came next to their hands, that Arms might cease:  
They Voted and Voted, and still they did vary,  
Till at last the whole sense of the House was contrary  
To reason; they knew by their Arms they might gain▪  
What neither true reason, nor Law can maintain.  
Cessation was Voted a dangerous Plot,  
Because the King would have it, both Houses would not.  
But when they resolved it, abroad must be blown,  
(To baffle the World) that the King would have none.  
And carefully muzzled the mouth of the Press,  
Lest the truth should peep through their juggling dress.  
For they knew a Cessation would work them more harms,  
Than Essex could do the Cavaliers with his Arms.  
While they keep the Ships and the Forts in their hand,  
They may be Traitors by Sea, as well as by Land.  
The Forts will preserve them as long as they stay,  
And the Ships carry them and their Plunder away.  
They have therefore good reason to account War the better,  
For the Law will prove to them but a kill Letter.   

Tuesday.  
A Post from his Excellence came blowing his Horn,  
For Money to advance, and this spun out the Morn;  
And straight to the City some went for relief,  
The rest made an Ordinance to carry Powder-Beef.  
Thus up go the Roundheads, and Essex advances,  
But only to lead his Soldiers new dances.  
To Reading he goes, for at Oxford (they say)  
His Wife has made him Bulwarks to keep him away.  
Prince Rupert, for fear that the Name be confounded,  
Will saw off his Horns, and make him a Round-head.  
The news was returned with General fame,  
That Reading was taken ere ever he came.  
Then away Road our Captains, and Soldiers did run,  
To show themselves valiant, when the Battle was done,  
Preparing to plunder; but as soon as they came,  
They quickly perceived it was but a flame:  
An Ordinance of Parliament Essex brought down,  
But that would not serve him to batter the Town.  
More Money was raised, more Men and Ammunition,  
Carts loaded with Turnips, and other Provision.  
His Excellence had Chines, and Rams-heads for a Present,  
And his Council of War had Woodcock and Pheasant.  
But Venus had 5000. Calves-heads all in Carts,  
To nourish his Men, and to cheer up their Hearts.  
This made them so valiant that that very day,  
They had taken the Town but for running away.  
'Twas ordered this day, that thanksgiving be made,  
To the Roundheads in Sermons, for their Beef and their Bread.  

Wednesday.  
Two Members this day at a Conference sat,  
And one gives the other a knock on the Pate.  
This set them a voting, and the Upper House swore,  
'Twas a breach of Privilege he gave him no more.  
The lower the breaking their Members head voted  
A breach of their Privilege; for it is to be noted,  
That Reason and Privilege in it did grow,  
'Twas a breach of his Crown and Dignity too.  
Then came in the Women with a long long Petition.  
To settle Militia, and damn the Commission.  
For if fight continue, they say they did ●ear.  
That Men would be scarce, and Husbands be dear.  
So plainly the Speaker the Business unties,  
That presently all the Members did rise  
They had hardly the leisure all things to lay open,  
But some felt in their Bellies if they had not a Pope.  
Some strictly stood to them, and others did fear,  
Each carried about them a fierce Cavalier.  
This Business was handled by the close Committee,  
That privately met at a Place in the City.  
So closely to voting the Members did fall,  
That the humble Sisters were overthrown all.  
But they and their Helpers came short at the last,  
Till at length the whole Work on Prince Griffith was cast.  
And he with his troup did handle the matter  
He pleased every Woman, as soon as he came at her.  
The Business had like to have gone on her side,  
Had not Pym persuaded them not to confide.  
For rather than Peace, to fill the Commonwealth,  
He said he'd do them every night himself.   

Thursday.  
This Day a great Fart in the House they did hear,  
Which made all the Members make Buttons for fear;  
And One makes nine Speeches while the Business was hot,  
And spoke through the Nose that he smelled out the Plot.  
He takes it to task, and the Articles draws,  
As a breach of their own Fundamental-laws.  
Now Letters were read, which did fully relate  
A Victory against Newcastle of late;  
That hundreds were slain, and hundreds did run,  
And all this was got ere the Battle begun.  
This they resolved to make the best on;  
And next they resolved upon the Question,  
That Bonfires and Prayse●, the Pulpit and Steeple,  
Must all be suborned to cozen the People.  
But the policy was more Money to get,  
For the Conquest's dear bought, and far enough set;  
Such Victories in Ireland, although it be known  
They strive to make that Land as bad as our Own.  
No sooner the Money for this was brought hither,  
But a crowd of true Letters came flocking together,  
How Hotham and's Army, and others were beaten,  
This made the blue Members to startle and threaten.  
And these by all means must be kept from the City,  
And only referred to the Privy Committee.  
And they presently with an Ex tempore Vote,  
Which they have used so long, that they learned by rote,  
They styled them Malignant, and to Lies they did turn them,  
Then Corbet, in stead of the Hangman, must burn them.  
And he after that an Ordinance draws,  
That none should tell truth that disparaged the Cause.  
Then Pym like a Pegasus trots up and down,  
And takes up an Angel to throw down a Crown.  
He stand like a Creature, and makes a long Speech,  
That came from his mouth, and part from his breech.  
He moves for more Horse, that the Army might be  
Part Man's flesh and Horse flesh, as well as he;  
And heel'l be a Colonel as well as another,  
But durst not ride a Horse, 'cause a Horse rid his Mother.   

Friday.  
Sir Hugh Cholmley for being no longer a Traitor,  
Was accused of Treason in the highest Nature;  
'Cause he (as they bade him) his Soldiers did bring,  
To turn from Rebellion, and fight for the King.  
They voted him out, but, nor they nor their men  
Could vote him into the House again.  
Sir David's Remonstrance next to them was read,  
From the City's Round-body, and Isaac's the Head.  
'Twas approved; but one Cause produced a denial,  
That all Traitors be brought to a Legal trial.  
For 'tis against Reason to vote, or to do  
Against Traitors, when They are no other but so.  
Because about nothing so long they sit still,  
They hold it convenient diurnals to fill.  
And therefore they gave their Chronographer charge  
To stuff it with Orders and Letters at large.  
The King by's Prerogative, nor by the Law,  
Can speak nor print nothing his People to draw,  
Yet Pennyles Pamphleteers they do maintain,  
Whose only Religion is Stipendiary gain.  
Yet Cum Privilegio, against King and the State.  
The Treason that's taught them (like Parrots) they prate.  
These Hackneys are licens't what ever they do,  
As if they had Parliament privilege too.  
Thus than they consult: so zealous they are,  
To settle the peace of the Kingdom by War.  
But against Civil-war their hatred is such,  
To prevent it they'll bring in the Scotch and the Dutch.  
They had rather the Land be destroyed in a minute,  
Than abide any thing that has Loyalty in it;  
And yet their Rebellion so neatly they trim,  
They fight for the King, but they mean for King Pym  
These all to fight for, and maintain are sent  
The Laws of England; but New-England is meant.  
And though such disorders are broke in of late,  
They keep it the Anagram still of a State.  
For still they are plotting such riches to bring,  
To make Charles a rich and glorious King.  
And by this Rebellion this good they will do him,  
They'll forfeit all their Estates unto him.  
No Clergy must meddle in Spiritual affairs,  
But Layton ne'er heard of it, losing his ears,  
For that he might be deaf to the Prisoners cries,  
To a spiritual Gaolers' place he must rise.  
The rest have good reason for what they shall do,  
For they are both Clergy and Laity too.  
Or else at the best when the Question is stated,  
They are but Mechanics newly translated.  
They may be Committees to practise their bawling,  
For stealing of Horse is Spiritual Calling.  
The reason why People our Martyrs adored,  
'Cause their Ears being cut off their Fame sounds the more.  
'Twas ordered the Goods of Malignants, and Lands,  
Shall be shared among them, and took into their hands.  
They have Spirits of more Malignants to come,  
That every one in the House may have some  
Then down to Guild-Hall they return their thanks,  
To the Fools whom the Lottery has cheated with Blanks.   

Saturday.  
This day there came news of the taking a Ship,  
(To see what strange wonders are wrought in the deep)  
That a troop of their Horse ran into the Sea,  
And pulled out a Ship alive to the Key.  
And after much prating and fight they say  
The Ropes served for Traces to draw her away.  
Sure these were Sea-horses, or else by their lying  
They'll make them as famous for swimming as flying.  
The rest of the day they spent to bemoan  
Their Brother, the Roundhead that to Tyburn was gone.  
And could not but think it a barbarous thing,  
To hang him for killing a friend to the King.  
He was newly baptised, and held it was good  
To be washed, yet not in water, but blood.  
They ordered for his honour to cut off his ears,  
And make him a Martyr: but a Zealot appears,  
And affirms him a Martyr, for although 'twas his fate  
To be hanged, yet he died for the good of the State  
Then all fell to plotting of m●t●ers so deep,  
That the silent Speaker fell down fast asleep.  
He recovers himself and rub● up his eyes,  
Then motion's his House that 'twas time to rise.  
So home they went all, and their business referred  
To the Close Committee by them to be heard;  
They took it upon them, but what they did do,  
Take notice that none but themselves must know.   

Postscript.  
Thus far we have gone in Rythme to disclose,  
What never was uttered by any in Prose.  
If any be wanting, 'twas by a mishap,  
Because we forgot to weight by the map.  
For over the Kingdom their Orders were spread,  
They have made the whole Body as bad as the Head.  
And now made such work that they all do,  
Is but to read Letters and answers them too.  
We thought to make Finis the end of the story,  
But that we shall have more business for you.  
For (as their proceedings do) so shall our Pen,  
Run roundly from Monday to Monday again.  
And since we have begun, our Muse doth intend,  
To have (like their Votes) no beginning nor end.    

The holy Pedlar.  

FRom a Foreign shore  
I am come to store,  
Your Shops with rare devices:  
No drugs do I bring  
From the Indian King,  
No Peacocks, Apes, nor Spices.  
Such Wares I do show  
As in England do grow,  
And are for the good of the Nation,  
Let no body fear  
To deal in my Ware,  
For Sacrilege now's in fashion.   

I the Pedlar am,  
That came from Amsterdam  
With a pack of new Religions,  
I did every one fit,  
According to's wit,  
From the Tub to Mahomet's pigeons.  
Great Trading I found,  
For my spiritual ground,  
Wherein every man was a Meddler;  
I made People decline,  
The learned Divine,  
And then they bought Heaven of the Pedlar.   

First Surplices I took,  
Next the Common-Prayer-book,  
And made all those Papists that used 'em;  
Then the Bishops and Deans,  
I stripped of their means,  
And gave it to those that abused 'um.  
The Clergymen next,  
I withdrew from their Text,  
And set up the gifted Brother;  
Thus Religion I made,  
But a matter of trade,  
And I cared nor for one or tother.   

Then Tithes I fell upon,  
And those I quickly won,  
'Twas profane in the Clergy to take 'um.  
But they served for the Lay,  
Till I sold them away,  
And so did Religious make 'em;  
But now come away,  
To the Pedlar, I pray,  
I scorn to rob or cozen;  
If Churches you lack,  
Come away to my Pack,  
Here's thirteen to the dozen.   

Church Militants they be,  
For now we do see,  
They have fought so long with each other;  
The Rump's-Churches threw down,  
Those that stood for the Crown,  
And sold them to one another.  
Then come you factious Crew,  
Here's a Bargain now for you,  
With the spoils of the Church you may revel;  
Now pull down the Bells,  
And then hang up yourselves,  
And so give his due to the Devil.    

The Hue and Cry after Sir John Presbyter.  
WIth hair in Characters, and Lugs in text;  
With a splay mouth and a nose circumflexed;  
With a set Ruff of Musket-bore, that wears  
Like Cartrages, or linen Bandeliers,  
Exhausted of their sulphurous contents,  
In Pulpit fireworks, which that Bomball vents;  
The Negative and Covenanting Oath,  
Like two Moustaches, issuing from his mouth;  
The bush upon his chin (like a carved story,  
In a box-knot) cut by the Directory;  
Madams Confession hanging at his ear,  
Wiredrawn through all the questions, How and Where  
Each circumstance so in the hearing felt,  
That when his ears are cropped he'll count them gelt;  
The weeping Cassock scared into a Jump,  
A sign the Presbyter's worn to the stump:  
The Presbyter though charmed against mischance,  
With the Divine Right of an Ordinance.  
If you meet any that do thus attire 'em,  
Stop them, they are the tribe of Adoniram.  
What zealous frenzy did the Senate seize,  
To tore the Rochet to such rags as these?  
Episcopacy minced, reforming Tweed  
Hath sent us Runts, even of her Churches breed;  
Lay-interlining Clergy, a device  
That's nickname to the stuff called Lordship's and Lice.  
The Beast at wrong-end branded, you may trace  
The Devils footsteps in his cloven face.  
A face of several parishes and sorts,  
Like to a Sergeant shaved at Inns of Courts.  
What mean these Elders else, those Kirk Dragoons  
Made up of Ears and Ruffs like Ducatoons?  
That Hierarchy of Handicrafts begun,  
Those new Exchange-men of Religion?  
Sure they're the Antic ●eads, which placed without  
The Church, do gape and disembogue a sprout:  
Like them above the Commons house have been  
So long without, now both are gotten in;  
Then, what imperious in the Bishop sounds,  
The same the Scotch Executor rebounds.  
This stating Prelacy, the Classic rout,  
That spoke it often, ere it spoke it out;  
So by an Abbeys Sceleton of late,  
I heard an Echo supererogate  
Through imperfection, and the voice restore,  
As if she had the hiccop o'er and o'er.  
Since they our mixed Diocesans combine  
Thus to ride double in their Discipline,  
That Paul's shall to the Consistory call  
A Dean and Chapter out of Weavers-Hall?  
Each at the Ordinance for to assist,  
With the five thumbs of his groat-changing fist.  
Down Dagon Synod with thy motley ware,  
Whilst we do swagger for the Common-Prayer;  
That Dovelike Embassy, that wings our sense  
To Heaven's gate in shape of innocence.  
Pray for the Mitred Authors, and defy  
These Demicasters' of Divinity.  
For where Sir John with Jack- of-all-trades joins,  
His Finger's thicker than the Prelate's Loins.   

The way to woo a Zealous Lady.  

I Came unto a Puritan to woo,  
And ●oughly did salute her with a Kiss;  
She shoved me from her when I came unto;  
Brother, by yea and nay I like not this:  
And as I her with amorous talk saluted,  
My Articles with Scripture she confuted.   

She told me, that I was too much profane,  
And not devout neither in speech nor gesture;  
And I could not one word answer again,  
Nor had not so much Grace to call her Sister;  
For ever something did offend her there,  
Either my broad beard, hat, or my long hair.   

My Band was broad, my ' Apparel was not plain,  
My Points and Girdle made the greatest show;  
My Sword was odious, and my Belt was vain,  
My Spanish shoes was cut too broad at toe;  
My Stockings light, my Garters tied too long,  
My Gloves perfumed, and had a scent too strong.   

I left my pure Mistress for a space,  
And to a snip-snap Barber straight went I;  
I cut my Hair, and did my Corpse uncase  
Of ' Barrels pride that did offend the eye;  
My high-crowned Hat, my little Beard also,  
My pecked Band, my Shoes were sharp at toe.   

Gone was my Sword, my Belt was laid aside,  
And I transformed both in looks and speech;  
My ' Apparel plain, my Cloak was void of Pride,  
My little Skirts, my metamorphized Breech,  
My Stockings black, my Garters were tied shorter,  
My Gloves no scent; thus marched I to her Porte●.   

The Porter spied me, and did lead me in,  
Where his sweet Mistress reading was a Chapter:  
Peace to this house, and all that are therein,  
Which holy words with admiration wrapped her,  
And ever, as I came her something nigh,  
She, being divine, turned up the white o'th' eye.   

Quoth I, dear Sister, and that liked her well,  
I kissed her, and did pass to some delight,  
She, blushing, said, that long-tailed men would tell,  
Quoth I, I'll be as silent as the night;  
And lest the wicked now should have a sight  
Of what we do, faith, I'll put out the light.   

O do not swear, quoth she, but put it out,  
Because that I would have you save your Oath,  
In truth, you shall but kiss me, without doubt;  
In troth, quoth I, here will we rest us both;  
Swear you, quoth she, in troth? had you not sworn  
I'd not have done't, but took it in foul scorn.    

A Hue and Cry after the Reformation.  

WHen Temples lie like battered Quarrs,  
Rich in their ruin'd Sepulchers,  
When Saints forsake their painted Glass  
To meet their worship as they pass,  
When Altars grow luxurious with the die  
Of humane blood,  
Is this the flood  
Of Christianity?   

When Kings are cup-boarded like cheese,  
Sights to be seen for pence a piece,  
When Dyadems, like Broker's tire,  
Are customed relics set to hire,  
When Sovereignty & Sceptres lose their names,  
Streamed into words,  
Carved out by swords  
Are these refining flames?   

When Subjects and Religion stir  
Like Meteors in the Metaphor,  
When zealous hinting and the yawn  
Excize our M●niver and Lawn;  
When blue digressions fill the troubled air,  
And th' Pulpit's let  
To every Set  
That will usurp the Chair?   

Call ye me this the night's farewell,  
When our noon day's as dark as Hell?  
How can we less than term such lights  
Ecclesiastic Heteroclite?  
Bold sons of Adam when in fire you crawl,  
Thus high to be,  
Perched on the tree,  
Remember but the fall.   

Was it the glory of a King  
To make him great by suffering?  
Was there no way to build God's House  
But rendering of it infamous?  
If this be then the merry ghostly trade?  
To work in gall?  
Pray take it all  
Good brother of the blade.   

Call it no more the Reformation,  
According to the new translation:  
Why will you wrack the common brain  
With words of an unwonted strain?  
As Plunder? or a phrase in senses cleft?  
When things more nigh  
May well supply  
And call it downright theft.   

Here all the Schoolmen and Divines  
Consent, and swear the naked lines  
Want no expounding or contest,  
Or Bellarmine to break a jest.  
Since then the Heroes of the pen with me  
Near screw the sense  
With difference,  
We all agree agree.    

The Times.  
TO speak in wetshod eyes, and drowned looks,  
Sad broken accents, and a vein that brooks  
No spirit, life, or vigour, were to own  
The crush and triumph of affliction;  
And creeping with Themistocles to be  
The pale-faced Pensioners of our enemy.  
No 'tis the glory of the Soul to rise  
By falls, and at rebound to pierce the skies.  
Like a brave Courser standing on the sand  
Of some high-working Fretum, views a land  
Smiling with sweets upon the distant side,  
Garnished in all her gay embroidered pride,  
Larded with Springs, and fringed with curled Woods,  
Impatient, bounces in the cap'ring floods,  
Big with a nobler fury than that stream  
Of shallow violence he meets in them;  
Thence armed with scorn and courage ploughs a way  
Through the impostumed billows of the Sea;  
And makes the grumbling Surges slaves to oar  
And waft him safely to the further shore:  
Where landed, in a sovereign disdain  
He turns back, and surveys the foaming main,  
While the subjected waters flowing reel,  
Ambitious yet to wash the Victor's heel.  
In such a noble Equipage should we  
Embrace th' encounter of our misery.  
Not like a field o● corn, that hangs the head  
For every tempest, every petty dread.  
Crosses were the best Christians arms: and we  
That hope a wished Canaan once to see,  
Must not expect a carpet-way alone  
Without a red-sea of affliction.  
Then cast the dice: Let's ford old Rubicon,  
Caesar 'tis thine, man is but once undone.  
Tread softly though, lest Scyllah's ghost awake,  
And us i'th' roll of his Proscriptions take.  
Rome is revived, and the Triumvirate  
In the black Island are once more a State;  
The City trembles: there's no third to shield,  
If once Augustus to Antonius yield,  
Law shall not shelter Cicero, the Robe  
The Senate: Proud success admits no Probe  
Of Justice to correct, or quare the fate  
That bears down all as illegitimate;  
For whatsoe'er it lists to overthrow,  
It either finds it, or else makes it so.  
Thus Tyranny's a stately Palace, where  
Ambition sweats to climb and nustle there;  
But when 'tis entered, what hopes then remain?  
The●e is no Salliport to come out again.  
For Mischief must roll on, and gliding grow,  
Like little Rivulets that gently flow  
From their first bubbling springs, but still increase  
And swell their Channel as they mend their pace;  
Till in a glorious tide of villainy  
They overrun the banks, and posting fly  
Like th' bellowing Wave● in tumults, till they can  
Display themselves in a full Ocean.  
And if ●lind rage shall chance to miss its way,  
Bring stock enough alone to make a Sea.  
Thus treble treason▪ are secured and drowned  
By louder cries of deeper mouth and ●ound.  
And high attempts swallow a puny p●ot,  
A● Cannons overwhelm the smaller ●hor  
Whiles the deaf senseless World inur'd a while  
(Like the Catadupi●t ●t the fall of Nile)  
To the fierce tumbling wonder, think it none,  
Thus Custom hallow●●rreligion!  
And strokes the patient beast till he admit  
The now-grown-light and necessary Bit.  
But whither do I ramble? Gauled times  
Cannot endure a smart hand o'er their crimes  
Distracted age? What Dialect or fashion  
Shall I assume? to pass the approbation  
Of thy censorious Synod; which now sit  
High Areopagites to destroy all wit?  
I cannot say, I say, that I am one  
Of th' Church of Ely-hous●, or Abington,  
Nor of those precious Spirits that can deal  
The Pomegranates of grace at every meal.  
No zealous Hemp-dresser yet dipped me in  
The Laver of adoption from my sin.  
Put yet if inspiration or a tale  
Of a long-wasted six hours length prevail  
A smooth Certificate from the sisterhood,  
Or to be termed holy before good,  
Religious malice, or a faith w'out works  
Other than may proclaim us Jews or Turks:  
If these, these hint at any thing? Then, then  
Whoop! my despairing Hope come back again:  
For since the inundation of grace,  
All honesty's under water, or in chase.  
But 'tis the old world's dotage, thereupon  
We feed on dreams, imagination,  
Humours, and cross-grained passions which now reign  
In the decaying elements of the brain.  
'Tis hard to coin new fancies, when there be  
So few that launch out in discovery.  
Nay Arts are so far from being cherished,  
There's scarce a College but has lost its Head,  
And almost all its Members: O sad wound!  
Where never an Artery could be judged sound!  
To what a height is Vice now towered? When we  
Dare not miscall it an Obliquity?  
So confident, and carrying such an awe,  
That it subscribes itself no less than Law?  
If this be Reformation then? The great  
Account pursued with so much blood and sweat?  
In what black lines shall our sad story be  
Delivered over to posterity?  
With what a dash and scar shall we be read?  
How has Dame Nature in us suffered?  
Who of all Centuries the first age are  
That sunk the world for want of due repair?  
When first we issued out in cries and tears,  
(Those salt presages of our future years)  
Headlong we dropped into a quiet calm;  
Times crowned with rosy Garlands, spice and balm,  
Where first a glorious Church and mother came,  
Embraced us in her arms, gave us a name  
By which we live, and an indulgent breast,  
Flowing with stream to an eternal rest.  
Thus ravished, the poor Soul could not guests even,  
Which was more kind to her yet, earth or heaven.  
Or rather wrapped in a pious doubt  
Of heaven, whether she were in or out.  
Next the Great Father of our Country brings  
His blessing too, (even the Best of Kings)  
Safe and well-grounded Laws to guard our peace,  
And nurse our virtues in their just increase;  
Like a pure Spring from whom all graces come,  
Whose boun●y made it double Christendom:  
Such and so sweet were those Halcyon days,  
That rose upon us in our Infant rays;  
Such a composed State we breathed under,  
We only heard of Jove, ne'er felt his thunder.  
Terrors were then as strange, as love now grown,  
Wrong and Revenge lived quietly at home.  
The sole contention that we understood,  
Was a rare strife and war in doing good.  
Now let's reflect upon our gratefulness,  
How we have added, or (O:) made it less,  
What are th' improvements? what our progress, where  
Those handsome acts that say that some men were?  
He that to ancient wreaths can bring no more  
From his own worth, dies banq'rupt on the score.  
For Father's Crests are crowned in the Son,  
And glory spreads by propogation.  
Now virtue shield me! where shall I begin?  
To what a labyrinth am I now slipped in?  
What shall we answer them? or what deny?  
What prove? or rather whither shall we fly?  
When the poor widowed Church shall ask us where  
Are all her honours? and that filial care  
We owed so sweet a Parent as the Spouse  
Of Christ, which here vouchsafed to own a house?  
Where are her B●anerges? and those rare  
Brave sons of consolation? which did bear  
The Ark before our Israel, and dispense  
The heavenly Manna with such diligence?  
In them the primitive Mottoes come to pass,  
Aut mortui sunt, aut docent literas.  
Blessed Virgin, we can only say we have  
Thy Prophet's Tombs among us, and their grave.  
And here and there a man in colours paint,  
That by thy ruins grew a mighty Saint.  
Next Caesar some accounts are due to thee,  
But those in Blood already written be;  
So loud and lasting, in such monstrous shapes,  
So wide the never to be closed wound gapes;  
All ages yet to come with shivering, shall  
Recite the fearful pres'dent of thy fall.  
Hence we confute thy tenant Solomon,  
Under the Sun a new thing hath been done▪  
A thing before all pattern, all pretence  
Of rule or copy: Such a strange offence  
Of such original extract, that it bears  
Date only from the Eden of our years.  
Laconian Agis! we have read thy fate,  
The violence of the Spartan love and hate.  
How Pagans trembled at the thought of thee,  
And fled the horror of thy tragedy;  
Thyestes cruel feast, and how the Sun  
Shrunk in his golden beams that fight to shun▪  
The bosoms of all Kingdoms open lie,  
Plain and emergent to th' enquiring eye.  
But when we glance upon our native home▪  
As the black Centre to whom all points come,  
We rest amazed, and silently admire  
How far beyond all spleen ours did aspire.  
All that we dare assert, is but a cry  
Of an exchanged peace for Liberty▪  
A secret term by inspiration known,  
A mist that brooks no demonstration,  
Unless we dive into our purses, where  
We quickly find Our Freedom purely dear.  
But why exclaim you thus? may some men say,  
Against the times? when equal night and day  
Keep their just course? the seasons still the same?  
As sweet as when from the first hand they came?  
The influence of the Stars benign and free,  
As at first Peep up in their infancy?  
'Tis not those standing motions that divide  
The space of years, nor the swift hours that glide  
Those little particles of age, that come  
In thronging Items that make up the Sum,  
That's here intended: But our crying crimes,  
Our Monsters that abominate the times.  
'Tis we that make the Metonymy good  
By being bad, which like a troubled flood  
Nothing produce but slimy mire and dirt,  
And impudence that makes shame malapert.  
To travel further in these wounds that lie  
Rankling, though seeming closed, were to deny  
Rest to an ore-watched world, and force fresh tears  
From stenched eyes, new alarmed by old fears.  
Which if they thus shall heal and stop, they be  
The first that ere were cured by Lethargy.  
This only Axiom from ill Times increase  
I gather, There's a time to hold one's peace.   

The Commoners.  

1  
COme your ways  
Bonny Boys,  
Of the Town,  
For now is the time or never,  
Shall your fears,  
Or your cares  
Cast you down?  
Hang your wealth,  
And your health,  
Get renown,  
We all are 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.   

2  
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 levelled are we by the Roundhead,  
While Church and State must  
Feed their Pride and their Lust,  
And the Kingdom and King confounded.   

3  
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 Buffcoat to us?  
Shall we lose our estates  
By plunder and rates  
To bedeck those proud upstarts that swagger,  
Rather fight for your meat,  
Which these Locusts do eat,  
Now every man's a beggar.    

The Scots Curanto.  

1.  
COme, come away to the English wars,  
A fig for our Hills and Valleys,  
'Twas we did begin and will lengthen their jars,  
We'll gain by their loss and folleys;  
Let the Nations  
By invasions,  
Break through our bars,  
They can get little good by their salleys.   

2.  
Though Irish and English entered be,  
The State is become our Debtor.  
Let them have our Land, if their own may be free  
And the Scot will at length be a getter.  
If they crave it  
Let them have it,  
What care we:  
We would fain change our Land for a better.   

3.  
Long have we longed for the English Land,  
But we are hindered still by disasters,  
But now is their time, when they can't withstand,  
But are their own Country's wasters.  
If we venture,  
We may enter  
By command,  
And at last we shall grow to be Masters.   

4.  
When at first we began to rebel,  
Though they did not before regard us,  
How the name of a Scot did the English quell▪  
Which formerly have outdared us.  
For our coming  
And returning,  
They paid us well,  
And royally did reward us.   

5.  
The better to bring our ends about,  
We must plead for a Reformation;  
And tickle the minds of the giddy-brained rout▪  
With the hopes of an innovation.  
They will love us  
And approve us,  
Without doubt,  
If we bring in an alteration.   

6.  
Down with the Bishops and their train,  
The Surplice and Common Prayers,  
Then will we not have a King remain,  
But we'll be the Realms surveyors.  
So by little  
And a little  
We shall gain  
All the Kingdom without gainsayers.   

7.  
And when at the last we have conquered the King,  
And beaten away the Cavaliers,  
The Parliament next must the same ditty sing,  
And thus we will set the State by the ears.  
By their jarring  
And their warring  
We will bring,  
Their Estates to be ours, which they think to be theirs.   

8.  
And thus when among us the Kingdom is shared,  
And the People are all made Beggars like we;  
A Scot will be as good as an English Leard,  
O! what a unity this will be.  
As we gain it  
We'll retain it  
By the sword;  
And the English shall say, bonny blew-cap for me.    

An Answer to a Letter from Sir John Mennis, wherein he jeers him for falling so quickly to the use of the Directory.  

FRiend thou dost lash me with a story,  
A long one too of Directory;  
When thou alone deserves the Birch,  
That brought'st the bondage on the Church.  
Didst thou not treat for Bristol City,  
And yield it up? the more's the pity.  
And saw'st thou not, how right or wrong  
The Common-prayer-book went along?  
Didst thou not scorse, as if enchanted  
For Articles Sir Thomas granted?  
And barte●, as an Author saith,  
The Articles o'th' Christian Faith?  
And now the Directory jostles  
Christ out o'th' Church and his Apostles;  
And tears down the Communion rails,  
That men may take it on their tails.  
Imagine, Friend, Bochus the King  
Engraven on Sylla's Signet ring,  
Delivering up into his hands  
Fugurth, and with him, all his Lands;  
Whom Sylla took and sent to Rome,  
There to abide the Senate's doom.  
In the same posture I suppose,  
John standing in's Doublet and Hose,  
Delivering up amidst the throng  
The Common-prayer and Wisdoms song  
To hands of Fairfax, to be sent  
A Sacrifice to the Parliament.  
Thou little thought'st what Jeer began,  
Wrapped in that Treaty? Busy John▪  
There lurked, the Fire that turned to Cinder,  
The Church her Ornaments to Tinder.  
There bound up in that Treaty lies  
The fate of all our Christmass-pyes;  
Our Holidays there went to wrack,  
Our Wakes were laid upon their back,  
Our Gossip's spoons away were lurcht,  
Our Feasts and Fees for Women churcht;  
All this, and more ascribe we might  
To Thee at Bristol, wretched Knight.  
Yet thou upbraid'st and rayld'st in rhyme,  
On me, for that which was thy Crime.  
So froward Children in the Sun,  
Amidst their sports some shrewd turn done,  
The faulty Youth begins to prate,  
And lays it on his harmless Mate.   

Dated,  
From Nympton where the Cider smiles,  
And James has horse as lame as Giles,  
The fourth of May, and dost thou hear?  
'Tis as I take the 8th. year  
Since Portugal by Duke Braganza  
Was cut from Spain without a Handsaw.  
I. S.    

The King's Disguise.  
ANd why a Tenant to this vile disguise,  
Which who but sees, blasphemes thee with his eyes?  
My twins of light within their penthouse shrink,  
And hold it their Allegiance now to wink.  
Oh! for a state-distinction to arraign  
Charles of High Treason 'gainst my Sovereign.  
What an usurper to his Prince is wont,  
Cloister and shave him, he himself hath done't.  
His muffled feature speaks him a recluse,  
His ruins prove him a religious house.  
The Sun hath mewed his beams from off his lamp,  
And Majesty defaced the Royal stamp.  
It's not enough thy dignity's in thrall,  
But thou'lt transmute it in thy shape and all?  
As if thy blacks were of too faint a dye,  
Without the tincture of Tautology.  
Flay an Egyptian for his Cassocks skin,  
Spun of his Country's darkness, lineed within  
With Presbyterian budge, that drowsy trance,  
The Synod-sable, foggy ignorance:  
Nor bodily, nor ghostly Negro could  
Rough-cast thy figure in a sadder mould:  
This Privy-Chamber of thy shape would be  
But the close-mourner of thy Royalty:  
'twill break the circle of thy Jailor's spell,  
A Pearl within a rugged Oyster shell.  
Heaven, which the Minster of thy Person owns,  
Will fine thee for Dilapidations:  
Like to the martyred Abbeys courser doom,  
Devoutly altered to a Pidgeon-room:  
Or like the college by the changeling rabble,  
M— Elves, transformed into a s●able.  
Or if there be a profanation higher,  
Such is the Sacrilege of thine attire,  
By which th' art half deposed: thou look'st like one  
Whose looks are under sequestration.  
Whose Regenado form, at the first glance,  
Shows like the selfdenying Ordinance,  
Angel of light, and darkness too, I doubt,  
Inspired within, and yet possessed without:  
Majestic twilight in the state of grace,  
Yet with an excommunicated face.  
Charles and his Mask are of a different Mint,  
A Psalm of mercy in a miscreant print  
The Sun wears midnight, Day is beetle-browed,  
And lightning is in Keldar of a cloud.  
Oh the accursed Stenography of fate!  
The Princely Eagle shrunk into a Bat.  
What charm, what Magic vapour can it be,  
That shrinks his ●ayes to this Apostasy?  
It is but subtle ●ilm of tiffany air,  
No Cobweb vizard, such as Ladies wear,  
When they are veiled on purpose to be seen,  
Doubling their lustre by their vanquished screen,  
Nor the false scabbard of a Princes tough  
Metal, and three piled darkness, like the slough  
Of an imprisoned flame: 'tis Faux in grain,  
Darklanthorn to our high Meridian.  
Hell belched the damp, the Warwick-castle Vote  
Rang Britain's Corfeu, so our light went out.  
Thy visage is not legible, the letters,  
Like a Lords name writ in fantastic fetters:  
clothes where a Swisser might be buried quick:  
Sure they would fit the Body politic.  
False beard enough to fit a stage's plot,  
For that's the ambush of their wit, God wot.  
Nay all his Properties so strange appear,  
Y'are not i'th' presence, though the King be there.  
A Libel is his dress, a garb uncouth,  
Such as the Hue and Cry once purged at mouth.  
Scribbling assassinate, thy lines attest  
An ear-mark due, Cub of the Blatant beast,  
Whose wrath before 'tis syllabled for worse,  
Is Blasphemy unfledged, a callow curse.  
The Laplanders, when they would sell a wind  
Wafting to Hell, bag up thy phrase, and bind  
It to the Bark, which at the Voyage-end  
Shi●ts Poop, and breeds the Colic in the Fiend.  
But I'll not dub thee with a glorious scar,  
Nor sink thy Skullar with a man of War.  
The black mouthed Siquiss, and this slandering suit,  
Both do alike in picture execute  
But since we're all called Papists, why not date  
Devotion to the rags thus consecrate?  
As Temples use to have their Porches wrought  
With Sphynxes, ●reatures of an antic draught,  
And puzzling Pourtraictures, to show that there  
Riddles inhabited, the like is here.  
But pardon Sir, since I presume to be  
Clerk of this Closet to your Majesty;  
Me thinks in this your dark mysterious dress  
I see the Gospel couched in Parables.  
At my next view my purblind fancy ripes,  
And shows Religion in its dusky types.  
Such a Text-Royal, so obscure a shade,  
Was Solomon in proverbs all arrayed.  
Come all the brats of this expounding age,  
To whom the spirit is in pupillage;  
You that damn more than ever Samson slew,  
And with his engine the same jawbone too:  
How is't he escapes your Inquisition free,  
Since bound up in the Bible's livery?  
Hence Cabinet-intruders, Picklocks hence,  
You that dim Jewels with your Bristol-sence:  
And Characters, like Witches so torment,  
Till they confess a guilt, though innocent.  
Keys for this Coffer you can never get,  
None but St▪ Peter opes this Cabinet.  
This Cabinet, whose aspect would benight  
Critic spectators with redundant light.  
A Prince most seen, is least: What Scriptures call  
The Revelation, is most mystical.  
Mount then thou Shadow-royal, and with haste  
Advance thy morningstar, Charles overcast.  
May thy strange journey contradictions twist,  
And force fair weather from a Scotish mist;  
Heavens Confessors are posed, those star-eyed sages  
To interpret Eclipse, thus riding stages.  
Thus Israel-like, he travels with a cloud,  
Both as a conduct to him and a shroud.  
But oh! he goes to Gibeon, and renews  
A league with mouldy bread, and clouted shoes.   

The Rebel SCOT.  
HOw! Providence! and yet a Scottish crew!  
Then Madam nature wears black patches too?  
What? shall our Nation be in bondage thus  
Unto a Land that truckles under us?  
Ring the Bells backward, I am all on fire,  
Not all the Buckets in a Country Choir  
Shall quench my rage. A Poet should be feared,  
When angry, like a Comets flaming beard.  
And where's the Stoic? can his wrath appease  
To see his Country sick of Pym's disease,  
By Scotch Invasion to be made a prey  
To such Pig-wiggin Myrmidons as they?  
But that there's charm in verse, I would not quote  
The name of Scot without an Antidote,  
Unless my head were red, that I might brew  
Invention there that might be poison too.  
Were I a drowsy Judge, whose dismal note  
Disgorgeth halters, as a Juggler's throat  
Doth ribbons: could I (in Sir Emp'rick's tone)  
Speak Pills in phrase, and quack destruction:  
Or roar like Marshal, that Geneva Bull,  
Hell and Damnation a Pulpit full:  
Yet to express a Scot, to play that prize,  
Not all those mouth-Granadoes can suffice.  
Before a Scot can properly be cursed,  
I must (like Hocas) swallow daggers first.  
Come keen iambics with your Badgers feet,  
And Badger-like, by't till your teeth do meet.  
Help ye tart Satirists to imp my rage,  
With all the Scorpions that should whip this age:  
Scots are like Witches, do but whet your pen,  
Scratch till the blood come, they'll not hurt you then.  
Now as the Martyrs were enforced to take  
The shapes of Beasts, like Hypocrites at stake,  
I'll bait my Scot so, yet not cheat your eyes;  
A Scot within a Beast is no disguise.  
No more let Ireland brag, her harmless Nation  
Fosters no Venom, since the Scots plantation:  
Nor can ours feigned antiquity maintain,  
Since they came in, England hath Wolves again.  
The Scot that kept the Tower, might have shown  
(Within the grate of his own breast alone)  
The Leopard and the Panther, and engrossed  
What all those wild Collegiates had cost  
The honest high-shoes in their termly fees,  
First to the savage Lawyer, next to these.  
Nature herself doth Scotchmen Beasts confess,  
Making their Country such a wilderness:  
A Land that brings in question and suspense  
God's omni-presence, but that Charles came thence,  
But that Montross and crawford's loyal band  
Atoned their sins and christened half the Land.  
Nor is it all the Nation hath these spots;  
There is a Church, as well as Kirk of Scots:  
As in a picture, where the squinting paint  
Shows ●iend on this side, and on that side Saint.  
He that saw Hell in's melancholy dream,  
And in the twilight of his fancy's theme  
Sca●'d from his sins, repent in a fright,  
Had he viewed Scotland, had turned Proselyte.  
A Land where one may pray with cursed intent,  
O may they never suffer banishment!  
Had ●ain been Scot, God would have changed his doom,  
Not forced him wander, but confined him home:  
Like Jews they spread, and as infection fly,  
As if the Devil had Ubiquity.  
Hence 'tis they live at Rovers, and defy  
This or that place, Rags of Geography.  
They're Citizens o'th' world; they're all in all,  
Scotland's a Nation Epidemical.  
And yet they ramble not, to learn the mode  
How to be dressed, or how to lisp abroad;  
To return knowing in the Spanish shrug,  
Or which of the Dutch States a double Jug  
Resembles most, in belly, or in beard;  
(The Card by which the Mariners are steered.)  
No, the Scots-Errant fight, and fight to eat,  
Their Ostrich-stomaches make their Swords their meat:  
Nature with Scots, as Tooth-drawer's hath dealt,  
Who use to hang their teeth upon their Belt.  
Yet wonder not at this their happy choice,  
The Serpent's fatal still to Paradise.  
Sure England hath the Hemeroids, and these  
On the North posture of the patient seize,  
Like Leeches: thus thy Physically thirst  
After our blood, but in the cure shall burst.  
Let them not think to make us run o'th' score,  
To purchase villanage as once before,  
When an Act passed to stroke them on the head,  
Call them good Subjects, buy them Gingerbread;  
Nor Gold, nor Acts of grace, 'tis Steel must tame  
The stubborn Scot: a Prince that would reclaim  
Rebels by yielding, doth like him, (or worse)  
Who saddled his own back, to shame his horse.  
Was it for this you left your leaner soil,  
Thus to lard Israel with Egypt's spoil?  
They are the Gospel's Life guard: but for them  
The Garrison of new Jerusalem!  
What would the Brethren do? the Cause! the Cause!  
Sack possets, and the Fundamental Laws!  
Lord! what a goodly thing is want of shirts!  
How a Scotch-stomach, and no meat, converts!  
They wanted food and raiment, so they took  
Religion for their Seamstress and their Cook.  
Unmask them well, their honours and estate,  
As well as conscience are sophisticate.  
Shrive but their titles, and their money poise,  
A Laird & twenty pounds pronounced with noise,  
When construed, but for a plain Yeoman go,  
And a good sober twopences, and well so.  
Hence than you proud Impostors, get you gone,  
You Picts in Gentry and Devotion;  
You scandal to the stock of Verse, a race  
Able to bring the Gibbet in disgrace.  
Hyperbolus by suffering did traduce  
The Ostracism, and shamed it out of use.  
The Indian, that Heaven did forswear,  
Because he heard the Spaniards were there,  
Had he but known what Scots in Hell had been,  
He would, Erasmus like, have hung between:  
My Muse hath done. A voider for the nonce;  
I wrong the Devil should I pick their bones.  
That dish is his, for when the Scots decease,  
Hell, like their Nation, feeds on Barnacles.  
A Scot, when from the Gallow-tree got loose,  
Drops into Styx, and turns a Soland-Goose.   

The Scots Apostasy.  
IS't come to this? what shall the cheeks of fame,  
Stretched with the breath of learned London's name,  
Be flagged again? and that great piece of sense,  
As rich in Loyalty and Eloquence▪  
Brought to the Test, be found a trick of State?  
Like Chemist's tinctures, proved adulterate?  
The Devil sure such language did achieve,  
To cheat our un-forwarned Grandam Eve,  
As this impostor found out, to besot  
Th' experienced English to believe a Scot  
Who reconciled the Covenants doubtful sense?  
The Commons argument, or the City's pence?  
Or did you doubt persistance in one good  
Would spoil the fabric of your Brotherhood,  
Projected first in such a forge of sin,  
Wa● fit for the grand Devils hammering?  
Or was't ambition that this damned fact  
Should tell the world you know the sins you act?  
The infamy this super-treason brings,  
Blasts more than Murders of your sixty Kings;  
A crime so black, as being advis'dly done,  
Those hold with these no competition.  
Kings only suffered then, in this doth lie  
Th' Assassination of Monarchy.  
Beyond this sin no one step can be trod,  
If not t'attempt deposing of your God:  
Oh were you so engaged, that we might see  
Heavens angry lightning 'bout your ears to flee  
Till you were shrivelled to dust, and your cold Land,  
Parched to a drought beyond the Lybian sand▪  
But 'tis reserved, till Heaven plague you worse:  
Be Objects of an Epidemic curse.  
First, may your Brethren, to whose viler ends  
Your power hath bawded, cease to be your friends;  
And prompted by the dictate of their reason,  
Reproach the Traitors though they hug the Treason.  
And may their jealousies increase and breed,  
Till they confine your steps beyond the Tweed.  
In foreign Nations may your loathed name be  
A stigmatising brand of infamy;  
Till forced by general hate, you cease to room  
The world, and for a plague to live at home:  
Till you resume your poverty, and be  
Reduced to beg where none can be so free  
To grant; and may your scabby Land be all  
Translated to a general Hospital,  
Let not the Sun afford one gentle ray,  
To give you comfort of a Summer's day;  
But, as a guerdon for your Traitorous War,  
Live cherished only by the Northern star.  
No stranger deign to visit your rude coast,  
And be to all but banished men, as lost.  
And such in heightening of the infliction due,  
Let provoked Princes send them all to you.  
Your State a Chaos be, where not the Law,  
But power, your lives and liberties may awe.  
No Subject 'mongst you keep a quiet breast,  
But each man strive through blood to be the best;  
Till, for those miseries on us you've brought,  
By your own Sword our just revenge be wrought.  
To sum up all— let your Religion be,  
As your Allegiance, masked hypocrisy:  
Until, when Charles shall be composed in dust,  
Perfumed with Epithets of good and just;  
HE saved, incensed Heaven may have forgot  
T' afford one act of mercy to a Scot,  
Unless that Scot deny himself, and do  
(What's easier far) renounce his Nation too.   

The Scots Arrears.  

FOur hundred thousand pounds!  
A lusty Bag indeed:  
Was't ever known so vast a Sum  
Ere past the River Tweed?   

Great pity it is, I swear,  
Whole Carts was thither sent,  
Where hardly two in fifty knew,  
What Forty shillings meant:  
But 'twas to some perceived,  
Three Kingdoms were undone.  
And those that sit here thought it fit,  
To settle them one by one,  
Now Ireland hath no haste,  
So there they'll not begin;  
The Scotish aid must first be paid,  
For ye came freely in,  
And William Lily writes—  
Who writes the truth you know;  
In frosty weather they marched hither.  
Up to the chins in snow.  
Free quarter at excess,  
They do not weigh a feather,  
Those Crowns for coals, brought in by shoals;  
Scarce kept their men together,  
Of Plunder they esteem  
As trifles of no worth,  
Of force ye dote, because recruit  
Issued no faster forth.  
If once this Cash is paid,  
I hope the Scot be sped,  
He need not steal, but fairly deal,  
Both to be clothed and fed.  
Our sheep and Oxen may  
Safe in their pastures stand,  
What need they filch the cow  
That's milch to sojourn in their land.   

I wonder much the Scot  
With this defiles his hand,  
Because the summ's a price of Rome,  
Raised out of the Bishop's lands;  
But too too well ye know  
To what intent they in come;  
'Twas not their pains produced this gains,  
'Twas sent to pack them home:  
Methinks I hear them laugh  
To see how matters proved,  
And give a shout, it so fell out,  
Ye were more feared than loved.  
If Jockey after this  
Reneaginge hath forgot,  
From ancient fires, he much retires,  
And shows himself no Scot    

A SONG On the Schismatic ROTUNDOS.  

ONce I a curious Eye did fix,  
To observe the tricks  
Of the Schismatics of the Times,  
To find out which of them  
Was the merriest Theme,  
And best would befit my Rhymes;  
Arminius I found solid,  
Socinians were not stolid,  
Much Learning for Papists did stickle.  
But ah, ah, ha ha ha ha Rotundos rot,  
ah, ha ha ha ha ha Rotundos rot,  
'Tis you that my spleen doth tickle.   

And first to tell must not be forgot,  
How I once did troth  
With a great Zealot to a Lecture,  
Where I a Tub did view,  
Hung with apron blue;  
'Twas the Preachers as I conjecture,  
His Use and his Doctrine too  
Were of no other hue,  
Though he spoke in a tone most much:  
But ah, ha ha ha, etc.   

He taught amongst other pretty things  
That the Book of Kings  
Small benefit brings to the godly,  
Beside he had some grudges  
At the Book of Judges,  
And talked of Leviticus oddly,  
Wisdom most of all  
He declares Apocryphal,  
Beat Bell and the Dragon, like Michael:  
But ah, ah, ha ha ha ha, etc.   

'Gainst Humane Learning next he envies,  
And almost boldly says,  
'Tis that which destroys Inspiration,  
Let superstitious sense  
And wit be banished hence,  
With Popish Predomination  
Cut Bishops down in haste,  
And Cathedrals as fast  
As Corn that's fit for the sickle:  
But ah, ah, ha ha ha ha Rotundos rot,  
ah, ha ha ha ha ha Rotundos rot,  
'Tis you that my spleen doth tickle.    

Cromwell's Panegyric.  
SShall Presbyterian Bells ring Cromwel's praise,  
While we stand still and do no Trophies raise  
Unto his lasting name? Then may we be  
Hung like the Bells for our dependency.  
Well may his Nose, that is Dominical,  
Take pepper in't, to see no Pen at all  
Stir to applaud his merits, who hath lent  
Such valour, to erect a Monument  
Of lasting praise; whose name shall never die,  
While England has a Church, or Monarchy.  
He whom the laurelled Army home did bring  
Riding triumphant o'er his conquered King,  
He is the General's cipher now; and when  
he's joined to him▪ he makes that One a Ten.  
The Kingdom's Saint; England no more shall stir  
To cry St. George, but now St Oliver.  
he's the Realm Ensign; and who goes to wring  
His Nose, is forced to cry, God save the King.  
He that can rout an Army with his name,  
And take a City, ere he views the same:  
His Soldiers may want bread, but ne'er shall fear  
(While he's their General,) the want of Beer;  
No Wonder they wore Bays, his Brewing-fat  
(Helicon-like) make Poets Laureate.  
When Brains in those Castalian liquors swim,  
We sing no Heathenish Pean, but a Hymn;  
And that by th' Spirit too, for who can choose  
But sing Hosanna to this King of Jews?  
Tremble you Scotish Zealots, you that han't  
Freed any Conscience from your Covenant:  
That for those bald Appellatives of Cause,  
Religion, and the Fundamental Laws,  
Have pulled the old Episcopacy down,  
And as the Mitre, so you'll serve the Crown.  
You that have made the Cap to th' Bonnet veil,  
And made the Head a Servant to the Tail.  
And you cursed spawn of Publicans, that sit  
In every County, as a plague to it;  
That with your Yeomen Sequestrating Knaves,  
Have made whole Counties beggarly, and Slaves.  
You Synod, that have sat so long to know  
Whether we must believe in God, or no;  
You that have torn the Church, and sat t' impair  
The Ten Commandments, the Creed, the Prayer;  
And made your honours pull down Heaven's glory,  
While you set up that Calf, your Directory:  
We shall no wicked Jews-eared Elders want,  
This Army's built of Churches Militant:  
These are new Tribes of Levi; for they be  
Clergy, yet of no University.  
Pull down your Crests, for every bird shall gather,  
From your usurping back, a stolen feather.  
Your great Lay Levite, whose great Margin tires  
The patient Reader, while he blots whole quires,  
Nay reams with Treason; and with Nonsense too,  
To justify what e'er you say or do:  
Whose circumcised ears are hardly grown  
Ripe for another Persecution:  
He must to Scotland for another pair;  
For he will lose these, if he tarry here.  
●urges that Reverend Presbydean of Paul's,  
Must (with his Poundage) leave his Cure of Souls,  
And into Scotland trot, that he may pick  
Out of that Kirk, a nicknamed Bishopric.  
The Protean Hypocrites, that will ne'er burn,  
Must here, or else at Tyburn take a turn.  
And Will. the Conqueror in a Scotish dance  
Must lead his running Army into France.  
Or he and's Juncto among those Crews  
In Holland build a Synagogue of Jews,  
And spread Rebellion; Great Alexander  
Fears not a Pillory, like this Commander.  
And Bedlam John, that at his Clerks so raves,  
Using them not like servants, but like slaves.  
He that so freely railed against his Prince,  
Called him dissembling subtle Knave, and since  
Has styled the whole Army Bankrupts; said, that none  
Of their Estates were equal to his own:  
He that was by a strong Ambition led  
To set himself upon the City's head:  
But when he has restored his both-side fees,  
he'll be as poor, or they as rich as he's.  
And that still-gaping Tophet Goldsmiths Hall,  
With all his Furies, shall to ruin fall.  
we'll be no more gulled by that Popish story,  
But shall reach Heaven without that Purgatory:  
What Honour does he merit? what Renown?  
By whom all these Oppression are pulled down.  
And such a Government is like to be  
In Church and State, as eye did never see:  
Magicians hold, he'll set up Common-prayer;  
Looking in's face they find the Rubric there.  
His Name shall never die by fire nor flood,  
But in Church-windows stand, where Pictures stood▪  
And if his Soul loathing that house of clay,  
Shall to another Kingdom march away,  
Under some Barnes floor his bones shall lie,  
Who Churches did, and Monuments defy:  
Where the rude Thrasher with much knocking on,  
Shall wake him at the Resurrection.  
And on his Grave since there must be no Stone,  
Shall stand this Epitaph; That he has none.   

The Scotch War.  

WHen first the Scottish War began  
The English man, we did trapan, with Pellit and Pike,  
The bonny blithe and cunning Scot  
Had then a Plot, which they did not, well smell, it's like;  
Although he could neither write, nor read,  
Yet our General Lashly crossed the Tweed  
With his gay gangh of Blew-caps all,  
And we marched with our General;  
We took Newcastle in a trice,  
But we thought it had been Paradise,  
They did look all so bonny and gay,  
Till we took all their Pillage away.   

Then did we straight to plundering fall  
Of great and small, for were all most valiant that day;  
And Jinny in her Satin Gown the best in Town,  
From Heel to Crown was gallant and gay;  
Our silks and sweets made such a smother,  
Next day we knew not one another:  
For Jockey did never so shine,  
And Jinny was never so fine;  
A geud faith a got aged Beaver then,  
But it's beat into a Blew-cap again  
By a Redcoat, that did still cry, Rag,  
And a red snout, a the Deel awe the Crag.   

The English raised an Army straight  
With much state, and we did wait to face them as well;  
Then every valiant Musket man put fire in pan,  
And we began to lace them as well;  
But before the Sparks were made a Coal,  
They did every man pay for his Pole;  
Then their bought Land we lent them again,  
Into Scotland we went with our men;  
We were paid by all, both Peasant and Prince,  
But I think we have sound paid for it since,  
For our Silver is wasted, Sir, all,  
And our Silks hang in Westminster Hall.   

The Godly Presbyterian, that holy man,  
The War began with Bishop and King,  
Where we like Waiters at a Feast  
But not the least of all the guest, must dish up the thing,  
We did take a Covenant to pull down  
The Cross, the Crofier, and the Crown,  
With the Rochet the Bishop did bear.  
And the Smock that his Chaplain did wear:  
But now the Covenant's gone to wrack,  
They say, it looks like an old Almanac,  
For Jockey is grown out of date,  
And Jinny is thrown out of late.   

I must confess the holy firk did only work  
Upon our Kirk for silver and meat,  
Which made us come with awe our broods,  
Venture our bloods for awe your goods, to pilfer & cheat;  
But we see what covetousness doth bring,  
For we lost ourselves when we sold our King;  
And alack now and welly we cry,  
Our backs mow and bellies must die;  
We fought for food, and not vainglory,  
And so there's an end of a Scotish man's Story;  
I curse all your Silver and Gold,  
Aw the worst tale that ever was told.    

The Power of Money.  

'tIs not the silver nor gold for itself  
That makes men adore it, but 'tis for its power:  
For no man does dote upon pelf because pelf,  
But all Court the Lady in hope of her dower:  
The wonders that now in our days we behold,  
Done by the irresistible power of gold,  
Our Zeal, and our Love, and Allegiance do hold.   

This purchaseth Kingdoms, Kings, Sceptres, and Crowns;  
Wins Battles, and conquers the Conqueror's bold;  
Takes Bulwarks, and Castles, and Cities, and Towns,  
And our prime Laws are writ in letters of gold;  
'Tis this that our Parliament calls and creates,  
Turns Kings into Keepers, and Kingdoms to States,  
And peopledomes these into highdomes translates.   

This made our black Synod to sit still so long,  
To make themselves rich, by making us poor;  
This made our bold Army so daring and strong,  
And made them turn them, like Geese, out of door;  
'Twas this made our Covenant-makers to make it,  
And this made our Priests for to make us to take it,  
And this made both Makers and Takers forsake it.   

'Twas this spawned the dunghill Crew of Committees and ' strators,  
Who live by picking the Crockadile Parliaments gums;  
This first made, and then prospered the Rebels and Traitors,  
And made Gentry of those that were the Nations scums:  
This Herald gives Armes not for merit, but store,  
And gives Coats to those that did sell Coats before,  
If their pockets be but lined well with argent and o'er.   

This, plots can devise, and discover what they are;  
This, makes the great Felons the lesser condemn;  
This, sets those on the Bench, that should stand at the Bar,  
Who Judge such as by right aught to Execute them;  
Gives the boisterous Clown his unsufferable pride,  
Makes Beggars, and Fools, and Usurpers to ride,  
Whiles ruin'd Propriators run by their side.  
Stamp either the Arms of the State or the King,  
St. George or the Breeches, C. R. or O. P.  
The Cross or the Fiddle, 'tis all the same thing;  
This, still is the Queen whosoever the King be;  
This, lines our Religion, builds Doctrine & Truth,  
With Zeal and the Spirit the factious endueth,  
To club with St. Katherine, or sweet Sister Ruth.   

'Tis money makes Lawyers give Judgement, or plead  
On this side, or that side, on both sides, or neither;  
This makes young men Clerks that can scarce write or read,  
And spawns arbitrary Orders as various as the weather;  
This makes your blue Lecturers pray, preach, and prate  
Without reason or sense against Church, King, or State,  
To show the thin lining of his twice-covered pate.   

'Tis money makes Earls, Lords, Knights, and Esquires  
Without breeding, descent, wit, learning, or merit;  
This makes Ropers, and Ale-drapers, Sheriffs of Shires,  
Whose trade is not so low, nor so base as their spirit:  
This Justices makes, and wise ones we know,  
Furred Aldermen too, and Mayors also;  
This makes the old Wise trot, and makes the Mare to go.  
This makes your blue aprons Right Worshipful;  
And for this we stand bare, and before them do fall;  
They leave their young heirs well fleeced with wool,  
Whom we must call Squires, and then they pay all:  
Who with beggarly souls, though their bodies be gaudy,  
Court the pale Chambermaid, and nickname her a Lady,  
And for want of good wit, they do swear and talk bawdy.   

This Marriages makes, 'tis a Centre of love,  
It draws on the man, & it pricks up the woman  
Birth, virtue, and parts no affection can move,  
Whilst this makes a Lord stoop to the Brat of a Broom-man;  
This gives virtue and beauty to the Lasses that you woo,  
Makes women of all sorts and ages to do;  
'Tis the soul of the world, and the worldling too.   

This procures us whores, hawks, hounds & hares;  
'Tis this keeps your Groom, and your Groom keeps your Gelding;  
This built Citizens Wives, as well as wares;  
And this makes your coy Lady so coming and yielding;  
This buys us good Sack, which revives like the spring,  
'Tis this your Poetical fancies do bring;  
And this makes you as merry as we that do sing.    

Contentment.  

WHat though the ill times do run cross to our will,  
And Fortune still frown upon us,  
Our hearts are our own, and shall be so still,  
A fig for the plagues they lay on us;  
Let us take t'other cup, to cheer our hearts up,  
And let it be purest Canary;  
We'll ne'er shrink nor care, at the Crosses we bear,  
Let them plague us until they be weary.   

What though we are made both Beggars and Slaves?  
Let's endure it, and stoutly drink on't,  
'Tis our comfort we suffer 'cause we want be Knaves,  
Redemption will come e'er we think on't;  
We must flatter and fear, those that over us are,  
And make them believe that we love them,  
When their Tyranny is past, we can serve them at last  
As they have served those have been above them.   

Let the Levites go preach for the Goose or the Pig,  
To drink Wine at Christmas or Easter:  
The Doctor may labour our lives to new trig,  
And make Nature fast while we feast her;  
The Lawyer may bawl, out his Lungs and his Gall  
For Plaintiff, and for Defendant,  
At his Book the Scholar lie, while with Plato he die  
With an ugly hard word at the end on't.   

Then here's to the man that delights in solfa,  
For Sack is his only Rozin.  
A load of hay ho, is not worth a ha ha,  
He's a man for my money that draws in;  
Then a pin for the muck, and a pin for ill luck,  
'Tis better be blithe and frolic,  
Than sigh out our breath, and invite our own death  
By the Gout, or the Stone, or the Colic.    

On the Goldsmith's Committee.  

Come Drawer, some wine,  
Or we'll pull down the Sign,  
For we are all jovial Compounders:  
We'll make the house ring,  
With healths to our KING,  
And confusion light on his Confounders.   

Since Goldsmith's Committee  
Affords us no pity,  
Our sorrows in Wine we will steep 'em,  
They force us to take  
Two Oaths, but we'll make  
A third, that we ne'er meant to keep 'um.   

And next, who e'er sees,  
We drink on our knees,  
To the King, may he thirst that repines:  
A fig for those Traitors  
That look to our waters,  
They have nothing to do with our Wines.   

And next, here's a Cup  
To the Queen, fill it up,  
Were it poison we would make an end on't;  
May Charles and she meet.  
And tread under feet  
Both Presbyter and Independent.   

To the Prince, and all others,  
His Sisters and Brothers,  
As low in condition as high born,  
We'll drink this, and pray  
That shortly they may  
See all them that wrongs them at Tyburn.   

And next, here's three bowls  
To all gallant souls,  
That for the King did, and will venture;  
May they flourish when those  
That are his, and their foes,  
Are hanged and rammed down to the Centre.   

And next, let a Glass  
To our undoers pass,  
Attended with two or three Curses:  
May plagues sent from Hell  
Stuff their bodies as well  
As the Cavaliers coin doth their purses.   

May the Cannibals of Pym  
Eat them up limb by limb,  
Or a hot Fever scorch 'em to embers;  
Pox keep 'em in bed  
Until they are dead,  
And repent for the loss of their Members.   

And may they be found  
In all to abound,  
Both with Heaven and the Country's anger,  
May they never want Fractions,  
Doubts, Fears, and Distractions,  
Till the Gallow-tree chokes them from danger.    

The mad Zealot.  

AM I mad, O noble Festus,  
When Zeal and godly knowledge  
Have put me in hope  
To deal with the Pope,  
As well as the best in the College?  
Boldly I preach, hate a Cross, hate a Surplice,  
Mitres, Copes, and Rochets:  
Come hear me pray nine times a day,  
And fill your heads with Crotchets.   

In the house of pure Emanuel  
I had my Education,  
Where my friends surmise  
I dazzled mine eyes  
With the light of Revelation.  
Boldly I preach, etc.   

They bound me like a Bedlam,  
They lashed my four poor quarters;  
Whilst thus I endure,  
Faith makes me sure  
To be one of Foxes Martyrs.  
Boldly I preach, etc.   

These injuries I suffer  
Through Antichrists persuasions;  
Take off this Chain,  
Neither Rome nor Spain  
Can resist my strong invasions.  
Boldly I preach, etc.   

Of the beasts ten horns (God bless us!)  
I have knocked off three already:  
If they let them alone,  
I'll leave him none:  
But they say I am too heady.  
Boldly I preach, etc.   

When I sacked the seven-hilled City,  
I met the great red Dragon;  
I kept him aloof  
With the armour of proof,  
Though here I have never a rag on.  
Boldly I preach, etc.   

With a fiery Sword and Target  
There fought I with this Monster:  
But the sons of Pride  
My Zeal deride,  
And all my deeds misconstrue.  
Boldly I preach, etc.   

I unhorsed the Whore of Babel  
With the Lance of Inspirations:  
I made her stink,  
And spill her drink  
In the cup of Abominations,  
Boldly I preach, etc.   

I have seen two in a Vision,  
With a flying Book between them:  
I have been in despair  
Five times a year,  
And cured by reading Greenham,  
Boldly I preach, etc.   

I observed in Perkins Tables  
The black Lines of Damnation,  
Those crooked veins  
So stuck in my Brains,  
That I feared my Reprobation,  
Boldly I preach, etc.   

In the holy tongue of Canaan  
I placed my chiefest pleasure,  
Till I pricked my foot,  
With an Hebrew root,  
That I bled beyond all measure.  
Boldly I preach, etc.   

I appeared before th' Archbishop,  
And all the High Commission:  
I gave him no Grace,  
But told him to his face  
That he favoured Superstition.  
Boldly I preach, hate a Cross, hate a Surplice,  
Mitres, Copes, and Rochets:  
Come hear me pray nine times a day,  
And fill your heads with Crotchets.    

Of banishing the Ladies out of Town.  

1.  
A Story strange I will unfold,  
Than which a sadder ne'er was told,  
How the Ladies were from London sent,  
With much woe and discontent.   

2  
A heart of Marble would have bled,  
To see this rout of white and red,  
Both York and Lancaster must fly,  
With all their painted Monarchy.   

3.  
Those faces which men so much prize,  
In Mrs. Gibbes her Liveries,  
Must leave their false and borrowed hue,  
And put on grief that's only true.   

4.  
Those pretty patches long and round,  
Which covered all that was not sound;  
Must be forgotten at the Farms,  
As useless and suspicious charms.   

5.  
Now we must leave all our Designs,  
That were contrived within the Lines;  
Communication is denied,  
If to our Husbands we be tried.   

6.  
And here's the misery alone,  
We must have nothing but our own,  
Oh give us Liberty, and we  
Will never ask propriety.   

7.  
Alas how can a Kiss be sent,  
From Rocky Cornwall into Kent?  
Or how can Sussex stretch an arm  
To keep a Northern servant warm,   

8.  
Oh London! Centre of all Mirth,  
Th' Epitome of English Earth;  
All Provinces are in the streets,  
And Warwickshire with Essex meets.   

9  
Then farewell Queen-street, and the Fields,  
And Garden that such pleasure yields,  
Oh who would such fair Lodgings change,  
To nestle in a plundered Grange!   

10.  
Farewell good places old and new,  
And Oxford Kates once more adieu;  
But it goes unto our very hearts,  
To leave the Cheesecakes and the Tarts.   

11.  
Farewell Bridge-foot and Bear thereby,  
And those baldpates that stand so high,  
We wish it from our very Souls,  
That other Heads were on those poles.   

12.  
But whether hands of Parliament,  
Or of Husbands, we're content,  
Since all alike such Traitors be,  
Both against us and Monarchy.    

Loyalty confined.  

BEat on proud Billows, Boreas Blow,  
Swell curled Waves, high as Jove's roof,  
Your incivility doth show,  
That innocence is tempest proof.  
Though surely Nereus' frown, my thoughts are calm,  
Then strike affliction, for thy wounds are balm.   

That which the world miscalls a Goal,  
A private Closet is to me,  
Whilst a good Conscience is my Bail,  
And Innocence my Liberty:  
Locks Bars and Solitude together met,  
Make me no Prisoner but an Anchorit.   

I whilst I wished to be retired  
Into this private room was turned,  
As if their wisdoms had conspired,  
The Salamander should be burned.   

The Cynic hugs his poverty,  
The Pelican her wilderness,  
And 'tis the Indian's pride to be  
Naked on frozen Caucasus.  
Contentment cannot smart, Stoics we see  
Make torments easy to their Apathy.   

These Menacles upon my Arm,  
I as my Mistress' favours wear;  
And for to keep my Ankles warm,  
I have some Iron Shackles there.  
These walls are but my Garrison; this Cell  
Which men call Goal, doth prove my Citadel.   

So he that struck at Jason's life,  
Thinking he had his purpose sure:  
By a malicious friendly Knife,  
Did only wound him to a cure.  
Malice I see wants wit, for what is meant,  
Mischief ofttimes, proves favour by th' event▪   

I'm in this Cabinet locked up,  
Like some high-prized Margaret,  
Or like some great Mogul or Pope,  
Are cloistered up from public sight.  
Retirement is a piece of Majesty,  
And thus proud Sultan, I'm as great as thee.   

Here sin for want of food must starve,  
Where tempting Objects are not seen;  
And these strong Walls do only serve,  
To keep Vice out, and keep me in.  
Malice of lates grown charitable sure,  
I'm not committed, but I'm kept secure.   

Whence once my Prince affliction hath,  
Prosperity doth Treason seem;  
And for to smooth so tough a Path,  
I can learn Patience from him.  
Now not to suffer, shows no Loyal heart,  
When Kings wants ease, Subjects must bear a part.   

Have you not seen the Nightingale,  
A Pilgrim koopt into a Cage,  
How doth she chant her wont tale,  
In that her narrow hermitage.  
Even than her charming melody doth prove,  
That all her Boughs are Trees, her Cage a Grove.   

My soul is free as the ambient air,  
Although my base part's immured,  
Whilst Loyal thoughts do still repair,  
T' accompany my Solitude.  
And though immured, yet I can chirp and sing,  
Disgrace to Rebels, glory to my King.   

What though I cannot see my King,  
Neither in his Person or his Coin,  
Yet contemplation is a thing,  
That renders what I have not mine.  
My King from me, what Adamant can part,  
Whom I do wear engraven on my heart.   

I am that Bird whom they combine,  
Thus to deprive of Liberty;  
But though they do my Corpse confine,  
Yet maugre hate, my Soul is free.  
Although Rebellion do my Body bind,  
My King can only captivate my mind.    

On the demolishing the Forts.  

IS this the end of all the toil,  
And labour of the Town?  
And did our Bulwarks rise so high  
Thus low to tumble down?   

All things go by contraries now,  
We fight to still the Nation,  
Who build Forts to pull down Popery,  
Pull down for Edification.   

The Indepedents tenets, and  
The ways so pleasing be.  
Our City won't be bound about,  
But stands for Liberty.   

The Popish doctrine shall no more  
Prevail within our Nation;  
For now we see that by our works,  
There is no Justification.   

What an Almighty army's this,  
How worthy of our praising,  
That with one Vote can blow down that  
All we so long were raising!   

Yet let's not wonder at this Change,  
For thus 'twill be with all.  
These works did lift themselves too high,  
And Pride must have a fall.   

And when both Houses vote again,  
The Cavies to be gone,  
Nor dare to come within the lines  
Of Communication.   

They must reserve the sense or else,  
Referred to the Divines,  
And they had need fit seven years more  
Ere they can read those lines.   

They went to make a Gotham on't,  
For now they did begin  
To build these mighty banks about,  
To keep the Cuckoos in.   

Alas what need they take such pains!  
For why a Cuckoo here  
Might find so many of his Mates,  
he'll sing here all the year.   

Has Isaac our L. Mayor, L. Maior,  
With Tradesmen and his Wenches,  
Spent so much time, and Cakes and Beer,  
To edify these Trenches!   

All trades did show their skill in this,  
Each Wife an Engineer;  
The Mairess took the tool in hand,  
The maids the stones did bear.   

These Bulwarks stood for Popery,  
And yet we never feared 'em,  
And now they worship and fall down,  
Before those Calves that reared 'um.   

But though for Superstition,  
The Crosses have been downed,  
Who'd think these works would Popish turn,  
That ever have been round?   

This spoils our Palmistry; for when  
we'll read the City's fate,  
We find nor Lines nor Crosses now,  
As it hath had of late.   

No wonder that the Aldermen,  
Will no more money lend,  
When they that in this seven years,  
Such learned works have penned.   

Now to debase their lofty lines,  
In which the wits delighted▪  
'Tis thought they'll ne'er turn Poets more,  
Because their works are slighted.   

These to a doleful tune are set,  
For they that in the town.  
Did every where cry Up go we,  
Now they must sing down down.   

But if that Tyburn do remain,  
When t'other slighted be,  
The Cits will thither flock and sing,  
Hay, hay, than up go we.    

Upon Routing the Scots Army. A SONG.  
To the Tune of Through the Wood Lady.  

1.  
Come lend, lend y'are lugs Joes, an Ise speak a Song,  
Sing heome again Jockey, sing heome again Jockey,  
O hes velient Acts an hes Prowess among,  
Sing heome again heome again O valent Jockey.   

2.  
Sirs, Jockie's a Man held a much Note,  
Sing heome again Jockey, etc.  
Tha Breech o tha Covenant stuck in hes Throat,  
Sing heome again, heome again, etc.   

3.  
For Jockey was riteous, whilk ye wad admire,  
Sing heome again Jockey, etc.  
A fooght for tha Kirk, bet a plundered tha Choir  
Sing heome again Jockey, etc.   

4.  
An Jockey waxed roth, and toll Angland a kam,  
Sing heome again Jockey, etc.  
From whence he'd return, but alack a is lame,  
Sing heome again Jockey, etc.   

5.  
An Jockey was armed from top toll to toe,  
Sing heome again Jockey, etc.  
Widow a po're o Men and theyare geod D— I tro,  
Sing heome again Jockey, etc.   

6.  
So valent I wis they were, a sa prat,  
Sing heome again Jockey, etc.  
Ne Cock nor Hen durst stand in there got,  
Sing heome again Jockey, etc.   

7  
In every street they ded sa flutter,  
Sing heome again Jockey, etc.  
Ne Child durst shaw his Bred and Butter,  
Sing heome again, Jockey, etc.   

8.  
When th' Anglish Forces they hered on o'er night,  
Sing heome again Jockey, etc.  
Next Morn they harnessed themsels for a fight,  
Sing heome again, heome again, etc.   

9  
There D— wes that Mon that wouldhave be sen ●●oot,  
Sing heome again, Jockey, etc.  
He feased tham awhile, then turned Ars' about,  
Sing heome again, heome again, etc.   

10.  
Tha Men that after this valent Scot went,  
Sing heome again Jockey, etc.  
Had ne'er foond him oout, bet by a strong sent,  
Sing heome again, heome again O val●nt Jockey.   

11.  
Bet se that reward ò that Cowardly Crew,  
Sing heome again Jockey, etc.  
There Countremon Ballatine sent 'em to Corfew,  
Not home again, home again, O slavish Jockey.    

The disloyal Timist.  

1.  
NOw our holy Wars are done,  
Betwixt the Father and the Son;  
And since we have by righteous fate,  
Distressed a Monarch and his Mate.  
And first their heirs fly into France  
To weep out their Inheritance;  
Let's set open all our Packs,  
Which contain ten thousand wracks;  
Cast on the shore of the red Sea  
Of Naseby, and of Newberry.  
If then you will come provided with Gold,  
We dwell  
Close by Hell,  
Where we'll sell  
What you will,  
That is ill;  
For Charity waxeth cold.   

2.  
Hast thou done murder, or blood spilt,  
We can soon give't another name,  
That will keep thee from all blame:  
But be it still provided thus,  
That thou hast once been one of us;  
Gold is the God that shall pardon the Gild,  
For we have  
What shall save  
Thee from th' Grave,  
Since the Law  
We can awe;  
Although a famous Prince's blood were spilt.   

3.  
If a Church thou hast bereft  
Of its Plate, 'tis holy-theft;  
Or for Zeal-sake, if thou be'st  
Prompted on to take a Priest;  
Gold is a sure prevailing Advocate:  
Then come  
Bring a sum,  
Law is dumb:  
And submits,  
To our wits;  
For it's Policy guides a State.    

A Medley.  

1.  
ROom for a Gamester that plays at all he sees,  
Whose fickle faith is framed, Sir, to fit such times as these;  
One that cries Amen, to every factious Prayer,  
From Hugh Peter's Pulpit, to St. Peter's Chair:  
One that can comply with Crosier and with Crown;  
And yet can bouse  
A full carouse,  
While bottles tumble down,  
Dery down.   

2.  
This is the way to trample without trembling.  
Since Sycophants only secure;  
Covenants and Oaths are badges of dissembling,  
'Tis the Politic pulls down the pure:  
To plunder and pray,  
To protest and betray  
Are the only ready ways to be great,  
Flattering will do the feat:  
ne'er go, ne'er stir  
Have ventured farther,  
Then the greatest o' th' Damme's in the Town,  
From a Copper to a Crown.   

3.  
I am in an excellent homor now to think well,  
And I'm in another humour now to drink well;  
Fill us up a Beer-bowl boy,  
That we may drink it merrily;  
And let none other see,  
Nor cause to understand,  
For if we do, 'tis ten to one we are Trepand.   

4.  
Come fill us up a brace of Quarts,  
Whose Anagram is called true hearts;  
If all were true as I would have't,  
And Britain were cured of its humour,  
Then I should very well like my fate,  
And drink off my Wine at a freer rate,  
Without any noise or tumour;  
And then I should fix my humour.   

5.  
But since 'tis no such matter, change your hue,  
I may cog and flatter, so may you;  
Religion  
Is a widgeon,  
And reason  
Is Treason;  
And he that hath a Noble heart may bid the world adieu.   

6.  
We must be like the Scotish man,  
Who with intent to beat down schism,  
Brought forth a Presbyterian,  
A Canon and a Catechism.  
If Beuk want do't, than Jockey shoot,  
The Kirk of Scotland doth command;  
And what hath been, since he come in,  
I am sure we ha' cause to understand.    

A Medley of the Nations.  

The Scot  

1.  
I Am the bonny Scot Sir,  
My name is Mickle John;  
'Tis I was in the Plot Sir  
When first the Wars began:  
I left the Court one thousand  
Six hundred forty one;  
But since the flight  
At Worster fight  
We are awe undone.  
I served my Lord and Master  
When as he lived at home,  
Until by sad disaster  
He received his doom;  
But now we sink,  
ud's bred I think  
The Deels got in his room.  
He ne man spares,  
But stamps and stairs  
At all Christendom.   

2.  
I have travelled much grounds,  
Since I came from Worster bounds,  
I have ganged the jolly rounds  
Of the neighbouring Nations;  
And what their opinions are  
Of the Scotch and English war,  
In geed faith I shall declare,  
And their approbations.  
Jockey swears  
He has his load,  
Bears the rod,  
Comes from God,  
And complaints go very odd  
Since the siege at Worster;  
We were wounded  
Tag and rag,  
Foot and leg,  
Wemb and crag;  
Hark I hear the Dutchman brag,  
And begin to bluster.    

The Dutch.  

3.  
ud's Sacrament, sal Hoghen Moghen States  
Strike down der top sails unto puny Powers;  
Ten thousand tun of Tivel Dammy Fates,  
If that der Ships and Goods prove not all ours:  
Since dat bloot and wounds do delight dem,  
Tararara Trumpet sounds,  
Let Van Tromp go fort and fight dem;  
All de States shall first be crowned,  
English Skellam fight not on goat side;  
Out at last the Flemins bear,  
Dey ha' given us sush a broad side;  
Dat ick sal be forced to retreat,  
See the French man he comes in complete.    

The French.  

4.  
By Got Mounsieur 'tis much in vain  
For Dushland, France, or Spain,  
To cross the English main;  
De Nation now is grown so strong,  
De Diula ere't be long  
Must learna the same tongue.  
'Tis bettra den far to combine,  
To sell dem Wine,  
And teasha dem to make der Laty fine;  
We'll teash dem for to trip and minsh,  
To kick and winsh,  
For by the Sword we never shall convince,  
Since every Brewer dear can beat a Prince.    

The Spaniard.  

5.  
What are the English to quarrel so prone,  
Dat day cannot now adays let deir neighbour alone,  
And sal de Grave and the Catholic King,  
Before ever does controlled wid a sword and a sling;  
Sal bided de India's be left unto de sway,  
And purity a dose that do plunder and pray;  
ere that we will suffer such affronts for to be,  
We'll tumble dem down, as you sal sennon see:    

The Welsh.  

6.  
●affy was once a Cottamighty of Wales,  
Put her Cousin O. P. was a ●reater,  
Was come in her Country Cats●pluttery nails,  
Was take her welsh hook and was peat her;  
Was eat up her Shee●e,  
Her Tuck and her Geese,  
Her Pick, her Capon was tie for't;  
Ap Richard, ap Owen▪ ap Morgon, ap S●ef●n,  
Ap Jenkin, ap Powel was fly for't.    

The Irish.  

7.  
O hone, O hone, poor Teg and shone,  
O hone may howl and cry,  
St. Patrick help die Country men,  
Or fait and trot we die;  
De ●nglish steal our heart of Vsquebagh,  
Dey put us to de sword all in Dewguedagh▪  
Help us St. Patrick we ha' no Saint at all but dee▪  
O let us cry no more, O hone, a cram, a cree!    

The English.  

8.  
A Crown, a Crown, make room,  
The English man is come,  
Whose valour  
Is taller  
Than all Christendom:  
The Spanish, French, and Dutch,  
Scotch, Welsh, and Irish grudge,  
We fear not,  
We care not,  
For we can deal with such.  
You thought when we began in a Civil war to waste,  
Our Tillage  
Your Pillage  
Should come home at last:  
For when we  
Could not agree,  
You thought to share in our fall;  
But ne'er stir Sir,  
For first Sir  
We shall noose you all.     

A Medley.  

3.  
The English. LEt the Trumpets sound,  
And the Rocks rebound,  
Our English Natives coming;  
Let the Nations swarm,  
And the Prince's storm;  
We value not their drumming.  
'Tis not France that looks so smug  
Old fashions still renewing,  
It is not the Spanish shrug,  
Scotish cap, or Irish rug;  
Nor the Dutchman's double jug  
Can help what is ensuing,  
Pray my Masters look about,  
For something is a Brewing.   

2.  
He that is a Favourite consulting with Fortune,  
If he grow not wiser, then he's quite undone▪  
In a rising Creature we daily see certainly,  
He is a Retreater that fails to go on:  
He that in a Bvilder's trade  
Stops e'er the Roof be made,  
By the Air he may be betrayed  
And overthrown:  
He that hath a Race begun,  
And let's the Goal be won;  
He had better never run,  
But let 't alone.   

3.  
Then plot rightly,  
March sightly,  
Show your glittering Arms brightly:  
Charge hightly,  
Fight sprightly:  
Fortune gives renown.  
A right riser  
Will prise her,  
She makes all the World wiser;  
Still try her,  
we'll gain by her  
A Coffin or a Crown.   

4.  
If the Dutchman or the Spaniard  
Come but to oppose us,  
We will thrust them out of the Main-yard,  
If they do but nose us:  
Hans, Hans, think upon thy sins,  
And then submit to Spain thy Master;  
For though now you look like Friends,  
Yet he will never trust you after;  
Drink, drink, give the Dutchman drink,  
And let the tap and can run faster;  
For faith, at the last I think  
A Brewer will become your Master.   

5.  
Let not poor Teg and Shone  
Vender from der Houses,  
Lest they be quite undone  
In der very trowzes:  
And all her Orphans bestowed under hatches,  
And made in London free der to cry matches;  
St. Patrick wid his Harp do tuned wid true string  
Is not fit to untie St. Hewson's shooes-strings.   

6.  
Methinks I hear  
The Welsh draw near,  
And from each lock a louse trops;  
Ap Shone, ap LLoyd,  
Will spened her ploot.  
For to defend her mousetraps:  
Mounted on her K●fflebagh  
With coat store of Koradagh,  
The Pritish war begins.  
With a hook her was over come her  
Pluck her to her, thrust her from her,  
By cot her was preak her shins.  
Let Taffy fret,  
And Welch-hook whet,  
And troop up Pettigrees;  
We only tout,  
Tey will stink us out,  
Wit Leeks and toasted Sheeze.   

7.  
But Jockey now and Jinny comes,  
Our Brethren must approve on't;  
For pret a Cot they beat der drum's  
Only to break the Couvenant.  
Dey bore St. Andrew's Cross,  
Till our Army quite did rout dem,  
●ut when we put 'em to de Loss  
De deal a Cross about dem:  
The King and Couvenant they crave,  
Their Cause must needs be furthered;  
Although so many Kings they have  
Most barbarously, basely murdered.   

8.  
The French. The Frenchman he will give consent,  
Though he trickle in our veins;  
That willingly  
We may agree,  
To a marriage with Grapes and Grains:  
He conquers us with kindness,  
And doth so far entrench,  
That fair, and wise, and young, and rich  
Are finified by the French:  
He prettifies us with Feathers and Fans,  
With Petticoats, Doublets, and Hose;  
And faith they shall  
Be welcome all  
If they forbear the nose.  
For love or for fear,  
Let Nations forbear;  
If fortune exhibit a Crown,  
A Coward he  
Must surely be,  
That will not put it on.    

The Levellers Rant.  

TO the Hall, to the hall,  
For justice we call,  
On the King and his powerful adherents & friends  
Who still have endeavoured, but we work their ends.  
'Tis we will pull down what e'er is above us,  
And make them to fear us, that never did love us,  
we'll levelly the proud, and make every degree,  
To our Royalty bow the Knee,  
'Tis no less than treason,  
'Gainst freedom and Reason  
For our brethren to be higher than we.   

2.  
First the thing, called a King,  
To judgement we bring,  
And the spawn of the court, that were prouder than he,  
And next the two Houses united shall be,  
It does to the Romish religion enveagle,  
For the State to be two-headed like the spredeagle  
we'll purge the superfluous Members away,  
They are too many Kings to sway,  
And as we all teach,  
'Tis our Liberty's breach,  
For the Freeborn Saints to obey.   

3  
Not a claw, in the Law,  
Shall keep us in awe;  
we'll have no cushon-cuffers to tell us of hell,  
For we are all gifted to do it as well,  
'Tis freedom that we do hold forth to the Nations  
To enjoy our fellow-creatures as at the creation,  
The Carnal men's wives are for men of the spirit  
Their wealth is our own by merit,  
For we that have right,  
By the Law called Might,  
Are the Saints that must judge and inherit▪    

The Safety.  

SInce it has been lately enacted high Treason,  
For a man to speak truth of the heads of the state  
Let every wise man make use of his reason,  
See and hear what he can, but take heed what he prate.  
For the proverbs do learn us,  
He that stays from the battle sleeps in a whole skin,  
And our words are our own, if we can keep 'em in.  
What fools are we then, that to prattle begin  
Of things that do not concern us?   

2  
Let the three kingdoms fall to one of the prime ones  
My mind is a Kingdom, and shall be to me,  
I could make it appear, if I had but the time once,  
I'm as happy with one, as he can be with three.  
If I could but enjoy it  
He that's mounted on high, is a mark for the hate,  
And the envy of every pragmatical pate,  
While he that creeps low, lives safe in his state,  
And greatness do scorn to annoy it.   

3  
I am never the better which side gets the battle,  
The Tubs or the Crosses, what is it to me?  
They'll never increase my goods or my cattle,  
But a beggar's a beggar and so he shall be,  
Unless he turn Traitor,  
Let M●sers take courses to hep up their treasure,  
Whose lust has no limits, whose mind has no measure  
Let me be but quiet and take a little pleasure,  
A little contents my nature.   

4.  
My Petition shall be that Canary be cheaper,  
Without Patent or Custom, or cursed Excise;  
That the Wits may have leave to drink deeper and deeper,  
And not be undone, while their heads they baptise,  
And in liquor do drench 'em;  
If this were but granted, who would not desire,  
To dub himself one of Apollo's own Choir?  
We'll ring out the Bells, when our noses are on fire,  
And the quarts shall be the buckets to drench 'em,   

5.  
I account him no wit, that is gifted at railing,  
And flirting at those that above him do sit,  
While they do out-wit him, with whipping and goaling,  
Then his purse and his person both pay for his wit,  
'Tis better to be drinking;  
If sack were reformed into twelvepences a quart,  
I'd study for money to Merchandise for't,  
And a friend that is true, we together will sport.  
Not a word, but we'll pay them with thinking.    

The Leveller.  

NAy prithee don't fly me,  
But ●it thee down by me,  
I cannot endure  
A man that's demure,  
Go hang up your Worships and Sirs;  
Your Congees and Trips,  
With your legs and your lips,  
Your Madams and Lords,  
And such finikin words,  
With the Compliments you bring,  
That do spell NOTHING,  
You may keep for the Chains and the Furs:  
For at the beginning was no Peasant or Prince,  
And 'twas policy made the distinction since.   

2.  
Those Titles of Honours  
Do remain in the Donours,  
And not in that thing,  
To which they do cling,  
If his soul be too narrow to wear 'em,  
No delight can I see  
In that word called degree,  
Honest Dick sounds as well  
As a name of an ell,  
That with Titles doth swell,  
And sounds like a spell,  
To affright mortal ears that hear 'em,  
He that wears a brave soul, and dares gallantly do,  
May be his own Herald and Godfather too,   

3.  
Why should we then dote on,  
One with a Fool's coat on?  
Whose Coffers are crammed,  
But yet he'll be damned  
Ere he'll do a good act or a wise one?  
What Reason has he  
To be ruler o'er me?  
That's a Lord in his chest,  
But in's head and his breast,  
Is empty and bare,  
Or but puffed up with air,  
And can neither assist nor advise one.  
Honour's but air, and proud flesh but dust is,  
'Tis we Commons make Lords, and the Clerk makes the Justice.   

4.  
But since men must be  
Of a different degree,  
Because most do aspire,  
To be greater and higher,  
Then the rest of their Fellows and Brothers.  
He that has such a spirit,  
Let him gain it by's merit,  
Spend his brains, wealth, or blood  
For his Country's good,  
And make himself fit  
By his valour or wit,  
For things above the reach of all others.  
For Honour's a Prize, and who wins it may wear it,  
If not 'tis a Badge and a burden to bear it.   

5.  
For my part let me  
Be but quiet and free,  
I'll drink Sack and obey,  
And let great ones sway,  
And spend their whole time in thinking,  
I'll ne'er busy my Pate  
With secrets of State,  
The News books I'll burn all,  
And with the Diurnal  
Light Tobacco, and admit  
That they're so far fit,  
As they serve good company and drinking.  
All the name I desire is an honest Goodfellow,  
And that man has no worth that won't sometimes be mellow.    

The Royalists Answer.  

I Have reason to fly thee,  
And not sit down by thee;  
For I hate to behold,  
One so saucy and bold,  
To deride and contemn his Superiors,  
Our Madams and Lords,  
And such mannerly words,  
With the gestures that be  
Fit for every degree,  
Are things that we and you  
Both claim as our due  
From all those that are our Inferiors.  
For from the beginning there were Princes we know,  
'Twas you Levellers hate 'em, 'cause you can't be so.   

2.  
All Titles of Honours  
Were at first in the Donours.  
But being granted away  
With the Grantees stay,  
Where he wear a small soul or a bigger.  
There's a necessity  
That there should be degree.  
Where 'tis due we'll afford  
A Sir John, and my Lord,  
Though Dick, Tom and Jack,  
Will serve you and your Pack,  
Honest Dick's name enough for a Digger.  
He that has a strong Purse can all things be or do,  
He is valiant and wise and religious too.   

3.  
We have cause to adore,  
That man that has store,  
Though a Boar or a sot,  
There's something to be got;  
Though he be neither honest nor witty;  
Make him high, let him rule,  
he'll be playing the fool,  
And transgress, then we'll squeeze  
Him for fines and for fees.  
And so we shall gain,  
By the wants of his brain,  
'Tis the Fools-cap that maintains the City.  
If honour be air, 'tis in common, and as fit,  
For the fool & the clown, as for the champion or the wit.   

4.  
Then why mayn't we be  
Of different degree?  
And each man aspire  
To be greater and higher  
Than his wiser or honester brother,  
Since Fortune and Nature  
Their favours do scatter;  
This hath valour, that wit,  
Tother wealth, nor is't fit  
That one should have all,  
For then what would befall  
Him, that's born nor to one nor tother?  
Though honour were a prize at first, now 'tis a chattels,  
And as merchantable grown as your wares or your cattle.   

5.  
Yet in this we agree,  
To live quiet and free,  
To drink sack and submit,  
And not show our wit  
By our prating, but silence, and thinking,  
Let the politic Jews  
Read Diurnals and News,  
And lard their discourse,  
With a Comment that's worse,  
That which pleaseth me best  
Is a Song or a Jest,  
And my obedience I'll show by my drinking.  
He that drinks well, does sleep well, he that sleeps well, doth think well,  
He that thinks well, does do well, he that does well must drink well.    

The Independents resolve.  

COme Drawer and fill us about some Wine  
Let's merrily tipple the day's our own,  
we'll have our delights, let the Country go pine,  
Let the King and his Kingdom groan.  
The Crown is our own, and so shall continue,  
we'll Monarchy baffle quite,  
we'll drink off the Kingdom's revenue,  
And sacrifice all to delight.  
'Tis Power that brings  
Us all to be Kings,  
And we'll be all crowned by our might.   

2.  
A fig for divinity lectures and law,  
And all that to Loyalty do pretend,  
While we by the sword keep the Kingdom in awe,  
Our Power shall never have end.  
The Church and the State we'll turn into liquor,  
And spend a whole Town in a day,  
We'll melt all their bodkins the quicker  
Into Sack, and drink them away.  
We'll keep the demeans  
And turn Bishops and Deans,  
And over the Presbyters sway.   

3.  
The nimble St. Patrick is sunk in his bogs,  
And his Country men sadly cry O hone! O hone!  
St. Andrew and's Kirk-men are lost in the fogs,  
Now we are the Saints alone.  
Then on our Superiors and Equals we trample,  
And Jockey our stirrup shall hold,  
The City's our Mule for example,  
That we may in plenty be roul'd.  
Each delicate dish,  
Shall but Echo our wish  
And our drink shall be cordial gold.    

The Lamentation.  

MOurn, London, mourn,  
bath thy polluted soul in tears;  
Return, return,  
Thou hast more cause of grief, then th'hadst for fears,  
For the whole Kingdom now begins  
To feel thy sorrow as they saw thy sins,  
And now do no  
Compassion show  
Unto thy misery and woe,  
But slight thy sufferings as thou didst theirs.   

2.  
Pride towering Pride,  
And boiling lust, those fatal twins,  
Sat side by side,  
And are become Plantations of sins.  
Hence thy Rebellions first did flow,  
Both to the King above, and him below.  
And sordid sloth  
The Nurse of both,  
Have raised thy crimes to such a growth,  
That sorrow must conclude as sin begins.   

3.  
Fire raging fire,  
Shall burn thy stately towers down,  
Yet not expire,  
Tigers and Wolves, or men more savage grown,  
Thy children's brains, and thine shall dash,  
And in your blood their guilty talons wash,  
Thy Daughters must  
Allay their lust,  
Mischiefs will be on mischief thrust,  
Till thy Cap tumble as thou mad'st the Crown.   

4.  
Cry London cry!  
Now now petition for redress,  
Where canst thou fly?  
Thy emptied Chests augment thy heaviness,  
The Gentry and the Commons loath,  
Th' adored Houses slight thee worse than both,  
The King poor Saint,  
Would help, but can't;  
To heaven alone unfold thy want,  
Thence came thy Plagues, thence only Pity flow'th.    

The Reformation.  

TEll not me of Lords or Laws,  
Rules or Reformation,  
All that's done's not worth two straws,  
To the welfare of the Nation.  
Men in power do ra●t 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,  
Or merely for a fashion.   

2.  
Our expense of blood and purse  
Has produced no profit.  
Men are still as bad or worse,  
And will be what e'er comes of it.  
We've shuffled out, and shuffled in,  
The persons, but retain the sin,  
To make our game the surer,  
Yet spite of all our pains and skill,  
The Knaves all in the pack are still,  
And ever were and ever will,  
Though something now demurer.   

3.  
And it cannot but be so,  
Since those toys in fashion,  
And of Souls so base and low,  
And mere Bigots of the Na●ion,  
Whose designs are power and wealth▪  
At which, by rapines, fraud, and stealth,  
Audaciously they vent ye,  
They lay their Consciences aside,  
And turn with every wind and tide,  
Puffed on by Ignorance and Pride,  
And all to look like Gentry.   

4.  
Crimes are not punished 'cause their Crimes,  
But 'cause they're low and little,  
Mean men for mean faults in these times  
Make satisfaction to a tittle;  
While those in office and in power,  
Boldly the underlings devour  
Our Cobweb laws can't hold 'um.  
They sell for many a Thousand crown,  
Things which were never yet their own,  
And this is law and custom grown.  
'Cause those do judge that sold 'um.   

5.  
Brother's still with Brother's brawl,  
And for trifles sue 'em,  
For two Pronouns that spoil all,  
Those contentious Meum, Tuum,  
The wary Lawyer buys and builds,  
While the Client sells his fields,  
To sacrifice to's fury;  
And when he thinks to obtain his right  
He's baffled off, or beaten quite,  
By th' Judges will, or Lawyers slight,  
Or ignorance of the Jury.   

6.  
See the Tradesman how he thrives  
With perpetual trouble,  
How he ●heats, and how he strives  
His Estate t'enlarge and double,  
Extort, oppress, grind and encroach,  
To be a Squire, and keep a Coach,  
And to be one o'th' Quorum,  
Who may with's's worships●it ●it,  
And judge without law, fear or wit,  
Poor petty Thiefs that nothing get,  
And yet are brought before 'um.   

7.  
And his way to get all this  
Is mere dissimulation,  
No factious Lecture does he miss,  
And escapes no schism that's in fashion.  
But with short hair and shining shoes,  
He with two Pens and's Notebook goes,  
And winks and writes at random;  
Thence with short meal and tedious Grace,  
In a loud tone and Public place,  
Sings Wisdoms hymns, that trot and pace,  
As if Goliath scanned 'em.   

8.  
But when death begins his threats,  
And his Conscience struggles,  
To call to mind his former cheats  
Then at heaven he turns his juggles.  
And out of all's illgotten store,  
He gives a dribbling to the poor,  
In a Hospital or School-house,  
And the suborned Priest for's hire  
Quite frees him from th' infernal fire,  
And places him i'th' Angel's choir,  
Thus these Jack-puddings fool us.   

9  
All he gets by's pains i'th' close,  
Is that he died worth so much,  
Which he on's doubtful seed bestows,  
That neither care nor know much,  
Then Fortune's favourite his heir,  
Bred base, and ignorant and bare,  
Is blown up like a bubble,  
Who wondering at's own sudden rise,  
By Pride, Simplicity and Vice,  
Falls to's sports, drink, drab and dice  
And makes all fly like stubble.   

10.  
And the Church the other twin,  
Whose mad zeal enraged us,  
Is not purified a pin,  
By all those broils in which she engaged us,  
We, our Wives turned out of doors,  
And took in Concubines and Whores,  
To make an alteration  
Our Pulpitteers are proud and bold,  
They their own Wills and factions hold,  
And sell salvation still for Gold,  
And here's our Reformation.   

11.  
'Tis a madness then to make,  
Thriving our employment,  
And lucre love, for Lucre's sake,  
Since we've possession, not enjoyment.  
Let the times run on their course,  
For opposition makes them worse,  
We ne'er shall better find 'em,  
Let Grand●es wealth and power engross,  
And honour too, while we sit close,  
And laugh and take our plenteous dose,  
Of sack and never mind 'um.    

CHRONOSTICON Decollationis CAROLI Regis tricesimo die Januari●▪ secunda hora Pomeridiana, Anno Dom. MDCXLVIII.  Ter Deno janl Labens ReX SoLe CaDente CaroLVs eXVtVs SoLIo SCeptroq We SeCVto. 

CHARLES— ah forbear, forbear! lest Mortals prise  
His Name too dearly, and Idolatrize.  
His Name! Our Loss! Thrice cursed and forlorn  
Be that Black Night which ushered in this Morn.   

CHARLES' our Dread Sovereign!— hold! lest Outlawed Sense  
Bribe, and seduce tame Reason to dispense  
With those Celestial powers; and distrust  
Heaven can behold such Treason, and prove Just.   

CHARLES' our Dread Sovereign's murdered! tremble! and  
View what Convulsions shoulder-shake this Land,  
Court, City, Country, nay three Kingdoms run  
To their last stage, and Set with him their Sun.   

CHARLES' our Dread Sovereign's murdered at His Gate!  
Fell fiends! dire Hydra's of a stiff-neck'd-State!  
Strange Body-politick! whose Members spread,  
And Monsterlike, swell bigger than their HEAD.   

CHARLES' of Great Britain! He! who was the known  
King of three Realms, lies murdered in his own;  
He! He! who lived, and Faith's Defender stood,  
Died here to re-Baptize it in his blood.   

No more, no more, Fame's Trump shall Echo all  
The rest in dreadful Thunder. Such a Fall  
Great Christendom ne'er patterned; and 'twas strange  
Earth's Centre reeled not at this dismal Change.   

The Blow struck Britain blind, each well-set Limb  
By dislocation was lopped off in HIM.  
And though she yet lives, she lives but to condole  
Three Bleeding Bodies left without a Soul.   

Religion puts on Black, sad Loyalty  
Blushes and mourns so see bright Majesty  
Butchered by such Assassinates; nay both  
'Gainst God, 'gainst Law, Allegiance, and their Oath.   

Farewell sad Isle! Farewell! thy fatal Glory  
Is Summed, Cast up, and Cancelled in this Story.    

AN ELEGY. Upon King CHARLES the first, murdered publicly by his Subjects.  
WEre not my Faith buoyed up by sacred blood,  
It might be drowned in this prodigious flood;  
Which reason's highest ground doth so exceed,  
It leaves my soul no Anch'rage, but my Creed;  
Where my Faith resting on th' Original;  
Supports itself in this the Copies fall;  
So while my Faith floats on that Bloody wood,  
My reason's cast away in this Red flood,  
Which ne'er overflows us all: Those showers passed  
Made but Land-floods, which did some valleys waste;  
This stroke hath cut the only neck of land  
Which between us, and this Red Sea did stand,  
That covers now our world, which cursed lies  
At once with two of Egypt's prodigies;  
O'ercast with darkness, and with blood o'errun,  
And justly, since our hearts have theirs outdone;  
Th' Enchanter led them to a less known ill,  
To act his sin, than 'twas their King to kill:  
Which crime hath widowed our whole Nation,  
Voided all Forms, left but Privation  
In Church and State; inverting every right;  
Brought in Hell's State of fire without light;  
No wonder then, if all good eyes look red,  
Washing their Loyal hearts from blood so shed;  
The which deserves each poor should turn an eye,  
To weep out, even a bloody Agony.  
Let nought then pass for Music, but sad cries,  
For Beauty, bloudless cheeks, and bloodshot eyes.  
All colours soil but black, all odours have  
Ill scent but Myrrh, incensed upon this Grave:  
It notes a Jew, not to believe as much,  
The cleaner made by a Religious touch  
Of their Dead Body, whom to judge to die,  
Seems the Judaical Impiety.  
To kill the King, the Spirit Legion paints  
His rage with Law, the Temple and the Saints:  
But the truth is, He feared and did repine,  
To be cast out, and back into the Swine:  
And the case holds, in that the Spirit bends  
His malice in this Act against his ends:  
For it is like, the sooner he'll be sent  
Out of that body, He would still torment;  
Let Christians than use otherwise this blood,  
Detest the Act, yet turn it to their good;  
Thinking how like a King of Death He dies;  
We easily may the world and death despise:  
Death had no sting for him, and its sharp arm,  
Only of all the troop, meant him no harm.  
And so he looked upon the Axe, as one  
Weapon yet left, to guard Him to his Throne;  
In His great Name then may His Subjects cry,  
Death thou art swallowed up in Victory.  
If this our loss a comfort can admit,  
'Tis that his narrowed Crown is grown unfit  
For his enlarged Head, since his distress  
Had greatned this, as it made that the less;  
His Crown was fallen unto too low a thing  
For him, who was become so great a King;  
So the same hands enthroned him in that Crown,  
They had exalted from Him, not pulled down;  
And thus God's truth by them hath rendered more  
Than e'er men's falsehood promised to restore;  
Which, since by Death, alone he could attain,  
Was yet exempt from weakness, and from pain;  
Death was enjoined by God, to touch a part,  
Might make his passage quick, ne'er move his heart;  
Which even expiring was so far from death,  
It seemed but to command away his breath.  
And thus his Soul, of this her triumph proud,  
Broke, like a flash of lightning, through the cloud  
Of flesh and blood; and from the highest line  
Of humane virtue, passed to be divine:  
Nor is't much less his virtues to relate,  
Than the high glories of his present state;  
Since both than pass all Acts but of belief,  
Silence may praise the one, the other grief.  
And since, upon the Diamond, no less  
Than Diamonds, will serve us to impress,  
I'll only wish that for his Elegy,  
This our Josias had a Jeremy.   

AN ELEGY On 

The best of Men,  
The meekest of Martyrs,  
CHARLES the First, etc.    
DOe● not the Sun call in his light, and day  
Like a thin exhalation melt away?  
Both wrapping up their Beams in Clouds, to be  
Themselves Close Mourners at the Obsequy  
Of this great Monarch? does his Royal Blood,  
Which th'Earth late drunk in so profuse a flood,  
Not shoot through her affrightned womb, and make  
All her convulsed Arteries to shake  
So long, till all those hinges that sustain,  
Like Nerves, the frame of nature shrink again  
Into a shuffled Chaos? Does the Sun  
Not suck it from its liquid Mansion,  
And Still it in●o vaporous Clouds, which may  
Themselves in bearded Meteors display,  
Whose s●aggy and dishevelled Beams may be  
The Tapers at this black Solemnity?  
You seed of Marble in the Womb accursed,  
Rocked by some storm, or by some Tigress nursed,  
Fed by some Plague, which in blind mists was hurled,  
To strew infection on the tainted World;  
What fury charmed your hands to Act a deed,  
Tyrants to think on would not weep, but bleed?  
And Rocks by instinct so resent this Fact,  
They'd into Springs of easy tears be slacked.  
Say sons of tumult since you think it good,  
Still to keep up the trade, and Bath in Blood  
Your guilty hands, why did you then not state  
Your Slaughters at some cheap and common rate?  
Your gluttonous and lavish Blades might have  
Devoted Myriad to one public Grave;  
And lop'd off thousands of some base allay,  
Whilst the same Sexton that interred their clay,  
In the same Urn their Names too might entomb,  
But when on him you fixed your fatal Doom,  
You gave a blow to Nature, since even all▪  
The ●●ock of man now bleeds too in his fall.  
Could not Religion, which you oft have made  
A specious gloss your black designs to shade,  
Teach you, that we come nearest Heaven when we  
Are suppled into acts of Clemency?  
And copy out the Deity again,  
When we distil our mercies upon men?  
But why do I deplore this ruin? He  
Only shook off his frail Humanity,  
And with such calmness fell, he seemed to be,  
Even less unmoved and unconcerned than we;  
And forced us from our Throes of Grief to say,  
We only died, he only lived that Day:  
So that his Tomb is now his Throne become,  
T'invest him with the Crown of martyrdom;  
And death the shade of nature did not shroud  
His Soul in Mists, but its clear Beams uncloud,  
That who a Star in our Meridian shone,  
In Heaven might shine a Constellation.   

On the Death of his Royal Majesty, CHARLES late King of ENGLAND, etc.  
WHat went you out to see? a dying King?  
Nay more, I fear an Angel suffering.  
But what went you to see? a Prophet slain?  
Nay that and more, a Martyred Sovereign.  
Peace to that sacred dust! Great Sir, our fears  
Have left us nothing but obedient tears  
To court your hearse, and in those pious floods  
We live, the poor remainder of our goods.  
Accept us in these latter Obsequies,  
The unplundred riches of our hearts and eyes;  
For in these faithful streams, and emanations,  
weare Subjects still beyond all Sequestrations.  
Here we cry more than Conquerors: malice may  
Murder Estates, but hearts will still obey;  
These as your glory's yet above the reach  
Of such whose purple lines confusion preach.  
And now, (Dear Sir) vouchsafe us to admire  
With envy your arrival, and that Choir  
Of Cherubims and Angels that supplied  
Our duties at your triumphs: where you ride  
With full celestial Joys, and Ovations,  
Rich as the Conquest of three ruin'd Nations.  
But 'twas the heavenly plot that snatched you hence,  
To crown your Soul with that magnificence,  
And bounden rites of honour, that poor earth  
Could only wish and stangle in the birth.  
Such pitied emulation stopped the blush  
Of our ambitious shame, nonsuited us.  
For where souls act beyond mortality,  
Heaven only can perform that Jubilee.  
We wrestle then no more, but bless your day,  
And mourn the anguish of our sad delay:  
That since we cannot add we yet stay here  
Fettered in clay: Yet longing to appear  
Spectators of your bliss, that being shown  
Once more, you may embrace us as your own;  
Where never envy shall divide us more,  
Nor City tumults, nor the world's uproar;  
But an eternal hush, a quiet peace  
As without end, so still in the increase,  
Shall lull humanity asleep, and bring  
Us equal Subjects to the Heavenly King.  
Till then I'll turn Recusant, and forswear  
All Calvin, for there's Purgatory here.   

AN EPITAPH.  
STay Passenger: Behold and see  
The widowed Grave of Majesty.  
Why tremblest thou? Here's that will make  
All but our stupid souls to shake.  
Here lies entombed the sacred dust  
Of Peace and Piety, Right and Just.  
The blood (O startest not thou to hear?)  
Of a King, 'twixt hope and fear  
Shed and hurried hence to be  
The miracle of misery.  
Add the ills that Rome can boast,  
Shrift the world in every coast,  
Mix the fire of Earth and Seas  
With humane spleen and practices,  
To puny the records of time,  
By one grand Gygantick crime,  
Then swell it bigger till it squeeze  
The Globe to crooked hams and knees,  
Here's that shall make it seem to be  
But modest Christianity.  
The Lawgiver, amongst his own,  
Sentenced by a Law unknown.  
Voted Monarchy to death  
By the course Plebeian breath.  
The Sovereign of all command,  
Suffering by a Common hand.  
A Prince, to make the odium more,  
Offered at his very door.  
The Head cut off, O death to see't!  
In obedience to the feet.  
And that by Justice you must know,  
If you have Faith to think it so.  
We'll stir no further than this Sacred Clay,  
But let it slumber till the Judgement day:  
Of all the Kings on Earth, 'tis not denied,  
Here lies the first that for Religion died.   

The Engagement stated.  
Begun Expositor: the Text is plain,  
No Church, no Lord, no Law, no Sovereign.  
Away with mental reservations, and  
Senses of Oaths in files outvie the Strand:  
Here's Hell trussed in a thimble, in a breath,  
Dares face the hazard of the second death.  
The Saints are grown Laconians, and can twist  
Perjury up in Pills, like Leyden grist:  
But hold precise Doponents: though the heat  
Of Zeal in Cataracts digest● such meat,  
My cold concoction shrinks, and my advance  
Drives slowly to approach your Ordinance.  
The sign's in Cancer, and the Zodiac turns  
Leonick, rolled in curls, while Terra burns.  
What though your fancies are sublimed to reach  
Those fatal reins? Success and will can teach  
But rash Divinity: a sad renown,  
Where one man fell to see a million drown.  
When neither Arts nor Arms can serve to fight  
And wrest a Title from its Law and Right,  
Must Malice piece the Trangum, and make clear  
The scruple? Else we will resolve to swear?  
Nay out-swear all that we have sworn before,  
And make good lesser crimes by acting more  
And more sublime? This, this extends the Line▪  
And shames the puny soul of Catiline.  
On this account all those whose Fortune's crossed,  
And want estates, may turn Knights of the Post.  
Vaulx we out-vy'd thee, since thy plot fell lame,  
We found a closer Cellar for the same,  
Piling the fatal Powder in our mouths,  
Which in an Oath discharged blew up the House.  
Maugre Mounteagle, Asps not throughly slain,  
Their poison in an age may live again.  
Good Demas cuff your Bear, then let us see  
The mystery of your iniquity.  
May a Man course a Cur? and freely box  
The Question? or the formal Paradox?  
But as in Physic, so in this device  
This queck of policy the point is nice.  
For he that in this model means to thrive,  
Must first subscribe to the Preparative;  
Like Witches compact countermarch his faith  
And soak up all what ere the Spirit saith;  
Then seal and sign. Scylla threw three Bars short,  
He a had Sword indeed, but no Text for't.  
Old Rome lam●nt thy infancy in sin,  
We perfect what thou trembledst to begin,  
Blush then to see thyself outdone. But all  
The world may grieve, 'tis epidemical.  
Heaven frowns indeed. But what makes Hell enraged?  
Sweet Pluto be at Peace, we have Engaged.   

On the happy Memory of Alderman Hoyle that hanged himself.  
ALL hail fair fruit! may every Crabtree bear  
Such blossoms, and so lovely every year!  
Call ye me this the slip? marry 'tis well,  
Zacheus slipped to Heaven, the Thief to Hell:  
But if the Saints thus give's the slip, 'tis need  
To look about us to preserve the breed.  
theyare of the Running game, and thus to post  
In nooses, blanks the reckoning with their Host.  
Here's more than Trussum cordum I suppose  
That knit this knot: guilt seldom singly goes!  
A wounded soul close coupled with the sense  
Of sin, pays home its proper recompense.  
But hark you Sir, if hast can grant the time?  
See you the danger yet what 'tis to climb  
In King's Prerogatives? things beyond just,  
When Law seems bribed to doom them, must be trussed.  
But O I smell your Plot strong through your Hose,  
'Twas but to cheat the Hangman of your clothes▪  
Else your more active hands had fairly stayed  
The leisure of a Psalm: Judas has prayed.  
But later crimes cannot admit the pause,  
They run upon effects more than the cause.  
Yet let me ask one question, why alone?  
One Member of a Corporation?  
'Tis clear amongst Divines, Bodies and Souls  
As jointly active, so their judgement rowles  
Concordant in the Sentence; why not so  
In earthly Sufferings? States attended go.  
But I perceive the Knack: Old women say  
And be't approved, each Dog should have his day.  
Hence sweep the Almanac: Lily make room,  
And blanks enough for the new Saints to come,  
All in Red letters: as their faults have been  
Scarlet, so limb their Anniverse of sin.  
And to their children's credits and their Wives  
Be it still said, they leap fair for their lives.   

The States New Coin.  

1.  
See you the State's money new come from the Mint?  
Some People do say it is wondrous fine;  
And that you may read a great mystery in't,  
Of mighty King Nol, the Lord of the Coyn.   

2.  
They have quite omitted his Politic head,  
His worshipful face, and his excellent Nose;  
But the better to tempt the sisters to bed,  
They have fixed upon it the print of his Hose.   

3.  
For, if they had set up his Picture there,  
They needs must ha' crowned him in Charles his stead;  
But 'twas cunningly done, that they did forbear,  
And rather would set up his Are— than his head.   

4  
'Tis monstrous strange, and yet it is true,  
In this Reformation we should ha' such luck,  
That Crosses were always disdained by you,  
Who before pulled them down, should now set them up.   

5.  
On this side they have circumscribed God with us,  
And in this stamp and Coin they confide;  
Commonwealth on the other, by which we may guests  
That God and the States were not both of a side.   

6.  
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.   

7.  
A Countryman hearing this, strait way did think,  
That he would procure such a piece of his own;  
And knowing it like his Wife's Butterprint,  
She should have't for a Token when as he came home.   

8.  
Then since that this is the Parliament coin,  
Now Lily by thy mysterious charms,  
Or Heralds, pray tell us if these ha' not been  
Carmen or Fiddlers before by their Arms.    

The Rebellion.  

NOw, thanks to the Powers below,  
We have even done our do,  
The Mitre is down, and so is the Crown,  
And with them the Coronet too:  
All is now the People's, and then  
What is theirs is ours we know;  
There is no such thing as a Bishop or K—  
Or Peer, but in name or show;  
Come Clowns, and come Boys, come Hoberdehoys,  
Come Females of each degree,  
Stretch out your throats, bring in your Votes,  
And make good the Anarchy;  
Then thus it shall be, says also,  
Nay, thus it shall be, says Amie,  
Nay, thus it shall go, says Taffie,! trow,  
Nay, thus it shall go, says Jemmy.   

Oh but the truth, good People all, the truth is is such a thing.  
For it will undo both Church and State too,  
And pull out the throat of our King;  
No, nor the Spirit, nor the new Light  
Can make the Point so clear,  
But we must bring out the defiled Coat,  
What thing the truth is, and where,  
Speak Abraham, speak Hester,  
Speak Judith, speak K●ster,  
Speak tag and rag, short coat and long:  
Truth is the spell that made us rebel,  
And murder and plunder ding dung;  
Sure I have the truth, says Numphs,  
Nay, I have the truth, says Clem,  
Nay, I have the truth, says reverend Ruth,  
Nay, I have the truth, says Nem.   

Well, let the truth be whose it will,  
There is something else in ours,  
Yet this devotion in our Religions  
May chance to abate our Powers:  
Then let's agree on some new way,  
It skills not much how true,  
Take P— and his club, or Smec and his tub  
Or any Sect, old or new;  
The Devil is in the pack, if choice you can lack▪  
We are fourscore Religions strong,  
Then take your choice, the Major voice  
Shall carry't right or wrong;  
Then let's have King Charles, says George,  
Nay, we'll have his Son, says Hugh;  
Nay, then let's have none, says gabbering Joan,  
Nay, we'll be all Kings, says Prue.   

Nay, but neighbours and friends, one word more,  
There's something else behind,  
And wise though you be, you do not well see  
In which door fits the wind;  
And for Religion, to speak truth,  
And in both House's sense,  
The matter is all one, if any or none,  
If it were not for the pretence;  
Now here doth lurk the key of the work,  
And how to dispose of the Crown  
Dexteriously, and as it may be  
For your behalf and our own;  
Then we'll be of this, says Meg,  
Nay, we'll be of this, says Tib,  
Come, we'll be of all, says pitiful Paul,  
Nay, we'll be of none, says Gib.   

Oh we shall have, if we go on  
In Plunder, Excise, and Blood,  
But few folks, and poor, to domineer o'er,  
And that will not be good;  
Then let's agree on some new way,  
Some new and happy course,  
The Country is grown sad, the City is Horn mad,  
And both the Houses are worse;  
The Synod hath writ, the General hath shit,  
And both to like purpose, for  
Religion, Laws, the Truth, and the Cause  
We talk on, but nothing we do;  
Come, then let's have peace, says Nell,  
No, no, but we won't says Meg,  
But I say we will, says fiery-face Phil,  
We will, and we won't, says Hodge.   

Thus from the Rout who can expect  
Aught but confusion,  
Since the Unity with good Monarchy  
Begin and end in one?  
If then when all is thought their own,  
And lies at their belief,  
These popular pates, reap nought but debates  
From these many round-headed beast;  
Come Royalists then, do you play the men,  
And Cavaliers give the word,  
And now let's see what you will be,  
And whether you can accord;  
A health to King Charles, says Tom,  
Up with it, says Ralph, like a man,  
God bless him, says Doll, and raise him, says Moll,  
And send him his own, says Nan.   

But now for these prudent Wights,  
That sit without end, and to none,  
And their Committees in Towns and Cities  
Fill with confusion;  
For the bold Troops of Sectaries,  
The Scots, and their Partakers,  
Our new British States, Col. Burges and his Mates,  
The Covenant and its Makers:  
For all these we'll pray, and in such a way,  
That if it might granted be,  
Both Jack and Gill, and Moll and Will,  
And all the world will agree:  
El●e Pox take them all, says Bess,  
And a Plague too says Mary,  
The Devil, says Dick, and his Dam too, says Nick,  
Amen and amen say we.    

On Britannicus his leap three Story high, and his escape from London.  
PAul from Damascus in a basket slides,  
Craned by the faithful Brethren down the sides  
O● their embattled walls; Britannicus  
As loath to trust the brethren's God with us,  
Slides too, but yet more desperate, and yet thrives  
In his descent; needs must! the Devil drives.  
Their Cause was both the same, and herein meet,  
Only their fall was not with equal feet,  
Which makes the Case jambick: thus we see  
How much News falls short of Divinity.  
Truth was their crying crime: One takes the night,  
Th' other th' advantage of the New-sprung Light  
To mantle his escape: how different be  
The Pristin and the Modern Policy?  
Have Ages their Antipodes? Yet still  
Close in the Propagation of ill?  
Hence flows this use and doctrine from the thump  
I last sustained (beloved) Good wits may Jump.   

An Epigram on the People of England.  
Sweeting and chafing hot Ardelio cries  
A Boat a Boat, else farewell all the prize.  
But having once set foot upon the deep  
Hotspur Ardelio fell fast asleep.  
So we, on fire with zealous discontent,  
Called out a Parliament, a Parliament;  
Which being obtained at last, what did they do?  
Even squeeze the Woolpacks, and lie snorting too.   

Another.  
BRitain a lovely Orchard seemed to be  
Furnished with nature's choice variety,  
Temptations golden fruit of every sort,  
Th' Hesperian Garden fanned from feigned report;  
Great boys and small together in we broke,  
No matter what disdained Priapus spoke:  
Up, up, we lift the great boys in the trees,  
Hoping a common share to sympathise:  
But they no sooner there, neglected straight  
The shoulders that so raised them to this height;  
And fell to stuffing of their own bags first,  
And as their treasure grew, so did their thirst.  
Whiles we in lean expectance gaping stand,  
For one shake from their charitable hand.  
But all in vain, the dropsy of desire  
So scorched them, three Realms could not quench the fire.  
Be wise then in your Ale, bold youths, for fear  
The Gardner catch us as Moss caught his Mare.   

Upon report there should be no more Terms kept at Westminster.  
IS't possible? will no Terms then prevail?  
And must the Gown and Bag jog on to sale?  
The Bills and Answers in our Courts become  
Converted to the taring use of Drum?  
And shall no more Confederacies pass  
'Twixt Midsummer and dying Michaelmas?  
Though they deprive us of Old 
* An Attorney.  Hillary,  
'Tis fit they should allow the Trinity;  
But that's denied too: this Alteration  
Contracts our whole time to a long Vacation.  
Now farewell the 
(1.) The Scotch Alehouse in Hartshorn Lane.  Brown bowl, and Bonny Ale,  
The Sanguine Herring, and its merry tail;  

(2.) Clerks of the Exchequer, that used to drink their Morning's Draughts there.  Higgenian Quibbles, and the Harpean Lyre,  
Fentonian Sweetness, and the Towering Fire;  
Our 
(3.) They called one another so.  Host and Hostess too, they're both Vxorums,  
As Hermophraditus is, in Sex Duorums:  
Weep 
(4.) To Westminster.] Places there where Clerks in Term time usually break their Fast.  Heaven, lament thy loss, and thou Hell roar,  
Thy Furnace scarce will ere be heated more;  
Of Pleasure, Paradise, thou must be barren,  
And Purgatory furnished but with Carrion:  
Th'abomination of the 
(5.) A Bawdy-house.  Hole i'th' Wall,  
Now June is past, cry Pamphlets in the Hall;  
And she that's left but th' remnant of a Nose,  
Who to a Chirurgeon (as men do suppose)  
Did pawn the other part for cure of this,  
Turn Zealot, and be Martyred when she p—  
All Trades, and all Societies lament  
Your wants in us, you'll find cause to repent  
The setting up your Idol Parliament:  
For though on these Terms they'll no profit give  
To Us, we'll try on other Terms to live.   

Upon the Cavaliers departing out of London.  

NOw fare thee well London,  
Thou next must be undone,  
'Cause thou hast undone us before;  
This Cause and this Tyrant,  
Had ne'er played this high rant,  
Were't not for thy argent and Or.   

2.  
Now we must desert thee,  
With the lines that begird thee,  
And the Red-coated Saints domineer;  
Who with liberty fool thee,  
While a Monster doth rule thee,  
And thou feelest what before thou didst fear.   

3.  
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 bartered and sold.   

4.  
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.   

5.  
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 suppressed.    

On Col. Pride.  

OF Giants and Knights, and their wonderful fights  
We have stories enough in Romances,  
But I'll tell you one new, that is strange and yet true,  
Though t'other are nothing but fancies.   

2.  
A Knight lately made, of the Governing trade,  
Whose name he'll not have to be known;  
Has been trucking with fame, to purchase a name,  
For 'tis said he had none of his own.   

3.  
He by Fortune's design, should have been a Divine,  
And a Pillar no doubt of the Church;  
Whom a Sexton (God wot) in the Belfry begot,  
And his Mother did pig in the Porch.   

4.  
And next for his breeding, 'twas learned Hog-feeding,  
With which he so long did converse,  
That his manners & feature, was so like their nature,  
You'd scarce know his sweetness from theirs.   

5.  
But observe the device, of this Nobleman's rise,  
How he hurried from trade to trade,  
From the grains he'd aspire, to the yeast, and then higher,  
Till at length he a Drayman was made.   

6.  
Then his dray-horse and he, in the streets we did see,  
With his hanger, his sling, and his jacket;  
Long time he did watch, to meet with his match,  
For he'd ever a mind to the Placket.   

7.  
At length he did find, out a Trull to his mind,  
And Ursula was her name;  
Oh Vrsl● quoth he, and oh Tom then quoth she,  
And so they began their game.   

8.  
But as soon as they met, O such Babes they did get,  
And Blood-royal in 'em did place,  
From a swineherd they came, a she-bear was their Dam,  
They were suckled as Romulus was.   

9  
At last when the Rout, with their head did fall out,  
And the Wars thereupon did fall in,  
He went to the field, with a sword, but no shield,  
Strong drink was his buckler within.   

10  
But when he did spy, how they dropped down and die,  
And did hear the bullets to sing;  
His arms he flung down, and run fairly to town,  
And exchanged his sword for his sling.   

11.  
Yet he claimed his share, in such honours as were  
Belonging to nobler spirits;  
That ventured their lives, while this Buffoon survives  
To receive the reward of their merits.   

12.  
When the Wars were all done, he his fight begun,  
And would needs show his valour in peace,  
Then his fury he flings, at poor conquered things,  
And frets like a hog in his grease.   

13.  
For his first feat of all, on a Wit he did fall,  
A Wit as some say, and some not,  
Because he'd an art, to rhyme on the quart,  
But never did care for the pot.   

14.  
And next on the Cocks, he fell like an Ox,  
Took them and their Masters together;  
But the combs and the spurs, kept himself and his Sirs,  
Who are to have both or neither.   

15.  
The cause of his spite, was because they would fight,  
And because he durst not, he did take on;  
And said they were fit, for the pot, not the spit,  
And would serve to be eaten with Bacon.   

16.  
But fleshed with these spoils, the next of his toils,  
Was to fall with wild-beasts by the ears,  
To the Bearward he goeth, and then opened his mouth,  
And said, Oh! are you there with your bears.   

17.  
Our stories are dull, of a Cock and a Bull,  
But such was his valour and care;  
Since he bears the Bell, the tales that we tell,  
Must be of a Cock and a Bear.   

18.  
The crime of the Bears, was, they were Cavaliers,  
And had formerly fought for the King;  
And pulled by the Burrs, the Round-headed Cur●,  
That they made their ears to ring.   

19  
Our successor of Kings, like blind fortune flings  
Upon him both honour and store;  
Who has as much right, to make Tom a Knight,  
As Tom has desert, and no more.   

20.  
But Fortune that Whore, still attended this Brewer,  
And did all his Achievements reward;  
And blindly did fling, on this lubberly thing,  
More Honour, and made him a Lord.   

21.  
Now he walks with his spurs, and a couple of curs  
At his heels, which he calls Squires;  
So when Honour is thrown, on the head of a Clown,  
'Tis by Parasites held up, and Liars.   

22.  
The rest of his pranks, will merit new thanks,  
With his death, if we did but know it;  
But we'll leave him and it, to a time and place fit,  
And Gregory shall be funeral Poet.    

Upon the General Pardon passed by the RUMP, 1653.  

Rejoice, rejoice, ye Cavaliers,  
For here comes that expels your fears;  
A General Pardon is now past,  
What was long looked for, comes at last.   

It Pardons all that are undone;  
The Pope ne'er granted such a one:  
So long, so large, so full, so free;  
O what a gracious State have we!   

Yet do not joy too much (my friends)  
First see how well this pardon ends,  
For though it hath a Glorious face,  
I fear there's in't but little grace.   

'Tis said the Mountains once brought forth,  
And what brought they? a Mouse introth;  
Our States have done the like, I doubt,  
In this their Pardon now set out.   

We'll look it o'er then if you please,  
And see wherein it brings us ease;  
And first, it Pardons words I find  
Against our State, words are but wind.   

Hath any prayed for th'King of late?  
And wished confusion to our State?  
And called them Rebels? he come in  
And plead this Pardon for that sin.   

Hath any called King Charles that's dead  
A Martyr? He that lost his Head?  
And Villains those that did the Fact?  
That man is pardoned by this Act.   

Hath any said our Parliament  
Is such a one as God ne'er sent?  
Or hath he writ, or put in Print  
That he believes the Devil's in't?   

Or hath he said there never were  
Such Tyrants any where as here?  
Though this offence of his be high,  
He's pardoned for his Blasphemy.   

You see how large this Pardon is,  
It Pardons all our Mercuries,  
And Poets too, for you know they  
Are poor, and have not aught to pay.   

For where there's money to be got,  
I find this Pardon pardons not;  
Malignants that were rich before,  
Shall not be pardoned till they're poor.   

Hath any one been true to th' Crown.  
And for that paid his money down;  
By this new Act he shall be free,  
And pardoned for his Loyalty.   

Who have their Lands confiscate quite,  
For not Compounding when they might;  
If that they know not how to dig,  
This Pardon gives them leave to beg.   

Before this Act came out in print,  
We thought there had been comfort in't;  
We drank some Healths to th' Higher Powers,  
But now we've seen't they'd need drink ours.   

For by this Act it is thought fit  
That no man shall have benefit,  
Unless he first engage to be  
A Rebel to eternity.   

Thus in this Pardon it is clear,  
That nothing's here, and nothing's there,  
I think our States do mean to choke us  
With this new Act of Hocus Pocus.   

Well, since this Act's not worth a pin,  
We'll pray our States to call it in,  
For most men think it ought to be  
Burnt by the hand of Gregory.   

Then to conclude, here's little joy  
For those that pray Vive le Roy:  
But since they'll not forget our Crimes,  
we'll keep our mirth till better times.    

Upon oliver's dissolving the Parliament in 1653.  

1.  
WIll you hear a strange thing scarce heard of before,  
A ballad of News without any lies,  
The Parliament men are turned out of doors,  
And so are the Council of State likewise.   

2.  
Brave Oliver came to the House like a Spirit,  
His fiery looks struck the Speaker dumb;  
You must be gone hence, quoth he, by this light,  
Do you mean to sit here till Doomsday come?   

3.  
With that the Speaker looked pale for fear,  
As though he had been with the nightmare rid,  
Insomuch that some did think that were there,  
That he had even done as the Alderman did.   

4.  
But Oliver though he be Doctor of Law,  
Yet he seemed to play the Physician there;  
His Physic so wrought on the Speakers maw,  
That he gave him a stool instead of a Chair.   

5.  
Harry Martin wondered to see such a thing,  
Done by a Saint of such high degree;  
'Twas an act he did not expect from a King,  
Much less from such a dry bone as he.   

6.  
But Oliver laid his hand on his sword,  
And upbraided him with his Adultery;  
To which Harry answered never a word,  
Saving, humbly thanking his Majesty.   

7.  
Allen the Coppersmith was in great fear,  
He did as much harm since the Wars began;  
A broken Citizen many a year,  
And now he is a broken Parliament-man.   

8.  
Bradshaw that Precedent proud as the Pope,  
That loves upon Kings and Princes to trample;  
Now the house is dissolved I cannot but hope,  
To see such a Precedent made an example.   

9  
And were I one of the Council of War,  
I'll tell you what my Vote should be,  
Upon his own Turret at Westminster,  
To be hanged up for all comers to see.   

10.  
My Masters I wonder you could not agree,  
You that have been so long Brethren in evil;  
A dissolution you might think there would be,  
When the Devil's divided against the Devil.   

11.  
Then room for the Speaker without his Mace,  
And room for the rest of the Rabble-rout;  
My Masters methinks 'tis a pitiful case,  
Like the snuff of a Candle thus to go out.   

12.  
Now some like this change, and some like it not,  
Some think it was not done in due season;  
Some think it was but a Jesuits plot,  
To blow up the House like a Gun-powder-treason,   

13.  
Some think that Oliver and Charles are agreed,  
And sure it were good policy if it were so;  
Lest the Hollander, French, the Dane, and the Swede,  
Should bring him in whether he would or no.   

14.  
And now I would gladly conclude my Song,  
With a Prayer as Ballads are used to do,  
But yet I'll forbear, for I think ere't be long,  
We shall have a King and a Parliament too.    

Admiral Deans Funeral.  

1.  
NIck Culpepper, and William Lily,  
Though you were pleased to say they were silly,  
Yet something these prophesied true, I tell ye,  
Which no body can deny.   

2.  
In the month of May, I tell you truly,  
Which neither was in June nor July,  
The Dutch began to be unruly,  
Which no body can deny.   

3.  
Betwixt our England and their Holland,  
Which neither was in France nor Poland,  
But on the Sea, where there was no Land,  
Which no body can deny.   

4.  
There joined the Dutch, and the English Fleet,  
Our Author's opinion than they did meet,  
Some saw't that never more shall see't,  
Which no body can deny.   

5.  
There were many men's hearts as heavy as lead,  
Yet would not believe Dick Dean to be dead,  
Till they saw his Body take leave of his head,  
Which no body can deny.   

6.  
Then after the sad departure of him,  
There was many a man lost a Leg or a Limb,  
And many were drow'd 'cause they could not swim,  
Which no body can deny.   

7.  
One cries, lend me thy hand good friend,  
Although he knew it was to no end,  
I think, quoth he, I am going to the Fiend,  
Which no body can deny.   

8.  
Some, 'twas reported, were killed with a Gun,  
And some stood that knew not whether to run,  
There was old taking leave of Father and Son,  
Which no body can deny.   

9  
There's a rumour also, if we may believe,  
We have many gay Widows now given to grieve,  
'Cause unmannerly Husbands ne'er came to take leave.  
Which no body can deny.   

10.  
The ●itty is sad of our Dean to sing;  
To say truth, it was a pitiful thing  
To take off his head and not leave him a ring,  
Which no body can deny.   

11.  
From Greenwich toward the Bear at Bridgefoot  
He was wafted with wind that had water to't,  
But I think they brought the Devil to boot,  
Which no body can deny.   

12.  
The heads on London Bridge upon Poles,  
That once had bodies, and honester souls  
Than hath the Master of the Rolls,  
Which no body can deny.   

13.  
They grieved for this great man of command,  
Yet would not his head amongst theirs should stand;  
He died on the Water, and they on the Land,  
Which no body can deny.   

14▪  
I cannot say, they looked wisely upon him,  
Because People cursed that parcel was on him;  
He has fed fish and worms, if they do not wrong him,  
Which no body can deny.   

15.  
The Old Swan as he passed by,  
Said, she would sing him a dirge, and lie down and di●;  
Wilt thou sing to a bit of a body, quoth I?  
Which no body can deny.   

16.  
The Globe on the Bank, I mean, on the Ferry,  
Where Gentle and Simple might come and be merry,  
Admired at the change from a Ship to a Wherry,  
Which no body can deny.   

17.  
Tom Godfrey's Bears began for to roar,  
Hearing such moans one side of the shore,  
They knew they should never see Dean any more,  
Which no body can deny.   

18.  
Queen-hithe, Paulswharf, and the Friars also,  
Where now the Players have little to do,  
Let him pass without any tokens of woe,  
Which no body can deny.   

19  
Quoth th' Students o'th' Temple, I know not their names,  
Looking out of their Chambers into the Thames,  
The Barge fits him better than did the great James,  
Which no body can deny.   

20.  
Essex House, late called Cuckolds Hall,  
The folk in the Garden staring over the wall,  
Said, they knew that once Pride would have a fall.  
Which no body can deny.   

21.  
At Strand Gate, a little farther then,  
Where mighty Guns numbered to sixty and ten,  
Which neither hurt Children▪ Women nor Men,  
Which no body can deny.   

22.  
They were shot over times one, two, three, or four,  
'Tis thought one might ' heard the bounce to th' Tower,  
Folk report, the din made the Buttermilk sour,  
Which no body can deny.   

23.  
Had old Goodman Lenthal or All●n but heard 'em,  
The noise worse than Olivers voice would have feared 'em,  
And out of their small wits would have scared 'em  
Which no body can deny.   

24.  
Somerset House, where once did the Queen lie,  
And afterwards Ireton in black, and not green, by,  
The Canon clattered the Windows really  
Which no body can deny.   

25.  
The Savoys mortified spitled Crew,  
If I lie, as Falstaff says, I am a Jew,  
Gave the Hearse such a look it would make a man spew,  
Which no body can deny.   

26.  
The House of S— that Fool and Knave,  
Had so much wit left lamentation to save  
From accompanying a traytorly Rogue to his grave,  
Which no body can deny.   

27.  
The Exchange, and the ruins of Durham house eke  
Wished such sights might be seen each day i'th' week,  
A General's Carcase without a Cheek,  
Which no body can deny.   

28.  
The House that lately Great Buckingham's was,  
Which now Sir Thomas Fairfax has,  
Wished it might be Sir Thomas' fate so to pass,  
Which no body can deny.   

29.  
Howards House, Suffolk's great Duke of Yore,  
Sent him one single sad wish, and no more,  
He might float by Whitehall in purple gore,  
Which no body can deny.   

30.  
Something I should of Whitehall say,  
●ut the Story is so sad, and so bad, by my faith,  
That it turns my wits another way,  
Which no body can deny.   

31.  
To VV●stminster, to the Bridge of the Kings.  
The water the Barge, and the Bargemen brings  
The small remain of the worst of things,  
Which no body can deny.   

32.  
They interred him in triumph, like Lewis the eleven,  
In the famous Chapel of Henry the seven,  
But his soul is scarce gone the right way to heaven,  
Which no body can deny.    

The merry Goodfellow.  

WHy should we not laugh and be jolly,  
Since all the World now is grown mad?  
And lulled in a dull melancholy;  
He that wallows in store  
Is still gaping for more,  
And that makes him as poor,  
As the Wretch that never any thing had.   

How mad is that damned Money-monger?  
That to purchase to him and his heirs,  
Grows shriviled with thirst and hunger;  
While we that are bonny,  
Buy Sack with ready-mony,  
And ne'er trouble the Scriveners, nor Lawyers.   

Those guts that by scraping and toiling,  
Do swell their Revenues so fast,  
Get nothing by all their turmoiling,  
But are marks of each tax,  
While they load their own backs  
With the heavier packs,  
And lie down galled and weary at last.   

While we that do traffic in tipple,  
Can baffle the Gown and the Sword,  
Whose jaws are so hungry and gripple;  
We ne'er trouble our heads  
With Indentures or Deeds,  
And our Wills are composed in a word.   

Our money shall never indite us,  
Nor drag us to Goldsmith's Hall,  
No Pirates nor wracks can affright us;  
We, that have no Estates,  
Fear no plunder nor rates,  
We can sleep with open gates,  
He that lies on the ground cannot fall.   

We laugh at those Fools whose endeavours  
Do but fit them for Prisons and Fines,  
When we that spend all are the saviours;  
For if Thiefs do break in,  
They go out empty again,  
Nay, the Plunderers lose their designs.   

Then let us not think on to morrow,  
But tipple and laugh while we may,  
To wash from our hearts all sorrow;  
Those Cormorants which  
Are troubled with an itch,  
To be mighty and rich,  
Do but toil for the wealth which they borrow.   

The Mayor of the Town with his Ruff on,  
What a pox is he better than we?  
He must veil to the man with the Buff on;  
Though he Custard may eat,  
And such lubbardly meat,  
Yet our Sack makes us merrier than he.    

The Rebel's Reign.  

NOw we are met in a knot, let's take t'other pot,  
And chirp o'er a cup of Nectar;  
Let's think on a charm, to keep us from harm,  
From the Fiend, and the new Protector.   

Heretofore at a brunt, a Cross would have done't,  
But now they have taken courses,  
With their Laws and their theft, there's not a Cross left  
In the Church, nor the Farmer's Purses.   

They're with you to bring, for stuffing at a King,  
For now you must make no dainty,  
To have your Nose ground, on a stone turned round  
By Noll, and one and twenty.   

But our Rights are kept for us, in Oliver's store-house,  
'Twere as good they were set in the Stocks:  
They are just in the pickle, in the thirtieth Article,  
Like Jack in a Juggler's box.   

We are loath for to look, for the Saints in a book,  
But would not a man be vexed,  
To see them so rough with their blades and their buff,  
But not a word on't in the Text.   

We have been twelve years together by the ears  
To prepare for a spiritual reign:  
Men were never so spiced, with the Sceptre of Christ  
In the hands of a Saint in grain.   

'Twas brewed in their Hives by Citizen's wives,  
Who ventured their husbands far,  
With Robin the fool, there was ne'er such a tool  
To lead in the women's War.   

He was ill at Command, but worse at a stand,  
So they sought out another more able:  
Then Fair▪ undertakes, but Nol keeps the stakes,  
And sends away Fax with a bauble.   

Will, Conqueror the second, without his host reckoned,  
And so did B— billet his Mate;  
They made a great noise, 'mongst women and boys,  
But now they are both out of date.   

Cowardly W— had but a foul Fortune,  
And wanted a knife to scrape it,  
When his Oriphice ran, there was no mortal man,  
But omnibus horis sapit.   

Bradshaw, the Knave, sent the King to his grave,  
And on the Blood Royal did trample,  
For which the next Lent, he was made Precedent,  
And ere long may be made an example.   

Dorislaus did steer, to Hans mine here,  
And Askew to Don at Madril,  
Ere a man could have scratched, they were both dispatched,  
Yet there they lie Leger still.   

Martin and St. John's, and more with a Vengeance,  
Had each a finger i'th' pie:  
Some for the Money, and some for the Coney,  
And some for they knew not why.   

The Parliament sat as snug as a Cat,  
And were playing for mine and yours:  
Sweep-stakes was their Game, till Oliver came,  
And turned it to Knave out of doors.   

Then a new one was cast, and made up in haste,  
But alas they could do no more  
Than empty our purse, and empty us worse  
Than e'er we were married before.   

But in a good hour, they gave up their power  
To one that was wiser than they;  
By common consent, 'twas the first Parliament  
That ever was felo de se.   

After all this Jeer, we are never the near,  
There sits one at the Helm commanding;  
One that doth us nick, with a trick for our trick,  
And the stone in our foot notwithstanding   

He'll not relax, one groat of the Tax,  
Though it come to more than he need,  
He may keep it in store, till his need be more;  
'tis an Article of our new Creed.   

So well he hath wrought, that now he hath brought  
The Realm to the manner he it meant;  
The fishes, and the foul, and the Devil and all,  
And the monthly pay his high rent.   

All this we must bear, but 'twould make a man swear  
When they call us a Reformed Nation:  
It can never sink into my head for to think  
That this is a Reformation.   

'Tis the man in the Moon, or the Devil as soon,  
Our Laws are asleep upon shelves:  
Our Charter & Freedom, we may bid God speed 'em,  
'Tis well we can beg for ourselves.   

Since Nol hath bereft us, and nothing hath left us,  
Not a Horse or an Ox to plough land,  
Let Oliver pass, come fill up my Glass,  
And here's a good health to Rowland.    

The Resolve.  

1.  
THere's no Man so worthy of Envy as he,  
Drinks Sack, and is free,  
Can draw down his mind to his present Condition,  
And at that ebb, can  
Show himself a better man,  
Then his Enemy at his full tide of Ambition;  
Has a breast so well Man'd, he fears not the thunder  
Of those Bastards of fame,  
That have got a Name  
By Rapine and Plunder;  
But bravely despiseth,  
The Mock-Sun that riseth:  
He that's quiet within, what need he to care,  
Though not worth a groat, h'as the whole world to spare.   

2.  
He's armed 'gainst the Chances and Changes of State,  
And still meets his Fate,  
With a Conquering Cup of the stoutest Canary,  
Drinks healths to the best,  
And he Wrestles with the rest,  
Yet never is foiled, 'less his liquor miscarry;  
His thoughts are more soft than the bed that he lies on;  
Who puts his cares to flight,  
A Prince is o'er Night,  
And next Morn doth rise one;  
Let th'Fates do what they will,  
He's the selfsame Man still:  
Sceptres have Palfies, and Crowns too are shaking,  
Who sound doth sleep, need not keep others waking.   

3.  
Then give us the Sack, let the Hen-hearted Cit,  
Drink Whey, and submit,  
His Cucumber Courage does ne'er well till beaten;  
He, Camel-like, knelt,  
And his Burden ne'er feels,  
Till his back become galled, and his carcase near eaten;  
Has a spirit so poor, that every Fool rides him;  
He's soulless, alone;  
At best, but a Drone,  
And no Man abides him;  
He's a compact of Clay,  
That will yield any way:  
'Tis Sack and good Company sets the Soul free,  
Like the Music of that there's no Harmony.    

Upon Cromwell's pulling out the Long Parliament. 1653.  

The Alligory.  

1.  
AS Plutarch doth write, (a Man of known Credit)  
A Serpent there was had a Mutinous Tail,  
Rebelled 'gainst the Head, that so oft had fed it,  
And would not permit it to lead, or prevail:  
Is't not fit that by turns we Leaders should be  
Quoth the Tail? follow me, as I've followed thee.   

2.  
Now, the Body being grown too strong for the Head,  
Quoth the Head, if it must be, then let it be so;  
For quietness sake I yield to be lead,  
But fear that from hence some mischief will grow;  
A thing so unnatural never was read,  
As the Head to turn Tail, and the Tail to turn Head.   

3.  
A Monster like this, but of stranger Conditions,  
Engendered there was in the year thirty nine;  
Rebelled 'gainst the Head, but with fawning Petitions,  
To have him his Power and his Right to resign;  
This Monster (the truth on't to speak) was begot  
By a Mongrel Parson, and that Hag the Scot   

4.  
So large and so mighty this Tail grew in length,  
That where ere it came, it swept all before it;  
There was no resisting so powerful a strength,  
The Head at the last was forced to implore it:  
All our Castles and Towns this Tail did subdue,  
A sad tale to tell, but believe me 'tis true.   

5.  
Above seven years' Conflict this Head did endure,  
With that Monstrous Tail, and the Spawn it begot:  
During which time no Man's life was secure,  
Our Goods and our Cattle all went to the Pot:  
At last came a Champion with an Iron stale,  
And ended the strife 'twixt the Head, and the Tail▪   

6.  
The Head being departed the Body began  
To consult with the Tail what wa● best to do;  
St. George (quoth the Body) 'tis said was a Man,  
But what can this thing be is called St. O.  
Why he (quoth the Tail) was one of our Rout,  
And 'tis wondrous strange he should turn Tail about.   

7.  
While thus they did argue in rushed our St. O.  
With Courage more keen than the Sword that he wore;  
Quoth he, ye are vile things, not fit here to grow,  
Such Fiends ne'er was known in this place heretofore,  
The wealth and the fat of the Country doth feed you,  
And now I do guess it is high time to bleed you.   

8.  
Some say that this Tail wore the mark of a P,  
O, is a Letter in rank known before it;  
How e'er 't makes no matter, 'tis all one to me,  
Save this, that I'm sure the O had the more wit;  
There's no Man so blind, but may easily see  
He hath added unto his small O, a tall P.   

9  
My Story now ended come viva St. George,  
That old true blue Lad, and Hospitable-Saint,  
Bring a Butt of good Sack to fill up my Gorge,  
At this tale of Head and Tail I almost faint;  
Howe'er let it pass; if you study upon't,  
I hope you will neither make Head or Tail on't.    

The Advice.  

1.  
ne'er trouble thyself at the Times nor their turnings,  
Afflictions run circular, and wheel about,  
Away with these Murmurings, and, these Heart-burnings,  
With the Juice of the Grape we'll quench the Fire out,  
ne'er chain, nor imprison thy Soul up in sorrow,  
What fails us to day, may befriend us to morrow,  
we'll scorn our Content from others to borrow.   

2.  
Though Fortune hath left us we'll strive to regain her,  
And court her with Cups till her Favourite come,  
Then with a Courage untamed we'll maintain her,  
And silence the noise of the Enemy's Drum,  
we'll link her unto the Man most deserving,  
Shall keep her at work, as well as from starving,  
She shall not hereafter be at her own Carving.   

3.  
I hold him a Novice in Humane affairs,  
Thinks whirlings in State a wondrous thing,  
To daub up old Ruins with dirty repairs,  
And instead of a Sceptre to set up a Sling.  
Such Atoms of Greatness are but Fortune's laughter,  
She fattens them up till they're fitted for slaughter,  
Then leaves them at Tyburn to Tittar and Tauter.     

Sharers in the Government. A MEDLEY. To 8. several Tunes.  
SOme say the World is but a Cheat,  
Troth we see't  
For the feet  
Still rebel against the Head,  
When Antipodian Rulers sway,  
Who'll obey?  
Thus some say,  
Shall we not his own steps tread?  
Pray were we not in the late Quarrel,  
All pickled up in the same Barrel?  
Then why that? or why this?  
Our hearts are as great as his.  


Harrison.  Here is One that claims a share  
In the Sceptre, and the Chair,  
Though he cries Religion down,  
he's Ambitious for a Crown;  
Feign he'd have his Head to shine  
Where his Father ings his Sign,  
So he should, had I the Power  
In the twinkling of an how're  
I, of his disease would cure him.   



Blake  What think you of the Man of War,  
Whose Muzzle is the Seaman's Star?  
he's Armed within, and Walled without  
To give the Rout, if that we dare;  
But faith the Dutch will him him in,  
And make him either sink or swim;  
This is the News brought Mr. P—  
To which he lent scarce half an Eare.   

There is one, and a sly one,  
In Scotland, lurks to quarter with the Lion,  
He is your coming Man sir,  
Will lead the Van sir, Pick out the meaning if you can.  
Upon the least Commotion;  
He wears a Coat with double-colours faced,  
On one side whereof the States is gravely placed,  
But on the other the Cavies rudely razed;  
Hold Ambidexter whither wilt thou go?    


Lambert.  Then comes a stout Heart,  
A Man very pert,  
Reaking with Revenge, for Disgrace;  
He swore he was true  
To give the Devil his due,  
And as firm as the Nose on his Face.   



Ludlow.  Another puts in  
To be a State's Pin,  
Good reason it should be so,  
He can Circumvent  
A Parliament;  
Then why not Our Oliver O?   

Some talk this, and some talk that,  
Some talk of New wars, and some they know not what,  
But well fare the Cavalier, for at a bare word,  
he's scarce left either Tongue or Sword.    


John Lilborn.  Then Turbulent-spirited Jack bring up the Rear,  
For thou hast a Spleen far keener than any one here;  
Thou spurnest at Authority, art Ambition's Minion,  
And boy●'●t like thy Soap to advance a New-fangled Opinion;  
Promotion's thy drift, to rule doth make thy Wits roam,  
But a Gibbet 'tis thought will stand betwixt thee and home.    

Upon Cromwell's refusing the Kingly Power.  

1.  
HOw poor is his Spirit? how lost is his Name,  
Deceiveth Opinion, and Curtailes his Fame?  
When a● his Designs come near to their height,  
'Twixt shall I and shall I, suspect their own weight,  
He has trafficked for Honour, but lost the whole Freight:  
He that's stout in the Front, not so in the Rear,  
Doth forfeit his Fame, and is Cowed out by Fear.   

2.  
A small part of Honour to him doth belong,  
Consults not the Glory, but faints in the throng;  
That dares not embrace what his own Soul doth Vote,  
But yields up Our Liberties to a Red-coat;  
Sure Midsommer's near, and some Men doth dote:  
I like the bold Romans, (whose Fame ever rings)  
That kept in Subjection such pitiful things.   

3.  
He that will be Bug-bea●'d, is turned again Child,  
A Reed than a Scepteriss fitter to wield;  
Examine the Story, no Story you'll find,  
Saving the Story, that Kat will to kind,  
The World is deluded, the Commonwealth blind;  
These false stamps of Honour prove but Copper-Mettle,  
And Fame sounds as loud from a Tinker's old Kettle.   

4.  
He that past has the Pikes, and found Canon-free,  
Which shows that no Curse from his Parents could be,  
Had a Soul so devout, it made Killing a Trade;  
And now to retreat at the sent of a Blade  
Doth show of what Mould our Knight-Errant was made▪  
He that flags in his Flight, when's Ambition sores high,  
Doth stab his own Merit, & gives Fame the lie.   

5.  
Then Cicero-like, yea Gownsmen drench Cares,  
O●re-whelm'd with your Own, and your Country's Affairs;  
And Pulpit-men too be as Airy as We;  
Do you but preach Sack up, we'll ne'er disagree,  
That Commonwealth's best that is the most free:  
Then fret not, nor care not, when the Sack's in our Crown,  
We can fancy a King up, or fancy Him down.    

The Encounter. A SONG.  

1.  
Hung the Presbyters Gill,  
Bring a Pint of Sack Will,  
More Orthodox of the two;  
Though a slender dispute  
Will strike the Elf mute,  
he's one of the honester Crew.   

2.  
In a Pint there's small heart,  
Sirrah, bring us a Quart,  
There's substance and vigour met,  
'Twill hold us in Play,  
Some part of the day,  
But we'll suck him before Sunset.   

3.  
The daring old Pottle  
Does now bid us Battle;  
Let's try what his strength can do;  
Keep your Ranks and your Files:  
And for all his Wiles,  
we'll tumble him down Stairs too.   

4  
The Stout-breasted Lumberd,  
His Brains ne'er encumbered  
With drinking of Gallows three;  
Tricongius was named,  
And by Caesar●amed ●amed,  
Who dubbed him Knight Cap-a-pe.   

5.  
If then Honour be in't,  
Why a pox should we stint  
Ourselves of the fullness it bears?  
HE has less wit than an Ape  
In the blood of the Grape,  
Will not plunge himself o'er head and ears.   

6.  
Then summon the Gallon,  
A stout Foe, and a tall One,  
And likely to hold us to't;  
Keep Coin in your Purse,  
The Word is disburse,  
I'll warrant he falls at your foot.   

7.  
See, the bold Foe appears,  
May he falls that him fears;  
Keep you but close Order, and then  
We will give him the Rout,  
Be he never so stout,  
And prepare for his Rallying again.   

8.  
we'll dreyn the whole Cellar,  
Pipes, Butts, and the Dweller,  
If the Wine does flow no faster;  
Will, when thou dost slack us,  
By Warrant from Bacchus,  
we'll Cane thy Tun-bellyed Master.    

The Good Old Cause.  

NOw Lambert's sunk, and valiant M—  
Does ape his General Cromwell,  
And Arthur's Court, 'cause time is short,  
Does rage like Devils from Hell;  
Let's mark the fate and course of State,  
Who rises when t'other is sinking,  
And believe when this is past  
'Twill be our turn at last  
To bring the Good Old Cause by drinking.   

First, red nosed Nol he swallowed all,  
His colour showed he loved it:  
But Dick his Son, as he were none,  
Gave't off, and hath reproved it;  
But that his foes made bridge of's nose,  
And cried him down for a Protector,  
Proving him to be a fool, that would undertake to rule,  
And not drink and fight like Hector.   

The Grecian Lad, he drank like mad,  
Minding no work above it;  
And Sans question killed Ephestion,  
Because he'd not approve it;  
He got command, where God had land,  
And like a Maudlin Younker,  
When he tippled all and wept, he laid him down to sleep,  
Having no more Worlds to conquer.   

Rump-Parliament would needs invent  
An Oath of Abjuration,  
But Obedience and Allegiance are now come into fashion:  
Then heres a boul, with a heart and soul  
To Charles, and let all men say Amen to't,  
Though they brought the Father down  
From a triple Kingdom Crown,  
we'll drink the Son up again to't.    

The Protecting Brewer.  

A Brewer may be a Burgess grave,  
And carry the matter so fine and so brave,  
That he the better may play the Knave,  
Which no body can deny.   

A Brewer may be a Parliament-man,  
For there the Knavery first began,  
And brew most cunning Plots he can,  
Which no body, etc.   

A Brewer may put on a Nabal face,  
And march to the Wars with such a grace,  
That he may get a Captain's place,  
Which no body, etc.   

A Brewer may speak so wondrous well,  
That he may raise strange things to tell,  
And so to be made a Colonel,  
Which no body, etc.   

A Brewer may make his foes to flee,  
And raise his Fortunes, so that he  
Lieutenant-General may be,  
Which no body, etc.   

A Brewer he may be all in all,  
And raise his Powers both great and small,  
That he may be a Lord General,  
Which no body, etc.   

A Brewer may be like a Fox in a Cub,  
And teach a Lecture out of a Tub,  
And give the wicked world a rub,  
Which no body, etc.   

A Brewer by's Excize and Rate,  
Will promise his Army he knows what,  
And set it upon the Colledge-gate,  
Which no body, etc.   

Methinks I hear one say to me,  
Pray why may not a Brewer be,  
Lord-Chancellor o'th' University,  
Which no body, etc.   

A Brewer may be as bold as Hector,  
When as he has drunk off his cup of Nectar,  
And a Brewer may be a Lord Protector.  
Which no body, etc.   

Now here remans' the strangest thing,  
How this Brewer about his Liquor did bring,  
To be an Emperor, or a King,  
Which no body, etc.   

A Brewer may do what he will,  
And rob the Church and State, to sell  
His soul unto the devil of hell,  
Which no body can deny.    

The Power of the Sword.  

LAY by your Pleading, Law lies a bleeding,  
Burn all your Studies down, and throw away your Reading;  
Small power the Word has, and can afford us  
Not half so many Privileges as the Sword has:  
It fosters your Masters, it plasters Disasters,  
And makes your Servants, quickly greater than their Masters;  
It venter's, it enters, it circles, it centres,  
And makes a Apprentice free in spite of his Indentures.   

This takes off tall things, and sets up small things,  
This master's Money, though Money masters all things;  
'Tis not in season, to talk of Reason,  
Or call it Legal, when the Sword will have it Treason;  
It conquers the Crown too, the Furs and the Gown too,  
This set up a Presbyter, and this pulled him down too;  
This subtle Deceiver, turned Bonnet to Beaver,  
Down drops a Bishop, and up starts a Weaver.   

This fits a Layman to preach and pray man,  
'Tis this can make a Lord of him that was a Dray-man;  
Forth from the dull pit, of Follies full pit,  
This brought an Hebrew Iron-monger to the Pulpit;  
Such pitiful things be, more happier than Kings be,  
This got the Heraldry of Thimblebee and Slingsbee;  
No Gospel can guide it, no Law can decide it,  
In Church or State, until the Sword hath sanctified it.   

Down goes the Law-tricks, for from that Matrix  
Sprung holy Hewson's power, and tumbled down St. Patrick's;  
The Sword prevails so highly in Wales too,  
Shinkin ap Powel cries, and swears Cuts-plutteranails too;  
In Scotland this Waster, did make such disaster,  
They sent their Money back for which they sold their Master;  
It battered so their Dunkirk, and did so the Don firk,  
That he is fled, and swears, the Devil is in Dunkirk.   

He that can tower o'er him that is lower,  
Would be but thought a Fool to put away his Power;  
Take Books and rend 'em, who would invent 'em,  
When as the Sword replies, Negatur argumentum?  
Your grand College Butlers, must stoop to your Sutler's,  
There's not a Library living like the Cutlers;  
The blood that is spilt, Sir, hath gained all the gilt, Sir,  
Thus have you seen me run the Sword up to the hilt, Sir.    

Cromwell's Coronation.  

OLiver, Oliver, take up thy Crown,  
For now thou hast made three Kingdoms thine own;  
Call thee a Conclave of thy own creation,  
To ride us to ruin, who dare thee oppose:  
Whilst we thy good people are at thy Devotion,  
To fall down and worship thy terrible Nose.   

To thee and thy Mermydons, Oliver, we,  
Do tender our homage as fits thy degree,  
We'll pay the Excise and Taxes, God bless us,  
With fear and contrition, as penitents should,  
Whilst you, great Sir, vouchsafe to oppress us,  
Not daring so much as in private to soold.   

We bow down, as cowed down, to thee and thy Sword,  
For now thou hast made thyself England's sole Lord,  
By Mandate of Scripture, and Heavenly warrant,  
The Oath of Allegiance, and Covenant too;  
To Charles' and his Kingdoms thou art Heir apparent,  
And born to rule over the Turk and the Jew.   

Then Oliver, Oliver, get up and ride,  
Whilst Lords, Knights, and Gentry do run by thy side;  
The Maulsters and Brewers account it their glory,  
Great God of the Grain-tub's compared to thee:  
All Rebels of old are lost in their story,  
Till thou plod'st along to the Padington-tree.    

The BREWER.  
To the Tune of the Blacksmith.  

THere many a Clinching Verse is made  
In honour of the Black-smiths trade,  
But more of the Brewer may be said,  
Which no body can deny.   

I need not much of this repeat,  
The Blacksmith cannot be complete,  
Unless the Brewer do give him a heat,  
Which no body can deny.   

When Smug unto the forge doth come,  
Unless the Brewer doth liquor him home,  
He'll never strike thy pot and my pot Tom.  
Which no body can deny.   

Of all professions in the town  
The Brewer's trade hath gained renown,  
His liquor reacheth up to the Crown,  
Which no body can deny.   

Many new Lords from him there did spring,  
Of all the trades he still was their King,  
For the Brewer had the world in a sling,  
Which no body can deny.   

He scorneth all Laws and Martial stops,  
But whips an Army as round as tops,  
And cuts off his foes as thick as hops,  
Which no body can deny.   

He dives for Riches down to the bottom,  
And cries, my Masters, when he had got 'em,  
Let every tub stand upon his own bottom,  
Which no body can deny.   

In Warlike acts he scorns to stoop,  
For when his Army begins to droop,  
He draws them up us round as a hoop,  
Which no body can deny.   

The Jewish Scots that scorns to eat  
The flesh of Swine, and Brewers beat,  
'Twas the sight of this hogshead made 'em retreat,  
Which no body can deny.   

Poor Jockey and his basket hilt  
Was beaten, and much blood was spilt,  
And their bodies like barrels did run a tilt,  
Which no body can deny.   

Though Jemy gave the first assault,  
The Brewer at last made them to halt,  
And left them what the Cat left in the Malt.  
Which no body can deny.   

They cried that Antichrist came to settle  
Religion in a Cooler and a Kettle,  
For his Nose and Copper were both of one mettle,  
Which no body can deny.   

Some Christian King began to quake,  
And said, with the Brewer no quarrels we'll make,  
We'll let him alone, as he Brews let him Bake,  
Which no body can deny.   

He hath a strong and very stout heart,  
And thought to be made an Emperor for't,  
But the Devil put a spoke in his Cart,  
Which no body can deny.   

If any intended to do him disgrace,  
His fury would take off his head in the place,  
He always did carry his furnace in his face,  
Which no body can deny.   

But yet by the way you must understand,  
He kept his foes so under command,  
That Pride could never get the upper hand,  
Which no body can deny.   

He was a stout Brewer, of whom we may brag,  
But now he is hurried away with a hag;  
He brewed in a bottle, and baked in a bag,  
Which no body can deny.   

And now may all stout Soldiers say,  
Farewell the glory of the day,  
For the Brewer himself is turned to clay,  
Which no body can deny.   

Thus fell the brave Brewer, the bold son of slaughter,  
We need not to fear what shall follow after,  
For he dealt all his life time in fire and water,  
Which no body can deny.   

And if his Successor had had but his might,  
We had not been in a pitiful plight,  
But he was found many grains too light,  
Which no body can deny.   

Let's leave off singing, and drink off our Bub,  
we'll call for a Reckoning, and every man Club,  
For I think I have told you a Tale of a Tub.  
Which no body can deny.    

In imitation of Come my Daphne, a Dialogue between Pluto and Oliver.  Pluto. 
COme Imp Royal, come away,  
Into black night we will turn bright day.  Oliver. 
'Tis Pluto calls, what would my Sire?  Pluto. 
Come, follow to the Stygian fire,  
Where Ireton doth wait  
To welcome thee in state.  Oliver. 
Were I in bed with Lambert's wife,  
I'd quit those joys for such a life.  Pluto. 
My Princely Nol make haste,  
For thee we keep a Fast.  Oliver. 
In these dismal shades will I  
Unto thee unfold my Villainy.  Pluto. 
In my bosom I'll thee lay,  
For thy sake we'll all keep holiday.  Chorus. 
we'll rage and roar, and fry in flames,  
And Charles himself shall see  
How damn'dly we agree,  
Yet scorn to change our Chains  
For his eternal deity.   

A Quarrel betwixt Tower-hill and Tyburn.  

I'll tell you a Story that never was told,  
A tale that hath both head and heel,  
And though by no Recorder enrolled,  
I know you will find it as true as steel.   

When General Monck was come to the Town,  
A little time after the Rump had the rout,  
When Loyalty rose, and Rebellion fell down,  
They say, that Tower-hill and Tyburn fell out.   

Quoth terrible Tyburn to lofty Tower-hill,  
Thy longed-for days are come at last,  
And now thou wilt daily thy belly fulfil  
With King-killers blood whilst I must fast.   

The High Court of Justice will come to the Bar,  
There to be cooked and dressed for thee,  
Whilst I, that live out of Town so far,  
Must only be fed by Felony.   

If Treason be counted the foulest fact,  
And dying be a traitor's due,  
Then why should you all the glory exact?  
You know, they are sitter for me than you.   

To speak the plain truth, I have groaned for them long,  
For when they had routed the Royal Root,  
And done the Kingdom so much wrong,  
I knew at the last they would come to't▪   

When Titchburne sat upon the Bench,  
Twirling his Chain in high degree,  
With a Beardless Chin, like a withered Wench,  
Thought I, the Bar is fitter for thee.   

But then, with stately composed face,  
Tower-hill to Tyburn made reply,  
Do not complain, in such a Case  
Thou shalt have thy share as well as I.   

There are a sort of Mongrils, which  
My Lordly Scaffold will disgrace:  
I know Hugh peter's his finger's itch  
To make a Pulpit of the place.   

But t●ke him Tyburn, he is thine own,  
Divide his quarter● with thy ●●ife,  
Who did pollute with f●●sh and ●e  
The quarters of the Butcher's wife.   

The next among these Petticoat-Peers  
Is Harry Martin, take him thither,  
But he hath been addle so many years,  
That I fear he will hardly hang together.   

There's Hacker, zealous Tom Harrison too,  
That boldly defends the bloody deed,  
He practiseth what the Jesuits do,  
To murder his King, as a part of his Creed.   

There's single-eyed Hewson the Cobbler of Fate,  
Translated into Buff and Feather,  
But bootless are all his seams of State  
When the soul is unripped from the upper-leather.   

Is this profane mechanical Brood  
For me, that have been dignfyed  
With loyal Land and strafford's blood,  
And holy Hewet, who lately died?   

Do thou contrive with deadly Dun  
To send them to the River of Styx,  
'Tis pity, since those Saints are gone,  
That Martyrs and Murderers blood should mix.   

Then do not fear me that I will  
Deprive thee of that fatal Day:  
'Tis fit those that their King did kill  
Sold hang up in the King's highway.   

My Privilege, though I know it is large,  
Into thy hand I'll freely give it,  
For there is Cook that read the King's Charge,  
Is only fit for the Devil's tribute.   

Then taunting Tyburn, in great scorn,  
Did make Tower-hill this rude reply:  
So much rank blood my stomach will turn,  
And thou shalt be sick as well as I.   

These Traitors made those Martyrs bleed  
Upon the Block, that thou dost bear,  
And there it is fit they should die for the deed;  
But Tower-hill cried, they shall not come there.   

With that grim Tyburn began to fret,  
And Tower-hill did look very grim:  
And sure as a Club they both would have met,  
But that the City did step between.    

The Bloody Beadroll, or Treason displayed in its Colours.  
Triumphing News for Cavaliers,  
The Rump smells strong, cast out by th' Peers.  

OLd OLIVER's gone to the Dogs,  
Oh! No I do mistake,  
he's gone in a Wherry  
Over the Ferry,  
Is called the Stygian Lake.  
But Cerberus that Great Porter  
Did read him such a Lecture,  
That made him to roar  
When he came ashore   

For being Lord Protector.  
News, news, news,  
Brave Cavaliers be merry,  
Cheer up your sad souls  
With Bacchus' Bowls,  
Of Claret, White, and Sherry.   

Where is that Cursed Crew  
Were of the last King's Jury,  
By thy damned soul  
Go fetch them Nol  
Quoth ●luto in his fury.  
Where is old Joan thy wife?  
Her Highness I would see,  
Come let her in  
She shall be my Queen,  
For a Cuckold thou shalt be.  
News, news, etc.   

Make room for a Ramping Lady,  
One of the Devil's race,  
This ugly Witch,  
And nasty Bitch  
Spat in the King's sweet face.  
I●le make her a Lady of Honour,  
Quoth Pluto let her in,  
And open the door;  
For this old Whore  
Shall wait upon my Queen.  
News, news, etc.   

Here comes Sir HENRY MARTIN  
As good as ever pissed,  
This wenching beast  
Had Whores at least  
A thousand on his lift:  
This made the Devils laugh,  
So good a friend to see,  
At Pluto's Court  
There's better sport,  
Come thou shalt dwell with me.  
News, news, etc.   

Bid Charon bring his Boat,  
Here comes a man of fame,  
Who hath waited here  
Above a year,  
JACK BRADSHAW is his name,  
O ho quoth Pluto then,  
As loud as he could yawl,  
By Oliver's Nose  
I did suppose  
Thou hadst been at Whitehall.  
News, news, etc.   

thou'rt welcome to my Court,  
Here on my Scroul I find,  
I have in store  
A thousand more  
As Arrant Rogues behind.  
Why art thou sad quoth Pluto?  
My Servants must appear,  
Then do not grudge  
I'll made thee Judge  
Of all my Subjects here.  
News, news, etc.   

Here comes a friend of mine,  
Make room for the Lord LISLE,  
His guests at last  
Did come so fast  
That made old Pluto smile.  
Thou must along with me,  
Now 'tis too late to rue it,  
Thy damned Soul  
Is on my Scroul,  
Remember Doctor Hewet.  
News, news, etc.   

What is the Cause Sir ARTHUR  
Your Pulses go so quick?  
'Tis Bishop's Lands  
That's in your hands  
Which makes them beat so thick.  
Thy Oath of Abjuration  
Was far a worse thing,  
For the Devil and thou  
Did study how  
We should abjure our KING.  
News, news, etc.   

Next comes Sir HENRY MILDMAY  
As good as ever twanged,  
What Laws had we  
When he scaped free  
And honest men were hanged?  
Perhaps the KING's good grace  
May pardon what is past,  
But that's all one  
At Pluto's Throne  
Thou must appear at last,  
News, news, &c,   

Shall Traitors be concealed?  
Oh! no Sir HENRY VANE,  
'Tis a pitiful thing  
For our good KING  
When Traitors are in grain.  
If thou wilt take the pains,  
Then pray thee go and look,  
For I am told  
Thou art enrolled  
In Pluto's bloody Book.  
News, news, etc.   

Here comes the Learned SPEAKER,  
Whose bags of Gold do rust,  
Who would not hear  
A Cavalier  
Though his Cause were ne'er so just.  
Corruption bears the sway  
Where Justice is denied,  
The Devil take him,  
And Mr. PYM,  
And likewise Colonel PRIDE.  
News, news, etc.   

Make room for one-eyed HEWSON,  
A Lord of such account,  
'Twas a pretty Jest  
That such a Beast  
Should to such honour mount.  
When Cobblers were in fashion,  
And Nigherds in such grace;  
'Twas sport to see  
How PRIDE and he  
Did justle for the Place.  
News, news, etc.   

What dreadful show is this?  
'Tis PRIDEAUX or his Ghost,  
He makes such haste,  
And comes so fast,  
I think He's riding Post.  
A Lawyer if thou art,  
Amongst the damned souls,  
At Pluto's Bar,  
'Tis better far  
Then pleading at the Rolls.  
News, news, etc.   

Oh welcome Dr. peter's,  
And Co●ne●●OYCE also,  
One of these twain  
Was worse than Cain  
That gave the deadly blow:  
One of these Cursed Rogues  
Was he that did the feat,  
But some men say  
'Twas that Lord GREY  
That made the work complete.  
News, news, etc.   

A Boat for this Old Doctor  
To cross the River Styx,  
For Pluto he  
Desired to see  
Some of his Antic tricks;  
My Chaplain thou shalt be,  
What more can be desired?  
Oh! quoth he  
That cannot be,  
My Lease is not expired.  
News, news, etc.   

Oh! my Rump, my Rump, my Rump,  
My Rump smells wondrous strong,  
The blisters rise  
About my Thighs  
With voting here so long,  
My Rump is grown so sore,  
I can no longer sit,  
Hold up thy Bum,  
The Devil is come  
With a Plaster to cure it.  
News, news, etc.   

When Pluto keeps his feast,  
The Rogues must all appear,  
And Mr. SCOT  
I had forgot,  
Must taste of this good Cheer.  
Find out the Man, quoth Pluto,  
That is the greatest sinner,  
If COOK be he  
Then COOK shall be  
The Cook to Cook my dinner,  
News, news, etc.   

God bless the KING'S good grace,  
And keep him from his foes,  
I wish the rather  
Because his Father,  
Had too too many of those.  
God bless the Duke of YORK,  
His Sister, and Another,  
Accursed be those  
That do oppose  
The sending for their Mother.  
News, news, news,  
Brave Cavaliers be merry,  
Cheer up your sad souls  
With Bacchus' Bowls,  
Of Claret, White, and Sherry.    

The four Legged Elder; or a Relation of a Horrible Dog and an Elders Maid.  
To the Tune of The Lady's fall; Or Gather your Rose Buds, and 50 other Tunes.  

1.  
ALL Christians, and Lay-Elders too,  
For shame amend your Lives,  
I'll tell you of a Dogtrick now,  
Which much concerns your wives.  
An Elder's Maid near Temple-bar  
(Ah what a Quean was she!)  
Did take an ugly Mastiff Cur  
Where Christians use to be.  
Help House of Commons, House of Peers!  
Oh now or never help!  
Th' Assembly having sat four years  
Have now brought forth a whelp!   

2.  
One Evening late she stepped aside,  
Pretending to fetch Eggs,  
And there she made herself a Bride  
To one that had four legs:  
Her Master heard a Rumblement,  
And wondered she did tarry,  
Not dreaming (without his consent)  
His Dog would ever marry.  
Help House of Commons, etc.   

3.  
He went to peep, but was afraid,  
And hastily did run  
To fetch a Staff to help his Maid,  
Not knowing what was done;  
He took his Elder's Cane,  
And cried out, Help, help here!  
For Swash our Mastiff and poor Jane  
Are now, fight Dog, fight Bear.  
Oh House of Commons, etc.   

4.  
But when he came he was full sorry,  
For he perceived their strife,  
That according to the Directory  
These two were Dog and Wife:  
Ah (than he said) thou cruel Quean,  
Why hast thou me beguiled?  
I wondered Swash was grown so lean,  
Poor Dog he's almost spoiled.  
Oh House of Commons, etc.   

5.  
I thought thou hadst no carnal sense  
But what's in other Lasses,  
And could have quenched thy Cupiscence  
According to the Classis;  
But all the Parish see it plain,  
Since thou art in this pickle,  
Thou art an Independent Quean,  
And lov'st a Conventicle.  
Oh House of Commons, etc.   

6.  
Alas now each Malignant Rogue  
Will all the world persuade  
That she that's Spouse unto a Dog,  
May be an Elder's Maid;  
They'll jeer us if abroad we stir,  
Good Master Elder stay,  
Sir, of what Classis is your Cur;  
And then what can we say?  
Oh House of Commons, etc.   

7.  
They'll many graceless Ballads sing  
Of a Presbyterian,  
That a Lay-Elder is a thing  
Made up half-Dog half-Man:  
Out, out, (said he, and smote her down)  
Was Mankind grown so scant?  
There's scarce another Dog in town  
Had took the Covenant.  
Oh House of Commons, etc.   

8.  
Then Swash began to look full grim,  
And Jane did thus reply,  
Sir, you thought nought too good for him,  
You fed your Dog too high:  
'tis true, he took me in the lurch,  
And leapt into my arm,  
But (as I hope to come to Church)  
I did your Dog no harm.  
Oh House of Commons, etc.   

9  
Then she was brought to Newgate Gaol,  
And there was naked stripped,  
They whipped her till the Cord did fail,  
As Dogs use to be whipped:  
Poor City Maids shed many a tear  
When she was lashed and banged,  
And had she been a Cavalier,  
Surely she had been hanged.  
Oh House of Commons, etc.   

10.  
Her's was but Fornication found,  
For which she felt the lash,  
But his was Buggery presumed,  
Therefore they hanged Swash.  
What will become of Bishops then,  
Or Independency,  
For now we find both Dogs and Men  
Stand for Presbytery.  
Oh House of Commons, etc.   

11.  
She might have took a Sowgelder,  
With Synod-men good store,  
But she would have a Lay-Elder  
With two legs, and two more.  
Go tell the Assembly of Divines,  
Tell Adoniram Blew,  
Tell Burges, Martial, Case, and Vines,  
Tell Now-and-Anon-too.  
Oh House of Commons, etc.   

12.  
Some said she was a Scotish Girl,  
Or else (at least) a Witch;  
But she was born in Colchester,  
Was ever such a Bitch!  
Take heed all Christian Virgins now,  
The Dog-star now prevails;  
Ladies beware your Monkeys too,  
For Monkeys have long tails.  
Oh House of Commons, etc.   

13.  
Bless King and Queen, and send us peace,  
As we had seven years since,  
For we remember no Dog-days  
While we enjoyed our Prince:  
Bless sweet Prince Charles, two Dukes, three Girls,  
O save His Majesty!  
Grant that his Commons, Lords, and Earls,  
May lead such lives as He  
Oh House of Commons, House of Peers!  
Oh now or never help!  
Th' Assembly having sat four years,  
Have now brought forth a whelp!    

News from Colchester.  
Or, A Proper new Ballad of certain Carnal passages betwixt a Quaker and a Colt, at Horsley near Colchester in Essex. To the Tune of Tom of Bedlam.  

1.  
ALL in the Land of Essex,  
Near Colchester the Zealous,  
On the side of a bank,  
Was played such a Prank,  
As would make a Stone-horse jealous.   

2.  
Help Woodcock Fox, and Nailor,  
For Brother Green's a Stallion,  
Now alas what hope  
Of converting the Pope,  
When a Quaker turns Italian!   

3.  
Even to our whole profession  
A scandal 'twill be counted,  
When 'tis talked with disdain  
Amongst the Profane,  
How Brother Green was mounted.   

4.  
And in the Good time of Christmas,  
Which though our Saints have damned all,  
Yet when did they hear  
That a damned Cavalier  
Ere played such a Christmas gamball?   

5.  
Had thy flesh, O Green, been pampered  
With any Cates unhallowed,  
Hadst thou sweetened thy Gums  
With Pottage of Plums,  
Or profane minced Pie hadst swallowed.   

6.  
Rolled up in wanton Swine's-flesh,  
The Fiend might have crept into thee,  
Then fullness of gut  
Might have made thee rut,  
And the Devil have so rid through thee.   

7.  
But alas, he had been feasted  
With a Spiritual Collation,  
By our frugal Mayor,  
Who can dine on a Prayer,  
And sup on an Exhortation.   

8.  
'Twas mere impulse of Spirit,  
Though he used the weapon carnal,  
Filly Foal, quoth he,  
My Bride thou shalt be:  
And how this is lawful, learn all.   

9  
For if no respect of Persons  
Be due 'mongst the sons of Adam,  
In a large extent,  
Thereby may be meant  
That a mere's as good as a Madam.   

10.  
Then without more Ceremony,  
Not Bonnet veiled, nor Kissed her,  
But took her by force,  
For better for worse,  
And used her like a Sister.   

11.  
Now when in such a Saddle  
A Saint will needs be riding,  
Though we dare not say  
'Tis a falling away,  
May there not be some back-sliding?   

12.  
No surely, quoth James Nailor,  
'Twas but an insurrection  
Of the Carnal part,  
For a Quaker in heart  
Can never lose perfection.   

13.  
For (as our Masters teach us)  
The intent being well directed,  
Though the Devil trapan  
The Adamical man,  
The Saint stands uninfected.   

14.  
But alas a Pagan Jury  
ne'er judges what's intended,  
Then say what we can,  
Brother Green's outward man  
I fear will be suspended.   

15.  
And our Adopted Sister  
Will find no better quarter,  
But when him we inroul  
For a Saint, Filly Foal  
Shall pass herself for a Martyr.   

16.  
Rome that Spiritual Sodom,  
No longer is thy debtor,  
O Colchester, now  
Who's Sodom but thou,  
Even according to the Letter?    

The Four-legged Quaker.  
To the Tune of The Four-legged Elder.  

1.  
ALL that have two or but one ear,  
(I dare not tell ye half)  
You of an Essex Colt shall hear  
Will shame their very Calf.  
In Horsley Fields near Colchester  
A Quaker would turn Trooper;  
He caught a Foal and mounted her  
(O base!) below the Crupper.  
Help Lords, and Commons, once more help,  
O send us Knives and Daggers!  
For if the Quakers be not gelt  
Your Troops will have the Staggers.   

2.  
Ralph Green (it was this Varlet's name)  
Of Colchester you'll swear,  
For thence the Four-legged Elder came,  
Was ever such a Pair!  
But though 'twas foul between Swash and Jane,  
Yet this is ten times worse;  
For then a Dog did play the Man,  
But Man now played the Horse.  
Help, etc.   

3.  
The Owner of the Colt was nigh,  
(Observing their Embrace)  
And drawing nearer did espy  
The Quaker's sorrel Face:  
My Foal is ravished (than he cries,  
And fiercely at him ran)  
Thou Rogue, I'll have thee haltered twice,  
As Horse and eke as Man!  
Help, etc.   

4.  
Ah Devil, dost thou tremble? now  
'Tis sore against thy will;  
For Mares and preaching Ladies know  
Thou hast a Colt's tooth still:  
But mine's not guilty of this Fact,  
She was by thee compelled;  
Poor thing, whom no man ever backed  
Thou wickedly hast Bellied.  
Help, etc.   

5.  
O Friend (said Green, with sighs and groans)  
Let this thy wrath appease!  
(And gave him then eight new Half-crowns  
To make him hold his peace)  
The man replied, though I for this  
Conceal thy Hugger Mugger,  
Dost think it lawful for a Piece  
A silly Foal to Bugger?  
Help, etc.   

6.  
The Master saw his Colt defiled,  
Which vexed his Soul with doubt;  
For if his Filly proved with Child  
He knew All would come out:  
Then he afresh began to rave,  
(For all his Money taking)  
Neighbours, said he, I took this Knave  
' i'th' very act of Quaking.  
Help, etc.   

7.  
Then to the Pinfold (Gaol I mean)  
They dragged him by the Mane,  
They called him Beast, and called her Quean,  
As if she had been Jane.  
O stone him (all the Women cried)  
Nay geld him (which is worse)  
Who scorned us all, and took a Bride  
That's Daughter to a Horse!  
Help, etc.   

8.  
The Colt was silent all this while,  
And therefore 'twas no Rape,  
The Virgin foal he did beguile,  
And so intends to scape:  
For though he caught her in a Ditch  
Where she could not revolt,  
Yet he had no Scott'sh spurr nor Switch  
To ride the willing Colt  
Help, etc.   

9  
O England's pride,  
Go burn this long-tailed Quean,  
For though the Thames runs by thy side,  
It cannot wash thee clean!  
'Tis not thy Bleating Son's complaints,  
Hold forth such wanton courses,  
Thy Oysters hint the very Saint  
To horn the very Horses.  
Help, etc.   

10.  
Though they salute not in the Street  
(Because they are our Masters)  
'Tis now revealed why Quakers meet  
In Meadows, Woods, and Pastures.  
But Horsemen, Mare-men, all and some  
Who Man and Beast perplex,  
Not only from East-Horsley come,  
But from West-Middle-Sex.  
Help, etc.   

11.  
This was not GREEN the Feltmaker,  
Nor Willow GREEN the Baker,  
Nor GEORGE the Sea-GREEN Mariner,  
But RALPH the Grasse-GREEN Quaker,  
Had GREEN the Sowgelder but known,  
And done his Office duly,  
Though RALPH was GREEN when he came on,  
He had come off most blewly.  
Help, etc.   

12.  
Alas you know by Man's flesh came  
The Foul-disease to Naples,  
And now we fear the very same  
Is broke into our Stable●;  
For Death hath stolen so many Steeds  
From Prince and Peer, and Carrier,  
That this new Murrain rather needs  
a 
* Physician to the Earl of Pembroke, who is no Quaker nor Quacker.  FARRAR than a Farrier  
Help, etc.   

13.  
Nay if this GREEN within the walls  
Of Colchester left forces,  
Those Cavaliers were Cannibals,  
Eating his Humane Horses!  
But some make Man their second course,  
(In cool Blood will not spare)  
Who butcher Men and favour Horse  
Will couple with a Mare.  
Help, etc.   

14.  
This Centaur, uncouth Other thing,  
Will make a dreadful Breach:  
Yet though an Ass may speak or 
* A new Sect of young Men and Women, who pray, eat and sing ex tempore.  sing,  
O let not Horses preach!  
But bridle such wild Colts who can  
When they'll obey no Summons,  
For things begot between Mare & Man  
Are neither Lords nor Commons.  
Help, etc.   

15.  
O Elders, Independants too,  
Though all your Power's combined▪  
Quakers will grow too strong for you  
Now Horse and Man are joined:  
While Cavaliers, poor foolish Rogues,  
Know only Maid's Affairs,  
She-Presbyters can deal with Dogs,  
And Quaking-men with Mares.  
Help, etc.   

16.  
Now as when Milan Town was reared,  
A Monstrous Sow untamed,  
With Back half Hair half Wool appeared,  
'Twas Mediolanum named:  
So Colchester must have recourse  
To some such four-legged Sister,  
For sure as Horsley came from Horse,  
From Colt 'twas called Col-chester.  
Help, Lords and Commons, etc.    

A JOLT on Michaelmas day 1654.  
To the Tune of 
To himself that hath fooled  
More than Mahomet could, etc.   

1.  
IT fell on a day,  
When good People say  
St. Michael beat the Dragon,  
My Lord the Protector  
Did drive (like a Hector)  
A Coach instead of a 
* Londinium petere solebat gestatorio, se● vehiculo communi.  Wagon.   

2.  
Because he did hear  
The Chareteer  
Did anciently wear a Crown,  
Up went the Horse-heels,  
Round round went the Wheels,  
Till his Highness came headlong down.   

3.  
He reigned them so hard,  
They looked back and were scared  
To see him so red and so grim  
Away then they fled,  
And though he used to lead,  
This new-modelled Horse would lead him.   

4.  
But O how they snuff  
When his Pistol flew off,  
For which all the Saints suspect him,  
Doth Providence attend him,  
Thirty thousand defend him,  
Yet a poor Pocket-pistol protect him;   

5.  
How many a Hurl  
Had poor Mr. 
* Vocem 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 THURLO rithmicè respondentem nostrates desiderant: nomen itaque (ipsius homulli instar crucis) hanc 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 patitur; nostroque vel versiculo, ac ipso curru, huc illuc impellitur.  Thurl—  
— Lo! He in the Coach did prank it:  
He thought he had sat  
Chief Secretary of State,  
But was tossed like a Dog in a Blanket.   

6.  
Nay had they run faster  
he'd follow his Master  
Through all the Scenes of this Mad-show:  
A Brewer, a Colonel,  
A Preacher a General,  
A Protector, a King— then comes Bradshaw.   

7.  
They slander my Lord  
With a bugbear Word,  
That he did like Phaeton drive;  
But his Highness tried  
Six Horses to guide,  
And Phaeton had now five.   

8.  
Mad Phaeton hurled  
Fire all o'er the World,  
Then dead in a River was found:  
But my Lord had no aim  
To set all in a flame,  
And never was born to be drowned.   

9  
'Twas Nero did strive  
Such Charets to drive,  
And publicly showed his Work;  
But when my Lord sticks  
Up his Bills to show tricks,  
he'll undo th'other dancing Turk.   

10.  
But if you look high,  
There's some reason why  
These Jades did so fling and skip,  
For though we afford  
Him the power of the Sword,  
He had no command of the Whip.   

11.  
Enthroned in his Chair  
(What a pox did He there?)  
He took such Protectorly courses,  
He seemed Horse and Mule,  
But 'tis easier to rule  
Three Kingdoms, than six Horses.   

12.  
Not a day nor an hour  
But we felt his Power,  
And now he would show us his Art:  
His first Reproach  
Is a fall from a Coach,  
And his last will be from a Cart.    

The House out of Doors. April 20. 1653.  
To the Tune of Cook Laurel.  

1.  
YOu saw Eleven Members turned out of Doors,  
And 200. more were driven from home,  
And then their own Lords were voted down stairs,  
(When some of them crept into the Lower room:)  
We purged and we purged, but all would not do't,  
The Body had got such a damnable Paunch)  
Till OLIVER fell upon Branch and Root,  
Then down with it, down with it, down Root and Branch.  
With a hey down, down a down down,  
Sing ho down down to make up the Ditty,  
With a hey down down a down down,  
The Parliament's broke as well as the City.   

2.  
These Remnant Members began to say  
Their General was fit to be had in suspicion;  
And offered to Vote his Commission away,  
As if (forsooth) they had given him his Commission:  
He did (yet did not) make use of his Sword,  
On Men that could vote, and vote, but no more;  
He showed them his Hilt, and spoke but a word,  
And that word blew the whole House out of door.  
With a hey down, etc.  
The Parliament's broke as well as the City.   

3.  
This day was Strafford all-to-be-traytored,  
Because (they say) He had an Intent  
(As this day Nol the Members scattered) 
April 20. 1641 April 20. 1653   
By an Army to force the Parliament.  
At which old VANE now rants and raves,  
For Strafford's blood is not yet grown cold)  
And yet we must say while we speak of Knaves,  
The Old is the Young, and the Young is the Old.  
With a hey down, etc.  
The Parliament's broke as well as the City.   

4.  
Sir MILDMAY then with his hand on his groin,  
(As fit for a Knave of the Diamonds) stood:  
He eat the King's Bread, & drank the King's Wine,  
So long till at last he drank of his Blood.  
So did CORNELIUS HOLLAND too,  
Whose share i'th' Revenue doth fill three Pages,  
But now when the House is broke up (you know)  
'Tis fit Household Servants be paid their Wages.  
With a hey down, etc.  
The Parliament's broke as well as the City.   

5.  
The Judge of Morocco (Treason HILL)  
Devoured at a Morsel all Taunton Dean,  
He keeps five Chambers i'th' Temple, but will  
(Now th' House is pulled down) be a Hillock again.  
And the Devil too for his BOND doth call,  
Though Dennis from Chamber to Chamber did hop,  
He sat Lord Precedent at Whitehall,  
But now must go home to fit in his shop.  
With a hey, etc.  
The Parliament's broke as well a● the City.   

6.  
Now Alderman Fustian cocks not his Beaver,  
Who changed his Name from Perry to PURY,  
A Dean and a Bishop made out of a Weaver,  
That had been refused to be of a Jury:  
He vowed to leave not a Gentleman,  
Though every House were as big as Rome:  
In all bloody Votes he highest ran;  
But now may run down to his Bottom and Loom.  
With a hey, &c,  
The Parliament's broke as well as the City.   

7.  
Now look to your Wives, for I am informed  
That carnal SCOT is again broke loose;  
But the House that sheltered his Lust is Reformed  
As he did the Hall of Lambeth-house;  
(For he knew the High Commission sat there)  
Both King and Cromwell he openly cursed,  
But Oliver now will pay his Arrear,  
For of all kind of Scots the English is worst.  
With a hey down, down a down down,  
Sing ho down down to make up the Ditty,  
With a hey down down a down down,  
The Parliament's broke as well as the City.    

The RUMP. December 26. 1659.  
To the Tune of The Blacksmith.  

NOw Master & Apprentice for Rhymes must pump  
On Hab, 
St. John's.  Noll, Arthur, and Lawson Vantrump,  
A Long Parliament of a Short Rump.  
Which no body can deny.   

For Wits and No-Wits now have an Itch  
To prepare some damnable tearing Switches  
For them whose very Face is a Breech.  
Which, etc.   

Twelve years they sat above Kings and Queens,  
Full twelve, and then had entered their teens  
When Oliver came to outsin their Sins.  
Which, etc.   

And yet after all his signal Septembers,  
Both he and his Babe, and his Other-House Members  
Saw Rump was but asleep in its Embers.  
Which, etc.   

For up it rose, then out 'twas blown,  
For Lambert and Rump like my Lady and Joan,  
Blew in and out till Rump blew out John.  
Which, &c▪   

And then it swelled with such monstrous growth  
That by and by it broke out in the South,  
From whence it was called PORTS-MOUTH.  
Which, etc.   

From thence to London it road tan-tivy,  
(Though London then wore Holly and Ivy)  
And sat at Whitehall in a Council-Privy.  
Which, etc.   

Then suddenly Fleetwood fell from Grace,  
And now cries Heaven hath spit in his face,  
Though he smelled it came from another place.  
Which, etc.   

Janisary Desbrow then looked pale,  
For, said he, if this Rump prevail,  
'Twill blow me back to my old Plough-tayl,  
Which, etc.   

But when he felt his own Regiment kick,  
Oh, quoth he, this was my own Trick  
'Gainst my Brother Nol and my Nephew Dick.  
Which, etc.   

Now whom the Devil doth Rump represent?  
'Twas This that Sir Thomas Jermyn meant  
When he called it a Whipping Parliament.  
Which, etc.   

We're stripped of all shelter from the long Robe,  
As rich and warm as the Devil left Job,  
For Satan Rump sits Lord of the Globe.  
Which, etc.   

And yet when all is examined and pondered,  
You'll find three Kingdoms enslaved & plundered,  
For saying Forty is less than Four hundred.  
Which, etc.   

And now behold the Sign is in Clune,  
But if Monck be honest or wise, then soon he  
Makes Rump but the Italians Domo Communi.  
Which, etc.   

Heaven bless the King, with his two brave Brothers,  
From Rumps and Lords of the House called Others,  
And hang these Rumping Sons of their Mothers.  
Which, etc.   

And that He may bless both Us and our Heirs,  
Let all the Members of Commons and Peers,  
Turn honest as He that wants his Ears.  
Which no body can deny.    

Sir Eglamor and the Dragon: Or a Relation how General George Monck slew a most Cruel Dragon Febr. 11. 1659.  
To the Tune of Sir Eglamor.  

1.  
General George that Valiant wight,  
He took his Sword and he would go fight,  
And as he road through London Town,  
Men, Women, Posts, and Gates, fell down.   

2.  
But turning about towards Westminster,  
He saw it must come to Fight Dog, Fight Bear,  
For there an old Dragon sat in its Den,  
Had devoured (God knows how many) brave Men.   

3.  
This Dragon it was and a monstrous Beast,  
With forty or fifty heads at least,  
And still as this Dragon drank down Blood,  
Those heads would wag and cry good— good— good!   

4.  
No Hydra nor Leviathan,  
For every Head looked like a Man,  
And yet they all grew Hidra-wise,  
For cut off one and another would rise   

5.  
Besides it had most Devilish claws,  
Called Committees of the Good Old Cause;  
But Devil and his Dam had no such Paunch  
As this which swallowed Root and Branch.   

6.  
It swallowed Churches, Palaces,  
Forests, Islands, Lands, and Seas,  
Cathedral Choires it made but a Salad,  
And left not a man to sing a Ballad.   

7.  
But that which made this Dragon prevail,  
Was a damnable Sting stuck in its Tail,  
This Tail 'gainst Christendom made Wars,  
And swept down all St. George's Stars.   

8.  
Then Egypt's Plagues we understood,  
Darkness, Rivers turned to Blood,  
Upstart Vermin thick as wool,  
And Frogs and Locusts Pulpits full.   

9  
Yet that which most did Plague these Isles,  
Three Kingdoms lay so sick of th' Piles,  
For every man in doleful dump  
Was tortured with a Bloody Rump.   

10.  
But as in its Den this Dragon did sit,  
George gave it many a gay good hit,  
Though then he had no Sword nor Sith on,  
But fought as Phoebus slew old Python.   

11.  
For George shot at him a flaming Letter,  
(Which some then thought might have been better  
He wipeed the Rump away with a Paper,  
And out it flew like a stinking Vapour.   

12.  
Now London had her own desire,  
For every Street was paved with fire,  
All Men and Bells with many a thump,  
Cried Rump-Rump-Rump-Rump-Rump-Rump-R.   

13.  
Six thousand fifty Bonfires then,  
(By twenty more thenth ' Army had Men)  
O monstrous Rump, that thus requires  
(Though but half broiled) six thousand Fires▪   

14.  
This very day that Rump was burned,  
Old Magna Charta was confirmed;  
This day they Voted that monstrous thing, 
Febr. 11. 1647.   
That no Addresses be made to the King.   

15.  
Now God bless Charles, & York, & Gloucester,  
From many or from one Impostor,  
May Kings, and Peers, and Commons join  
To save us both from Rump and Loyn.    

The City's Feast to the Lord Protector.  
To the Tune of Cook Laurel.  

SIR Mayor invites his Highness his guest,  
And bids him to Grocers-Hall to dinner,  
There never was Saint at so great a Feast  
Provided him at the Charge of a Sinner.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

And what was the day do you think, without jesting,  
Of all the year it was Ash-wednesday,  
This pious Reformer set apart for his Feasting,  
When all good Christians should Fast and Pray.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

The Soldiers in clusters thronged for place,  
To see this Monster of their own making,  
And said it was a Protectors grace,  
But that it wanted not much of A King.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

The Bucks of the City in herds were met,  
And were paled in with a very good fence,  
But what their Does did, I cannot tell yet,  
Of that ye may hear three quarters hence.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

With that the Recorder marched up to the Hall  
With a dish of Divinity dressed for his palate,  
And laid before him a shoulder of Saul,  
With a savoury simile by for a salate.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

His Highness commanded to lay it by,  
'Twas fit for his people he'd make it known,  
And they should have it, good reason why,  
For they wanted more shoulders than their own.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

A dish of Delinquents heads in a Charger  
Was sent as a present from Goldsmith's Hall,  
He wished his stomach ten times larger,  
Yet made a long neck and poached them all.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

A Prelate was next, and to him he buckles,  
With a Bishopric trussed before and behind,  
His Highness was in with him up to the knuckles,  
And to his own kitchen the skuers assigned.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

His Highness then called ' for a bowl of Canary,  
And drank so deep that it made him reel,  
He tossed it to Lambert, and Lambert to Harry,  
And Harry to the Mayor, and the Mayor to Steel.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

When Dinner was ended, away to the banquet,  
Where snatching of Sugar-plums one from another,  
H●l filled up his pockets, and said God be thanked,  
And carried them home to his Lady Mother.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

Then his Highness commanded the Mayor to kneel,  
The Beast of the City was soon on his knees,  
He made him a Knight with iron and steel,  
And bid him rise up, and pay him his fees.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

Up rose my Lord's worship and made him a leg,  
With that the Knight-maker did give him the Sword;  
His Highness did spice him without a nutmeg,  
When he made a bad Knight of a pitiful Lord.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

When he left the City he broke a jest,  
His words were pithy, and I'll repeat them,  
Farewell (quoth his Highness) thou spurgalled Beast,  
Fools make the Feasts, and wise men eat them.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.    
FINIS.   

RUMP SONGS. The Second Part.  

The Re-resurrection of the RUMP. Or, Rebellion and Tyranny revived.  
To the Tune of the Blacksmith.  

IF none be offended with the scent,  
Though I foul my mouth, I'll be content,  
To sing of the Rump of a Parliament.  
Which no body can deny.   

I have sometimes fed on a Rump in souse,  
And a man may imagine the Rump of a Louse;  
But till now was ne'er heard of the Rump of a House.  
Which no body can deny.   

There's a Rump of Beef, and the Rump of a Goose,  
And a Rump whose neck was hanged in a Noose;  
But ours is a Rump can play fast and loose.  
Which no body can deny.   

A Rump had Jane Shore, and a Rump Messaleen,  
And a Rump had Antony's resolute Queen;  
But such a Rump as ours is, never was seen,  
Which no body can deny.   

Two short years together we English have scarce  
Been rid of thy Rampant Nose (Old Mars)  
But now thou hast got a prodigious Arse.  
Which no body can deny   

When the parts of the Body did all fall out,  
Some Votes it is like did pass for the Snout;  
But that the Rump should be King was never a doubt.  
Which no body can deny.   

A Cat has a Rump, and a Cat has nine Lives,  
Yet when her Head's off, her Rump never strives;  
But our Rump from the Grave hath made two Retrives.  
Which no body can deny.   

That the Rump may all their Enemies quail,  
They'll borrow the Devil's Coat of mail,  
And all to defend their Estate in Tayl.  
Which no body can deny.   

But though their scale now seems to be th'upper,  
There's no need of the charge of a Thanksgiving, supper,  
For if they be the Rump, the Armi's their Crupper.  
Which no body can deny.   

There's a Saying belongs to the Rump,  
Which is good although it be worn to the stump,  
That on the Buttocks I'll give thee a Thump.  
Which no body can deny.   

There's a Proverb in which the Rump claims a part,  
Which hath in it more of Sense than of Art,  
That for all you can do I care not a Fart.  
Which no body can deny.   

There's another Proverb gives the Rump for his Crest,  
But Alderman Atkins made it a Jest,  
That of all kind of Luck's, shitten Luck is the best.  
Which no body can deny.   

There's another Proverb that never will fail,  
That the good the Rump will do when they prevail  
Is to give us a Flop with a Fox-tail.  
Which no body can deny.   

There is a Saying which is made by no Fools,  
I never can hear on't, but my heart it cools,  
That the Rump will spend all we have in Close-stools.  
Which no body can deny.   

There's an Observation wise and deep,  
Which without an Onion will make me to weep,  
That Flies will blow Maggots in the Rump of a Sheep.  
Which no body can deny.   

And some that can see the wood from the trees,  
Say, this sanctified Rump in time we may lose;  
For the Cooks do challenge the Rumps for their Fees.  
Which no body can deny.   

When the Rump do sit we'll make it our Moan,  
That a Reason be enacted if there be not one,  
Why a Fart hath a tongue, and a Fyest hath none.  
Which no body can deny.   

And whilst within the Walls they lurk,  
To satisfy us, will be a good work,  
Who hath most Religion, the Rump or the Turk.  
Which no body can deny.   

A Rump's a Fag-end, like the balk of a Furrow,  
And is to the whole like the Jail to the Burrow,  
'Tis the Bran that is left when the Meal is run through.  
Which no body can deny.   

Consider the World, the Heaven is the Head on't,  
The Earth is the middle, and we men are fed on't;  
But Hell is the Rump, and no more can be said on't.  
Which no body can deny.   

Flectere si nequeunt Superos Acharonta movebunt.    

A New-Years-Gift for the RUMP.  

YOu may have heard of the Politic Snout,  
Or a tale of a Tub with the bottom out,  
But scarce of a Parliament in a shitten Clout.  
Whih no body can deny.   

'Twas Atkins first served this Rump in with Mustard,  
The sauce was a compound of Courage and Custard,  
Sir Vane blessed the Creature: Nol snufled & blustered.  
Which no body can deny.   

The Right was then in Old Olivers Nose,  
But when the Devil of that did dispose,  
It descended from thence to the Rump in the close.  
Which no body can deny.   

Nor is it likely there to stay long,  
The Retentive Faculties being gone,  
The Juggle is stale, and Money there's none.  
Which no body can deny.   

The Secluded Members made a Trial  
To Enter, but them the Rump did defy all  
By the Ordinance of Self-denial.  
Which no body can deny.   

Our Politic Doctors do us Teach,  
That a Bloodsucking Red-coat's as good as a Leech,  
To Relieve the Head, if applied to the Breech.  
Which no body can deny.   

But never was such a Worm as Vane;  
When the State scoured last, it voided him then,  
Yet now he's crept into the Rump again.  
Which no body can deny.   

Ludlow's Fart, was a Prophetic Trump:  
(There was never any thing so Jump)  
'twas the very Type, of a Vote of this Rump.  
Which no body can deny.   

They say 'tis good Luck, when a Body rises  
With the Rump upward; but he that advises  
To Live in that Posture is none of the wisest.  
Which no body can deny.   

The Reason is worse, though the rhyme be untoward,  
When things proceed with the wrong end forward;  
But they talk of sad news to the Rump from the Norward.  
Which no body can deny.   

'Twas a wonderful thing the strength of that Part,  
At a Blast, it will take you a Team from a Cart;  
And Blow a Man's Head away with a Fart.  
Which no body can deny.   

When our Brains are Sunk below the Middle,  
And our Consciences steered by the hey down-diddle,  
Then things will go round without a Fiddle.  
Which no body can deny.   

You may order the City with a Hand-Granado,  
Or the General with a Bastonado,  
But no way for a Rump like a Carbonado.  
Which no body can deny.   

To make us as famous in Counsel, as Wars,  
Here's Lenthal, a Speaker for mine—  
And Fleetwood is a Man of Mars.  
Which no body can deny.   

'Tis pity that nedham's Fallen into Disgrace,  
For he order a Bum with a marvelous Grace,  
And aught to attend the Rump by his Place.  
Which no body can deny.   

Yet this in despite of all Disasters,  
Although he hath Broken the Heads of his Masters,  
'Tis still his Profession, to give 'em all Plasters.  
Which no body can deny.   

Let 'em cry down the Pope, till their Throats are sore,  
Their Design was to bring him in at the back door,  
For the Rump has a mind to the Scarlet-whore.  
Which no body can deny.   

And this is a truth at all hands confessed,  
However unskilful in any of the rest;  
The Rump speaks the Language of the Beast.  
Which no body can deny.   

They talk that Lambert is like to be tried  
For Treason, and Buggery beside,  
Because that he did the Rump bestride.  
Which no body can deny.   

The Rump's an old Story, if well understood  
'Tis a thing dressed up in a Parliaments Hood,  
And liked; but the Tail stands where the Head should.  
Which no body can deny.   

'Twould make a man scratch where it does not itch,  
To see forty Fools heads in one Politic breech,  
And that— hugging the Nation as the Devil did the Witch.  
Which no body can deny.   

From rotten Members preserve our Wives:  
From the mercy of a Rump, our Estates and our Lives,  
For they must needs go, whom the Devil drives.  
Which no body can deny.    

A New Ballad.  
To an Old Tune, Tom of Bedlam.  

Make room for an honest Red-coat,  
(And that you'll says a wonder)  
The Gun, and the Blade,  
Are his Tools,— and his Trade,  
Is for Pay, to Kill and Plunder.  
Then away with the Laws,  
And the Good Old Cause,  
Ne'er talk o' the Rump or the Charter,  
'Tis the Cash does the feat,  
All the rest 's but a Cheat,  
Without That, there's no Faith nor Quarter.   

'Tis the Mark of our Coin, GOD WITH US,  
And the Grace of the Lord go along with't,  
When the George's are flown,  
Then the Cause goes down,  
For the Lord is departed from it.  
Then away, etc.   

For Rome, or for Geneva,  
For the Table, or the Altar,  
This spawn of a Vote,  
He cares not a Groat—  
For the Pence, he's your dog in a Halter.  
Then away, etc.   

Tho' the Name of King or Bishop,  
To Nostrils pure may be Loathsome,  
Yet many there are,  
That agree with the Mayor,  
That their Lands are wondrous toothsome.  
Then away, etc.   

When our Masters are Poor, we Leave 'em,  
'Tis the Golden Calf we bow too;  
We kill, and we slay,  
Not for Conscience, but Pay;  
Give us That, we'll fight for you too:  
Then away, etc.   

'Twas That first turned the King out;  
The Lords, next: then, the Commons:  
'Twas that kept up Nol,  
Till the Devil fetched his Soul;  
And than it set the Bum on's.  
Then away, etc.   

Drunken Dick was a Lame Protector,  
And Fleetwood a Backslider:  
These we served as the rest,  
But the City's the Beast  
That will never cast her Rider.  
Then away, &c:   

When the Mayor holds the Stirrup,  
And the Shreeves cry, God speed your Honours:  
Then 'tis but a Jump,  
And up goes the Rump,  
That will spur to the Devil upon us.  
Then away, etc.   

And now for a fling at your Thimbles,  
Your Bodkins, Rings, and Whistles,  
In truck for your Toys,  
We'll fit you with Boys:  
('Tis the doctrine of Hugh's Epistles.)  
Then away, etc.   

When your Plate is gone, and your Jewels,  
You must next be entreated  
To part with your Bags,  
And strip you to Rags,  
And yet not think y'are cheated.  
Then away, etc.   

The truth is, the Town deserves it;  
'Tis a Brainless, Heartless Monster:  
At a Club they may Bawl,  
Or Declare at their Hall,  
And yet at a push, not one stir.  
Then away, etc.   

Sir Arthur vows he'll treat 'em,  
Far worse than the Men of Chester,  
He's Bold, now they're Cowed,  
But was nothing so Loud  
When he lay in the ditch at Leicester.  
Then away, etc.   

The Lord hath left John Lambert,  
And the Spirit, Feaks Anointed,  
But why oh Lord,  
Hast thou sheathed thy Sword?  
Lo, thy Saints are disappointed.  
Then away, etc.   

Tho' Sir Henry be departed:  
Sir John makes good the place now,  
And to help on the work  
Of the Glorious Kirk,  
Our Brethren march apace too.  
Then away, etc.   

While Divines, and Statesmen wrangle,  
Let the Rump-ridden Nation bite on't,  
There are none but we  
That are sure to go free,  
For the Soldiers still in the right on't.  
Then away, etc.   

If our Masters won't supply us,  
With Money, Food, and Clothing:  
Let the State look to't,  
We'll ha' one that will do't,  
Let him live,— we'll not damn for nothing  
Then away with the Laws,  
And the Good Old Cause,  
Ne'er talk o' the Rump or the Charter  
'Tis the Cash does the Feat,  
All the rest 's but a Cheat,  
Without That there's no Faith, nor Quarter.    

The Breech washed by a Friend to the RUMP.  
To the Tune of Old Simon the King.  

IN an humour of late I was,  
Yclept a doleful dump.  
Thought I— we're at a fine pass;  
Not a man stands up for the Rump:  
But le's be lashed o'er and o'er.  
While it lies like a senseless Fop.—  
'Twould make a man a Whore,  
To see a Tail tewed like a Top.  
Though a Rump be a dangerous bit,  
And many a Knave runs mad on't,  
Yet verily as it may hit,  
An honest man may be glad on't.   

To abuse a poor, Blind Creature—  
I had like to have said and a Dumb;  
But now it has gotten a Speaker,  
And Say is the Mouth of the Bum,  
When Bess ruled the Land there was no man  
Complained, and yet now they rail:  
I beseech you what differs a Woman  
From a thing that's all Tongue, and Tail?  
Though a Rump, etc.   

The Charter we've sworn to defend,  
And propagate the Cause.  
What call ye those of the Rump-end  
But Fundamental Laws?  
The Case is as clear as the Day,  
There had been no Reformation,  
If the Rump had clawed it away,  
You had had no Propagation.  
Though a Rump, etc.   

As a body's the better for a Purge,  
Tho' the Guts may be troubled with Gripes:  
So the Nation will mend with a Scourge,  
Tho' the Tail may be sick of the Stripes.  
Ill humours to convey,  
When the State hath taken a Looseness,  
(Who can hold what will away?  
The Rump must do the Business.  
Though a Rump, etc.   

The bold Cavalier, in the Field,  
That laughs at your Sword, and Gun-shot,  
An Ordinance makes him to yield,  
And he's glad to turn Tail to Bum-shot.  
Old Oliver was a Teazer,  
And waged war with the Stump;  
But Alexander, and Caesar  
Did both submit to the Rump.  
Though a Rump, etc.   

Let no man be further misled  
By an Error, past Debate;  
For Sedgwick has proved it the Head,  
As well of the Church as the State;  
Honest Hugh; that still turns up the Tippets,  
When he Knelt to Administer;  
Says— a Rump, with Skippons sippets,  
Is a Dish for a Holy Sister.  
Though a Rump, etc.   

We're all the better for't,  
'Tis the Fountain of Love, and of Life.  
'Tis that makes the sport,  
Keeps the peace betwixt Man, and Wife.  
Oh;— happy all they that have spent  
Their Blood, and Estates on the Breech,  
For they're sure, at last to Repent;  
And they'd better die Honest than Rich!  
Though a Rump, etc.   

Through Pride of Flesh, or State,  
Poor Souls are overthrown:  
How happy then is our Fate?  
VVe've a Rump to take us down:  
In matters of Faith 'tis true,  
Some differings there may be,  
But give the Saints their due,  
In the Rump they all agree.  
Though a Rump, etc.   

'Tis good at Bed, and at Bord;  
It gives us Pleasure and Ease,  
Will you have the rest in a word?  
'Tis good for the new disease,  
(The Tumult of the Guts;)  
'Tis a Recipe for the King's Evil,  
Wash the Members as sweet as Nuts,  
And then throw them all to the Devil.  
Though a Rump be a dangerous Bit,  
And many a Knave runs mad on't,  
Yet, verily, as it may hit,  
An honest man may be glad on't.    

Chip's of the Old Block; or, Hercules Cleansing the Augaean Stable.  
To the Tune of The Sword.  

1.  
NOw by your good leave Sirs,  
Shall see the Rump can cleave Sirs,  
And what Chips from this Treacherous Block  
Will come you may conceive Sirs.   

2.  
Lenthall's the first o' the Lump sure,  
A Fart and he may jump sure,  
For both do stink, and both we know  
Are Speakers of the Rump sure.   

3.  
That Mine of Fraud Sir Arthur,  
His Soul for Lands will barter,  
And if you'd ride to Hell in a Wain  
he's fit to make your Carter,   

4.  
Sir Harry Vane, God bless us,  
To Popery he would press us,  
And for the Devil's Dinner he,  
The Roman way would dress us.   

5.  
Harry Martin never mista  
To love the wanton Twist-a,  
And lustful Aretine's bawdy Leaves  
Are his Evangelist-a.   

6.  
Harry Nevill's no Widgeon,  
His Practice truly stygian  
Makes it a Masterpiece of wit  
To be of no Religion.   

7.  
But my good Lord Glyn Man,  
Pride is a deadly sin Man,  
Cots plultera nails few Traitors be  
Like you of all your kin Man.   

8.  
If Saint-John be a Saint Sir,  
He hath a devilish Taint Sir,  
While strafford's blood in Heavens High Court  
Of Justice makes complaint Sir.   

9  
Doctor Palmers all day sleeping,  
And into his Heart ne'er peeping,  
'Tis ill he that neglects his own,  
Should have All-souls in keeping   

10.  
Will bruerton's a sinner,  
And, Croyden knows, a Winner,  
But O take heed lest he do eat  
The Rump all at one Dinner.   

11.  
Robin Andrews is a Miser,  
Of Cobblers no despiser,  
And could they vamp him a new head,  
Perhaps he would be Wiser.   

12.  
But Baron Wild come out here,  
Show your Ferret Face and Snout here,  
For you being both a Fool and Knave  
Are a Monster in the Rout here.   

13.  
Nick Lechmere Loyalty needs still,  
And on Weathercocks he feeds still,  
If Heathen, Turk or Jew should come,  
So he would change his Creed still.   

14.  
There's half-witted Will Say too,  
A right fool in the Play too,  
That would make a perfect Ass,  
If he could learn to Bray too.   

15.  
Cornelius thou wert a Linkboy,  
And born 'tis like, in a Sink boy,  
I'd tell thy Knavery to the World,  
But thy pitch sticks in my ink boy.   

16.  
Baron Hill was but a Valley,  
And born scarce to an Alley,  
But now is Lord of Taunton Dean  
And thousands he can Ralley.   

17.  
But if you ask the Nation,  
Whence came his Elevation?  
They'll say he was not raised by God,  
But by our inundation.   

18.  
Lord Fines he will not Maul men,  
For he likes not death of all men,  
And his heart doth go to Pit to Pat,  
When to Battle he should call men.   

19  
Perfidious Whitlock ever,  
Hath mischiefs under's Beaver,  
And for his ends will put the World  
Into a burning fever.   

20.  
Ashley Cowper knew a Reason,  
That Treachery was in season,  
When at the first he turned his coat  
From Loyalty to Treason.   

21.  
And gouty Master Wallop,  
Now thinks he hath the Ballop,  
But though he trotted to the Rump,  
he'll run away a Gallop.   

22.  
There's Carew Raleigh by him,  
All good men do defy him,  
And they that think him not a Knave,  
I wish they would but try him.   

23.  
Luke Robinson that Clownado,  
Though his heart be a Granado,  
Yet a High-shooe with his hands in his Poke,  
Is his most perfect shadow.   

24.  
Salloway with Tobacco,  
Inspired, turned State Quacko;  
And got more by his feigned zeal,  
Then by his What d'ye lack ho.   

25.  
But Lisle is half forgotten,  
Who oft is over-shotten,  
For just like Harp and Gridiron  
His brains with Law do Gotten.   

26.  
Lord Monson's next the Bencher,  
Who waited with a Trencher,  
Now his tail is jerked at home and abroad,  
For he's a feeble Wencher.   

27.  
We hear from Sir John Lenthall,  
Though his gouty Lord hath spent all,  
His Rump's placed wrong, but 'tis his face  
That is right Fundamental▪   

28.  
What Knaves are more to be vexed, Sirs,  
You'll hear when I sing next, Sirs,  
For now my Muse is tired with this  
Abominable text, Sirs.  
Ridentem dicere verum, Quid vetat?    

Rump Rampant, or the Sweet Old Cause in Sippets.  
To the Tune of, Last Parliament sat as snug as a Cat.  

IN the name of the fiend,  
What the Rump up again,  
The Delk, and the Good Old Cause,  
If they settle again,  
Which to think were a sin,  
Good night to Religion and Laws.   

First Tithes must go down  
Like a sprig of the Crown,  
Although J. Presbyter grumble;  
Already they tell's  
Our Lead and our Bells  
They'll sell, next our Churches must tumble▪   

This poor English Nation,  
By this Generation,  
Hath been grieved 11. years and more,  
But in that season,  
And not without reason,  
They ha' thrice been turned out of door.   

Which they please to call force,  
Yet themselves can do worse,  
For this Parcel of a House  
Dare keep out of door,  
Thrice as many more,  
And value the Law not a Louse.   

First by Owl-light they met,  
And by that light they set,  
The reason of it mark,  
Their Acts and the light,  
Do differ quite,  
Their deeds do best with the dark.   

Esquire Lenthall had swore,  
He'd fit there no more,  
Unless in with Oxen they drew him,  
That he once might speak true,  
They picked him out two,  
Sent Pembroke and Salisbury to him.   

When these Gamesters were packed,  
The first gracious act  
Was for pence for their friends of the Army,  
Who for any side fight,  
Excepted be the right;  
Sixscore thousand a month won't harm ye.   

Yet many there be,  
Say the House is not free,  
When I am sure of that,  
T' one another they're so free,  
That the Nation do see,  
They're too free for us to be fat.   

Religion they waved,  
Now they had us enslaved,  
And got us sure in their Claw,  
They pulled off their mask,  
And set us our task,  
Which is next to make Brick without straw.   

The next Act they made  
Was for helping of Trade,  
So they settled again the Excise,  
Which the City must pay,  
For ever and aye,  
Yet might have chose had they been wise.   

To pull down their King,  
Their plate they could bring,  
And other precious things,  
So that Sedgwick and peter's,  
Were no small getters  
By their Bodkins, thimbles and rings.   

But when for the good  
Of the Nation 'twas stood  
Half ruined and forlorn,  
Though't lay in their power,  
To redeem't in an hour,  
Not a Citizen put out his horn.   

They had manacled their hands  
With King and Bishop's Lands,  
And ruined the whole Nation,  
So that no body cares  
Though they and their Heirs,  
Be cornute to the third Generation.   

May their wives on them frown,  
But laugh and lie down,  
To any one else turn up Trump;  
To mend the breed,  
As I think there is need,  
Be rid like their men by the Rump.   

And may these wise Sophees,  
Pay again for their Trophies,  
For I hope the Parliament means  
(Now they ha' been at the costs  
To set up the posts)  
To make them pay well for the Chains.    

Fortunate Rising: or, The Rump Upward.  

GOod people, and you that have been undone  
By Guns, and Drums and the Trumpets tone,  
And new hard words since Forty and One.  
Which no body can deny▪   

Here is a word that will plague you more  
Than any that ever went before,  
'Tis the Rump of Harry Martin's Whore,  
Which, etc.   

The Cause was at first a pretty conceit  
To create a dirty Rebel great;  
But now that has left th'imperial Seat,  
Which, etc.   

A General was a glorious Name,  
Till Essex his Member spoiled his fame;  
For a Soldier ought to be good at the Game,  
Which, etc.   

The Communication Line was a Jig,  
And as good as the Bath to make women big,  
Who never were so, till they learned to dig,  
Which, etc.   

Artillery was a thundering word,  
Where many appeared with Musket and Sword,  
To fright poor Atkins out of a turd,  
Which, etc.   

Cavalier was a name of as great a Force,  
As Centaur, that is both Man and Horse,  
And for Ravishing suffered many a curse,  
Which, etc.   

Yet every Woman that had this fear,  
Although in her heart a Roundhead she were,  
In her belly she wished a Cavalier,  
Which, etc.   

Sequestration scared Men out of their Plate,  
Excise drew potent Ale out of date,  
And the Corpse de Gardiner broke many of pate,  
Which, etc.   

The Plunderers made men hide their money,  
And women their jewels, if they had any;  
And one there was, hid Gold in her Coney,  
Which, etc.   

A Commonwealth is a Citizens trust,  
And by his wife adored it must,  
As a Topique to prove adultery just,  
Which, etc.   

The Protector stormed with all mankind,  
Made Kings, and Princes walk behind,  
Till the Devil out-ranted him in a wind,  
Which, etc.   

The Committee of Safety threw the die;  
But some body spit in his face from on high,  
And made the valiant Fleetwood cry,  
Which, etc.   

But the Rump is a word of such a power,  
Pronounced, your beer, like thunder, 'twill sour,  
And after make you squitter an hour,  
Which, etc.   

The squirting at Epsom's not worth a louse,  
Rump outdoes all, that comes there to carouse;  
For it shit from Portsmouth to Wallingford house,  
Which, etc.   

If Booth were no Knave, a Fool let him be,  
To keep such a stir for Liberty,  
When the Rump sets all its Tenants Free,  
Which, etc.   

He that could imitate sounds in a fart,  
And speak from behind with a wondrous Art,  
Were he living now, should take Lenthals part,  
Which, etc.   

And then a Fart for the City's forces,  
For Monk that's coming with all his Horses,  
And a T— for Fairfax too, that worse is,  
Which, etc.   

A Parson once in a frolic Divine,  
Exhausted Glasses, twenty and nine,  
For Turkey's Rump in Canary wine,  
Which, etc.   

And sure he received a Revelation,  
When to preach he left his first Vocation,  
That a Rump in time should rule the Nation,  
Which, etc.   

Montelions Diall's a drolling Mock,  
With a stick in the Country Fellows dock,  
And fitter now than the Palace clock,  
Which, etc.   

Morlay a joint of the Rump grew big,  
And swelling; but politic Haslerig,  
Has sent him for Physic to Doctor Trigg,  
Which, etc.   

Mad Vane was Anointed King, and said,  
He received a Crown that burdened his Head,  
For which the Rump sent him home to Bed,  
Which, etc.   

The Abjuring Oath made the Speaker Sick,  
Which Haslerig taking in the Nick,  
For his feigned one showed him a real Trick,  
Which, etc.   

Thus, what for aliment is unfit,  
The Tail by a virtue guiding it,  
Excludes, and leaves itself beshit,  
Which, etc.   

Let no man pretend any Cause,  
Against the Rump to open his Jaws,  
For it rules by the Fundamental Laws,  
Which no body can deny.    

A proper New Ballad on the Old Parliaament, or the Second Part of Knave out of Doors.  
To the Tune of 
Hei ho my honey,  
My heart shall never rue,  
Four and twenty now for your Money,  
And yet a hard pennyworth too.   

GOod morrow my Neighbours all,  
What news is this I heard tell?  
As I passed through Westminster-hall,  
By the house that's near to Hell:  
They told me John Lambert was there,  
With his Bears, and deeply did swear:  
(As Cromwell had done before)  
Those Vermin should fit there no more.  
Sing high ho Will. Lenthall,  
Who shall our General be?  
For the House to the Devil is sent all,  
And follow gid faith must ye.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

Then Muse strike up a Sonnet,  
Come piper and play us a spring;  
For now I think upon it,  
These Rs turned out their King.  
But now it must come about,  
That once again they must turn out:  
And not without Justice and Reason,  
That every one home to his Prison.  
Sing high ho Harry Martin,  
A Burgess of the Bench,  
There's nothing here is certain,  
You must back and leave your Wench.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

He there with the buffle head,  
Is called Lord, and of the same house,  
Who (as I have heard it said)  
Was chastised by his Lady-Spouse.  
Because he run at sheep,  
She and her Maid gave him the Whip;  
And beat his head so addle;  
You'd think he had a knock in the Cradle,  
Sing high ho Lord Mounson,  
You ha' got a park of the Kings,  
One day you'll hang like a hounson,  
For this and other things.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

It was by their Master's order  
At first together they met,  
Whom piously they did murder,  
And since by their own they did set.  
The cause of this Disaster,  
Is 'cause they were false to their Master.  
Nor can their Gensd'armes blame,  
For serving them the same.  
Sing high ho Sir Arthur,  
No more in the house you shall prate;  
For all you kept such a quarter,  
You are out of the Council of State.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

Old Noll gave them once a purge  
(Forgetting Occidisti,)  
(The Furies be his scourge)  
So of the cure missed he.  
And yet the drug he well knew it,  
For he gave it to Dr. Huit.  
Had he given it them he had done it,  
And they had not turned out his son yet.  
Sing high ho brave Dick,  
L. Hall and Lady Joan,  
Who did against Loyalty kick,  
Is now for a New-years-gift gone.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

For had old Noll been alive,  
He had pulled them out by the ears.  
Or else had fired their Hive,  
And kicked him down the stairs;  
Because they were so bold,  
To vex his righteous soul.  
When he so deeply had swore,  
That there they should never fit more.  
But high ho Nol 's dead,  
And stunk long since above ground,  
Though leapt in spices and lead,  
That cost us many a pound.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

Indeed Brother Burgess your Ling  
Did never stink half so bad;  
Nor did your Habberdin,  
When it no Peas-straw had.  
Ye were both chose together,  
'Cause ye wore stuff-cloaks in hard weather.  
And Cambridge needs would have  
A Burgess, Fool, and Knave.  
Sing high ho J. Lowry,  
Concerning Abberdine,  
No Member spoke before ye,  
Yet ye near spoke again.  
Sing high ho my honey,  
My heart shall never rue,  
Here's all picked ware for your money,  
And yet a hard pennyworth too.   

Ned Prideaux he went post  
To tell the Protector the news,  
That Fleetwood ruled the roast,  
Having ta'en off Dicks shoes.  
And that he did believe,  
Lambert would him deceive;  
As he his brother had gulled,  
And Cromwell Fairfax bulled.  
Sing high ho the Attorney  
Was still at your command,  
In flames together burn ye,  
Still dancing hand in hand.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

Who's that that would hide his face?  
And his neck from the collar pull?  
He must appear in his place,  
If his Cap be made of Wool.  
Who is it with a vengeance?  
It is the good Lord Saint john's!  
Who made God's House to fall,  
To build his own withal.  
Sing high ho who comes there?  
Who 'tis I must not say;  
But by this darklanthorn I swear  
He's as good in the night as day.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

Edge Brethren, room for one,  
That looks as big as the best;  
'Tis pity to leave him alone,  
For he is as good as the rest.  
No Picklock of the Laws,  
He builds among the Daws.  
If you ha' any more Kings to murder,  
For a Precedent look no further.  
Sing high ho J. Bradshaw,  
In blood none further engages;  
The Devil from whom he had's law,  
Will shortly pay him his wages.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

Next Peagoose Wild come in,  
To show your weezle face,  
And tell us Burleys sin,  
Whose blood bought you your place.  
When Loyalty was a crime,  
He lived in a dangerous time,  
Was forced to pay his neck,  
To make you Baron of the Cheque.  
Sing high ho Jack Straw,  
We'll put it in the Margin,  
'Twas not for Justice or Law  
That you were made a Sergeant.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

Noll served not Satan faster,  
Nor with him did better accord;  
For he was my good Master,  
And the devil was his good Lord.  
Both Slingsby, Gerrard, and Hewit,  
Were sure enough to go to it,  
According to his intent,  
That chose me Precedent.  
Sing high ho Lord Lisle,  
Sure Law had got a wrench,  
And where was Justice the while,  
When you sat on the Bench?  
Sing high ho, etc.   

Next comes the good Lord Keble,  
Of the triumvirate  
Of the seal, in Law but feeble,  
Though on the Bench he sat.  
For when one puts him a case,  
I wish him out of the place;  
And if it were not a sin,  
An abler Lawyer in.  
Sing give the seal about,  
I'd have it so the rather,  
Because we might get out,  
The Knave my Lord my Father.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

Pull out the other there,  
It is Nathaniel Fines,  
(Who Bristol lost for fear)  
We'll not leave him behind's;  
'Tis a Chip of that good old block,  
Who to Loyalty gave the first knock.  
Then stole away to Lundey,  
Whence the foul fiend fetches him one day.  
Sing high ho Canting Fines,  
You and the rest to mend 'em,  
Would you were served in your kinds,  
With an ense rescidendum.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

He that comes now down stairs,  
Is Lord Chief Justice Glin.  
If no man for him cares,  
He cares as little again.  
The reason too I know't,  
He help to cut strafford's throat,  
And take away his life,  
Though with a cleaner knife.  
Sing high ho Britain bold,  
Strait to the bar you get,  
Where it is not so cold  
As where your Justice set.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

He that shall next come in,  
Was long of the Council of State;  
Though hardly a hair on his chin,  
When first in the Council he sat:  
He was sometime in Italy,  
And learned their fashions prettily  
Then came back to's own Nation  
To help up Reformation.  
Sing high ho Harry Nevil,  
I prithee be not too rash,  
With Atheism to court the Devil,  
You're too bold to be his Bardash.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

He there with ingratitude blacked,  
Is one Cornelius Holland:  
Who but for the King's house lacked,  
Wherewith to appease his Colon.  
The case is well amended,  
Since that time, as I think,  
When at Court gate he tended,  
With a little stick and a short link.  
Sing high ho Cornelius,  
Your zeal cannot delude us,  
The reason pray now tell us,  
Why thus you played the Judas?  
Sing high ho, etc.   

At first he was a Grocer,  
Who now we Major call:  
Although you would think no sir,  
If you saw him in Whitehall.  
Where he has great command,  
And looks for cap in hand;  
And if our eggs be not addle,  
Shall be of the next new Moddle.  
Sing high ho Mr. Saloway,  
The Lord in Heaven doth know  
When that from Heaven you shall away,  
Where to the Devil you'll go.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

Little Hill since set in the House,  
Is to a Mountain grown:  
Nor that which brought forth the Mouse,  
But thousands the year of his own,  
The purchase that I mean,  
Where else but at Taunton Dean?  
Five thousand pound per annum,  
A sum not known to his Granam.  
Sing high the Good Old Cause,  
'Tis old although not true,  
You have got more by that then the Laws,  
So a Good Old Cause to you.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

Master Cecil pray come behind,  
Because on your own accord  
The other House you declined,  
You shall be no longer a Lord.  
The reason as I guess  
You silently did confess,  
Such Lords deserved ill,  
The other House to fill.  
Sing high ho Mr. Cecil,  
Your honour now is gone,  
Such Lords are not worth a whistle,  
We made better Lords of our own.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

Luke Robinson shall go before ye,  
That snarling Northern tike,  
Be sure he'll not adore ye,  
For honour he doth not like.  
He cannot honour inherit,  
And he knows he can never merit:  
And therefore he cannot bear it,  
That any one else should wear it:  
Sing high ho envious lown,  
You're of the Beagles kind,  
Who always barked at the Moon,  
Because in the dark it shined.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

'Tis this that vengeance rouses,  
That while you make long prayers,  
You eat up widow's houses,  
And drank the Orphan's tears.  
Long time you kept a great noise,  
Of God and the Good Old Cause;  
But if God to you be so kind,  
Then I am of the Indians mind,  
Sing high ho Sir Harry,  
We see by your demeanour,  
If longer here you tarry,  
You'll be Sir Harry Vane Senior.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

Now, if your zeal do warm ye,  
Pray loud for fairer weather,  
Swear to live and die with the Army,  
For these Birds are flown together.  
The House is turned out a door,  
(And I think it was no sin too)  
If we take them there any more,  
We'll throw the House out of the window.  
B'ing high ho Tom Scot,  
You lent the Devil your hand:  
I wonder he helped you not,  
But suffered you to be trapand.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

They're once again conduced,  
And we freed from the evil  
To which we long were used,  
God bless us next from the Devil!  
If they had not been outed,  
The Army had been routed,  
And then this rotten Rump,  
Had sat until the last trump.  
●ut high ho Lambert 's here,  
The Protectors Instrument bore:  
And many there be that swear  
His Lady had done it before.  
Sing high ho, etc.   

Come here then honest peter's,  
Say Grace for the second course:  
So long as these your betters,  
Must patience have upon force.  
Long time ye kept a great noise,  
With God and the Good Old Cause,  
But if God own such as these,  
Then where's the Devils fees.  
Sing high ho Hugo,  
I hear thou art not dead,  
Where now to the Devil will you go,  
Your Patrons being fled.  
Sing high ho my honey,  
My heart shall never rue:  
Four and twenty now for a penny,  
And into the bargain HUGH.    

A City Ballad.  
To the Tune of Down in a Bottom.  

1  
SInce the Realm lost its head  
All our trading is dead,  
And our Money and Credit is flown;  
We have tried many new,  
But find it too true,  
That no Head fits so well as our own.   

2.  
The Drum and the Trump  
Devoured all to the Rump,  
And then they drank healths for that,  
But that yielding no grease,  
They next came to squeeze  
The City because it was fat.   

3.  
The City declared  
That they were afeard,  
And they their Militia would settle;  
But, except the Boys,  
They made only a noise,  
Their Votes were in dock out nettle.   

4.  
The Mayor and his Peers  
Durst not for their ears  
Assert the Militia's power:  
Though once he seemed for it,  
He does now abhor it,  
And Revolted in less than an hour.   

5.  
'Tis that cursed wedge  
That took off his edge,  
For he looks like a jolly Clubber;  
If he had but the life  
And spirit of his Wife,  
He would not lie still like a Lubber.   

6.  
Our pair of new Sheriffs  
Hang by them like sleeves,  
Their valour will ne'er be their sin;  
So they be high and rich  
They do not care which  
Side loses, if they may but win.   

7.  
That Earwigg that doth write  
Himself Lord and Knight,  
(And is one as much as the other)  
Doth so still undermine,  
That he spoils our design,  
By the help of old Bess his Brother.   

8.  
He cares not a pin,  
So as he may get in,  
Who ere he keep out of his right,  
He'll turn and return,  
But be hanged ere he'll burn,  
For he dares neither suffer nor fight.   

9  
His Ambition him thrust  
Into a Pageant at first,  
And up to the Pulpit next;  
And then into the Chair  
Of our City Lord Mayor,  
Which he better improved then his Text.   

10.  
O there did he squeeze  
Out the Fines and the Fees,  
Nor the Church nor the Laity 'scapes,  
Had he stayed another Year,  
At which he did lear,  
He had pressed us like Canaan's Grapes.   

11.  
There's just such another  
May well be called Brother,  
A Colonel stout, and a Knight,  
And an Alderman too,  
As now Aldermen go,  
That will neither take wrong nor do right.   

12.  
We ne'er yet did know  
That he durst meet a foe,  
And his pale colour speaks him afraid  
Yet in story we read  
He did one valiant deed,  
Which was to his Master's Maid.   

13.  
Then to get an Estate,  
He found out a Mate,  
Which was an old Usurer's Daughter,  
Supplanted the Son,  
And then he begun  
To be Wealthy, and Worshipful after.   

14.  
There are more besides him  
Stands for the back Limb,  
A crew of such Harlotry tools,  
That who's not more blind  
Than Fortune, may find  
That he raises some besides Fools.   

15  
Some are wary grave Sirs,  
In their Chains and their Furs,  
That dare not declare their opinion,  
If hanged they were all,  
One tear would not fall  
Without the help of an Onion.   

16.  
There's one kin to a Mitre,  
That's no Presbyter,  
But loyal and honest and free,  
Had we took down the Mayor,  
And placed him in the Chair,  
Up some body had gone and we.   

17.  
There's another, a Wit,  
Was for all he could get,  
But now wheels about and is true;  
He may win all our hearts  
Would he use his best parts  
With our foes as he did with the Jew.   

18.  
The rest of the Court  
Are a mixed coloured sort,  
Rank Presbyter, rank Independent,  
They do still so prevail  
For the Westminster tail,  
'Tis feared we shall ne'er have an end on't.   

19  
But our Counsel of Commons  
Are valiant old Romans,  
And stand for our peace and freedom,  
If that Dog that sells Leather,  
And the Salesman together  
Would either be honest or be dumb.   

20.  
But yet we can't see  
Any reason why we  
Should all be so much at their becks,  
If we chains must forbear,  
Pray why should they wear  
A Militia about their necks?   

21  
Our Town Clerk we took,  
Has a serious look,  
And his silence did show him a wit,  
But we discern him no more  
Than the Court heretofore  
Did that sullen Mask which he writ.   

22.  
The late Petticoat Squire  
From his shop mounted higher  
To the Sword, and from that he did start  
By his money and grace  
To a Remembrances place  
Now reports when the Rump let a fart.   

23.  
Their Chaplain that prayed  
Now recants what he said,  
And walks by a perfecter light:  
The cause why he strayed  
Was he winked when he prayed,  
Now his eyes are open he's right.   

24.  
What ere the Cause be  
We clearly may see,  
No good thing proposed for the City's,  
But men's policy bends  
It to their private ends,  
That 'tis spoiled by the close Committee.   

25.  
And it needs must be so,  
For we all do well know  
'Tis for wealth men are put into office;  
And he that has store  
Domineers o'er the poor,  
Whether Fool, Knave, Elder, or Novice.   

26.  
We our Members have sent,  
But the quick Parliament  
Had first sent their Members we find,  
Yet no body knows,  
With which side Monk will close  
Or will stand for before, or behind.   

27.  
he's a Soldier no doubt  
Both skilful and stout  
But had need be more than a Stalian,  
If his love should extend  
To the hindermost end,  
And use us like Italian.   

28.  
A thousand a year  
If he could but tell where,  
They thought would have made him to mind 'em;  
But they promise still,  
As Diego made his will,  
Great things, but none knows where to find 'em.   

29.  
In this prodigal trick  
They have outdone old Nick,  
For what he did give he did show.  
Their title's the same,  
And so is their aim  
For aught any man doth know.   

30.  
Let it go as it will,  
We are Citizens still,  
And free to this side, or that  
We may prate, and may Vote,  
But when it comes to't,  
We'll be true to no body knows what.   

31.  
But this we see plain  
'Twas for honour and gain  
That we at the first did fall out,  
And were not public lands  
Got in private men's hands  
The times would soon turn about.   

33.  
And now we do find,  
These Saints in their kind,  
Those are mad that to aid them in flocks come,  
And he that will fight  
To keep us all from our right  
Shall be chronicled for a Coxcomb.    

The RUMP Dockt.  

TIll it be understood  
What is under Monck's Hood,  
The City dare not show his horns:  
Till ten days be out,  
The Speaker's sick of the Gout,  
And the Rump doth sit upon thorns.   

If Monck be turned Scot,  
The Rump goes to pot,  
And the Good Old Cause will miscarry;  
Like coals out of embers,  
Revive the Old Members:  
Off goes the Rump, like Dick and Harry.   

Then In come the Lords,  
Who drew Parliament Swords,  
With Robes lined through with Ermine;  
But Peers without Kings  
Are very useless things,  
And their Lordships counted but Vermin.   

Now Morley and Fag  
May be put in a bag,  
And that doughty Man Sir Arthur,  
In despair of his Foil,  
With Alderman Hoyle,  
Will become a Knight of the Garter.   

That Knave in Grain  
Sir Harry Vane  
His Case then most men's is sadder;  
There is little hope  
He can scape the rope,  
For the Rump turned him o'er the Ladder.   

That precious Saint Scot  
Shall not be forgot,  
According to his own desires;  
Instead of Neck-verse  
Shall have it writ on his Hearse,  
Here hangs one of the King's Tryers.   

Those nine sons of Mars,  
That whipped the Rumps Arse,  
I mean the Commanders Warlike;  
If the Rump smell strong  
With hanging too long,  
Shall serve to stuff it with Garlic.   

That parcel of man  
In length but a span,  
Whose wife's Eggs always are addle  
Must quit the Lifeguard,  
As he did when scared  
By Lambert out of the saddle.   

Lambert may now turn Florist,  
Being come off the poorest  
That ever did Man of the Sword:  
The Rump let a Fart  
Which took away his heart,  
And made him a Equire of a Lord.   

His Cheshire glory  
Is a pitiful story,  
There the Saints triumphed without battle;  
But now Monck and his Friars  
Have driven him into the Briers,  
As he did Booth and his Cattle.   

For the rest of the Rump,  
Together in a Lump,  
'Tis too late to cry, Peccavi;  
Ye have sinned all or most  
Against the Holy Ghost,  
And therefore the Devil must have ye.   

But now valiant City,  
Whether must thy Ditty  
Be sung in Verse, or in Prose,  
For till the Rump stunk  
For fear of Monck,  
Thy Militia durst not show its Nose.   

Base Cowards and Knaves,  
That first made us Slaves,  
Very Rascals from the beginning;  
Only unto Monks Sword  
The Nation must afford  
The honour of bringing the King in.    

Arsy Versy, or The Second Martyrdom of the RUMP.  
To the Tune of The Blind Beggar of bednal-green.  

1.  
MY Muse, to prevent lest an after-clap come,  
If the wind should once more turn about for the Bum,  
As a preface of honour, and not as a frump,  
First with a Sirreverence ushers the Rump,   

2.  
I shall not dispute whether Long-tails of Kent,  
Or Papist this name of disgrace did invent;  
Whose Legend of lies, do defame us the more,  
Hath entailed on us Rumps ne'er heard on before.   

3.  
But now on its Pedigree longer to think,  
(For the more it is stirred the more it will stink)  
'Tis agreed the Rumps first report in the Town  
Did arise from the wooden invention of Brown.   

4.  
Old Oliver's nose had taken in snuff,  
When it sat long ago, some unsavoury puff;  
Then up went the Rump, and was firked to the quick,  
But it settled in spite of the teeth of poor Dick.   

5.  
Then the Knight of the Pestle, King Lambert, and Vane,  
With a Sceptre of Iron did over it reign:  
But the Rump soon resettled, and to their disgrace,  
Like Excrements voided them out of the place.   

6.  
It did now, like a Truant's well-disciplined Bum,  
With the rod of affliction harder become;  
Or else like the Image in Daniel it was,  
Whose Head was of Gold, but whose Tail was of brass.   

7.  
It endured the first heat, and proved no starter,  
But sung in the midst of the flames like a Martyr,  
And whisked the Tail like a terrible Farter,  
And sounded most cheerfully, Vive Sir Arthur.   

8.  
But the next fire Ordeal put into a dump,  
Sir Orlando the furious chief joint of the Rump,  
That he looked like the picture of Richard the Third▪  
Or like an ejected and frost-bitten T—   

9  
'Tis said that his Durindana he drew,  
And a Wight on the Road most manfully slew?  
But, pardoned by Charles, made good what they tell us,  
How ill 'tis to save a thief from the Gallows.   

10.  
Being now to be burned, he soon did expire,  
For he was but a flash, and would quickly take fire,  
So that their fuel upon him to spend,  
What was it but Coals to Newcastle to send?   

11.  
To bring 'em to th' stake as in order they lie,  
Harry Martin the next place must occupy;  
'Twas expected in vain he should blaze, for he swore,  
That he had been burnt to the stumps before.   

12.  
Tom Scot for the Bum most stiffly did stand▪  
Though once by a Bum he was foully trapand;  
But time and his office of Secretary  
Had learned him his Business more private to carry   

13.  
Some thought he arrived at his dignity first,  
By being so well in iniquity versed,  
The mystery of which he hath practised of late  
In his Function, which was, to be Bawd to the State.   

14.  
Hob Morley in silence did suffer the loss  
Of his Rump, and with patience took up the Cross,  
That to see him so singed and so scorched you would swear  
No Camel more meekly his burden could bear.   

15.  
The Speaker was thought to the Rump to be true,  
Because like a Fart at first he burned blue;  
But straight he was cunningly seen to retire,  
For ●ear to endanger the Rolls in the fire.   

16.  
St. John a mortal of flesh and of blood,  
Swore by St. 
* H● hath a great kindness for that Saint, not because of his Keys, (which he knew he should never make use of) but in reference to Peterborough Minster, the stones of which built his new house  Peter the example was good:  
So facing about and shifting his station,  
He turned o'er a new leaf in St. John's Revelations.   

17.  
Harry Nevil that looks like a Mahomet's pigeon,  
Accused to be of a State-mans' Religion,  
Is left to his choice what process he'll have,  
To be burnt for an Atheist, or hanged for a Knave.   

18.  
Now stop thy Nose reader, for Atkins doth come,  
That shame to the Breeches as well as the Bum.  
To wish he was burnt were an idle desire,  
For he comes provided to shit out the fire.   

19  
But lest he without a Companion should be,  
Here's Lisle that comes next stinks worse than he;  
So foully corrupt, you may placed in your Creed,  
Such a Rump could alone such a Fistula breed.   

20.  
Poor Ludlow was bogged in Ireland of late,  
And to purge himself came to the Rump of the State;  
But gravely they told him he had acted amiss,  
When he sought to betray the Rump with a kiss.   

21.  
Ned Harby was sure an herb John in the pot,  
Yet could he not scape the disastrous lot:  
Scarce Churched of the Gout was the trusty old Squire,  
But he hoped from the Frying-pan into the fire.   

22  
Robin Andrews was laid on last as they tell us,  
For a log to keep down the rest of his fellows;  
Though he spent on the City, like one of the Roisters,  
Each morning his 
* Some Authors hold that it was but three half pence, but Poetry will not admit broken number.  two pence in Sack and in Oysters.   

23  
Next Praise-God, although of the Rump he was none,  
Was for his Petition burnt to the Bare-bone:  
So Praise-God & Rump, like true joseph's together,  
Did suffer; but Praise-God lost the more 
* Courteous Reader, he is a Leather seller.  leather:   

24  
There's Lawson another dag-lock of the tail,  
That the water to avoid, to the water did sail;  
And in Godly simplicity means (as they say)  
To manage the Stern, though the Rump's out of play.   

25.  
But Overton most with wonder doth seize us,  
By securing of Hull for no less than Christ Jesus,  
Hoping (as it by the story appears)  
To be there his Lieutenant for one thousand years.   

26.  
Lord Mounson? Oh Venus! what do you here?  
I little thought you were a Rumper I swear:  
But an impotent Lord will thus far avail,  
He will serve for a Cloak to cover the tail.   

27.  
To burnish his Star Mr. Salisburie's come,  
With the Atmos of gold that fall from the Bum;  
Sure 'twas but a Meteor, for I must tell ye,  
It smelled as 'twere turning to th' Alderman's jelly.   

28.  
Brother Pembroke comes last, and does not disdain  
Thou despised by the world, to bear up the train:  
But after New-lights so long he did run,  
That they brought him to 
* Not Bethlehem in Juda (for he is none of the Magis)  Bethlehem before they had done.   

29.  
Thus the Foxes of Samson that carried a brand  
In their tails, to destroy and to burn up the land;  
In the flames they had kindled themselves to expire,  
And the Devil give them Brimstone unto their fire.    

A Christmas Song, when the RUMP was first dissolved.  
To the Tune of I tell the Dick.  

THis Christmas time, 'tis fit that we  
Should Feast and Sing and merry be  
It is a time of mirth;  
For never since the world began,  
More joyful news was brought to man,  
Then at our Saviour's birth.   

But such have been these times of late,  
That Holy days are out of date,  
And holiness to boot;  
For they that do despise, and scorn  
To keep the day that Christ was born,  
Want holiness no doubt.   

That Parliament that took away  
The observation of that day,  
We know it was not free;  
For if it had, such Acts as those  
Had ne'er been seen in verse or prose,  
You may conclude with me.   

'Twas that Assembly did maintain  
'Twas Law to kill their Sovereign,  
Who by that Law must die,  
Though God's anointed ones are such,  
Which Subjects should not dare to touch,  
Much less to Crucify.   

'Twas that which turned our Bishops out  
Of house and home both branch and root,  
And gave no reason why▪  
And all our Clergy did expel,  
That would not do like that Rebel.  
This no man can deny.   

It was that Parliament that took  
Out of our Churches our Service Book,  
A Book without compare;  
And made God's house, (to all our griefs)  
That house of Prayer, a Deu of Thiefs,  
Both here and every where.   

They had no head for many years  
Nor heart (I mean the House of Peers)  
And yet it did not dyes  
Of these long since it was bereft,  
And nothing but the Tail was left,  
You know't as well as I.   

And in this Tail there was a tongue,  
Lenthall I mean, whose fame hath wrung  
In Country and in City;  
Not for his worth or eloquence,  
●t for a Rebel to his Prince,  
And neither wise nor witty.   

This Speakers words must needs be wind,  
Since they proceeded from behind;  
Besides, you may remember,  
From thence no Act could be discreet,  
Nor could the sense o'th' House be sweet,  
Where Atkins was a Member.   

This tale's now done, the Speakers dumb,  
Thanks to the Trumpet and the Drum;  
And now I hope to see  
A Parliament that will restore  
All things that were undone before,  
That we may Christians be.    

Bum-Fodder: or, Waste-Paper, proper to wipe the Nations RUMP with▪ or your Own.  

FRee Quarter in the North is grown so scarce,  
That Lambert with all his men of Mars,  
Have submitted to kiss the Parliaments Arse,  
Which no body can deny.   

If this should prove true (as we do suppose)  
'Tis such a wipe as the RUMP and all's Foes  
Could never give to Old oliver's Nose,  
Which no body can deny.   

There's a Proverb come to my mind not unfit,  
When the Head shall see the RUMP all be-shit,  
Sure this must prove a most lucky hit,  
Which, etc.   

There is another proverb which every Noddy,  
Will jeer the RUMP with, and cry Hoddy-doddy  
Here's a Parliament all Arse and no Body,  
Which, etc.   

'tis a likely matter the World will mend  
When so much blood and Treasure we spend,  
And yet begin at the wrong end,  
Which, etc.   

We have been round, and round about twirled  
And through much sad confusion hurled,  
And now we are got into the Arse of the World,  
Which, etc.   

But 'tis not all this our courage will quail,  
Or make the brave Seamen to the RUMP strike sail,  
If we can have no head we will have no tail,  
Which, etc.   

Then let a Free Parliament be turned trump,  
And ne'er think any longer the Nation to mump  
With your pocky, perjured, damned old RUMP,  
Which, etc.   

But what doth Rebel RUMP make here,  
When their proper place (as W— P— doth swear)  
●t the Devil's Arse in Derb●shire.  
Which, etc.   

Then thither let us send them a tilt,  
For if they stay longer, they will us beguilt  
With a Government that is loose in the hilt,  
Which, etc.   

You'll find it set down in the Harrington's Moddle  
Whose Brains a Commonwealth doth so coddle,  
That 't has made a Rotation in his Noddle,  
Which, etc.   

'Tis a pitiful pass you men of the Sword  
Have brought yourselves to, that the Rum●'s your Lord,  
And Arsie Versie must be the word,  
Which, etc.   

Our Powder and Shot you did freely spend,  
That the Head you might from the Body rend,  
And now you are at Wars with the Butt-end,  
Which, etc.   

Old Martin and Scot have all such an itch,  
That they will with the Rump try t'other twitch,  
And Lenthal can grease a fat Sow in the Britch,  
Which, etc.   

That's a thing would please the Butchers and Cooks,  
To see this stinking Rump quite off the hooks,  
And Jackdaw go to pot with the Rooks,  
Which, etc.   

This froward Sir John (who the Rump did ne'er fail)  
Against Charles Stuart in a Speech did rail,  
But men say it was without head or tail,  
Which, etc.   

Just such is the Government we live under,  
Of a Parliament thrice cut in sunder;  
And this hath made us the World's wonder,  
Which, etc.   

Old Noll when we talked of Magna Charta,  
Did prophesy well we should all smart-a;  
And now we have found his Rump's Magna Fart-a,  
Which, etc.   

But I cannot think Monk (though a Soldier and Sloven)  
To be kin to the Fiend whose feet are cloven,  
Nor will creep i' th' Rumps Arse to bake in their Oven,  
Which, etc.   

Then since he is coming, e'en let him come  
From the North to the South, with Sword and Drum,  
To beat up the Quarters of this lewd Bum,  
Which, etc.   

And now of this Rump I'll say no more,  
Nor had I begun, but upon this score,  
There was something behind, which was not before.  
Which, etc.    

A Vindication of the RUMP: or The RUMP Re-advanced.  
To the Tune of Up tails all.  

FUll many a Ballad hath been Penned,  
And scoffing Poem writ  
Against the RUMP; but I intent  
To speak in Praise of it.  
Come Jove and Apollo, come Venu● and Mars,  
And lend your assistance: to speak of the A—  
Will require a prodigious wit,   

There's scarce a Lady to be found  
That loves either Pear or Plum  
One half so well, if she be sound,  
As tabering at her B—  
It may be, you'll say, I'm wide of the Case,  
Since that music's made in a distant place:  
I answer the breadth of your Thumb.   

When Alderman Atkins did bemar  
His Hose through a Panic fear,  
And Captain Rea that man of War,  
Oh! what a Hogo was there?  
If you ask me, what praise is in this? at a word,  
The Captain so sensed himself by a T—  
That his Enemies could not come near.   

There is not a Lawyer in Country or Town,  
Whose Rhetoric doth prevail,  
Although he hath purchased Fee simple by th' Gown,  
But loves to be dealing in Tail;  
And I may well swear by Apollo or Mars,  
That at a Place called, the Oven's Arse,  
Oft times I have drunk good Ale.   

And when you are dallying with a young Maid,  
Would you not her Buttocks bethump?  
And I have been often well paid  
With a Goose both fat and plump:  
The Body being eaten, we strive for the Tail,  
Each man with his Kan'kn of nappy brown Ale,  
Doth box it about for the RUMP.   

The RUMP of a Coney I often have seen  
Most piteously clawed by a Ferret,  
And a Capon's Rump is a bit for a Queen,  
Although she's a Person of merit.  
In preaching and praying who spends the whole day,  
At night keeps a Rump wherewithal for to play,  
Be he never so full of the spirit.   

I wonder who first called the Parliament RUMP,  
Some say, that it was Jack Hobby,  
And some, fiery P— good wits will jump;  
Now I write not this to bob ye,  
But only to tell ye that good Mr. P—  
For all that he's cropped, yet he could not get in,  
But was fain to remain in the Lobby▪   

The other day I was going in haste,  
(To think on't it grieves my heart)  
I saw a poor Fellow all naked to the waste,  
And whipped at the Arse of a Cart:  
His Rump ('tis true) suffered the Rout. But I would  
Fain know who it was, that durst be so hold,  
As to call Mr. Speaker Sir F—   

He might as well have styled him Anus,  
Since he was the mouth of the RUMP.  
As cunning a Fox as Rome's Sejanus:  
But I do not love for to frump;  
Or else I could tell ye, my Friends, to an Ace,  
What good can accrue to the Land by a Mace,  
As long as the Knave's the great'st Trump,   

Our zealous sticklers for Reformation  
Will edify on the Rump of a Sister,  
And it will never grow out of fashion  
To Physic the Tail with a Glister.  
But beware that Monk doth not come with a bitter  
Purge to the Rump which will make her beshit her  
For she hath already bepissed her.    

The RUMP roughly but righteously handled: In a New Ballad.  
To the Tune of Cook Laurel.  

1.  
MOre Sacks to the Mill, here comes a fresh Wit,  
That means without Mittens (as you shall see)  
To handle a RUMP that's all to beshit,  
Sirreverence of the Company.   

2.  
And let other sinners that love a whole skin,  
Keep out of my reach for fear of a Stone;  
For I'm like the Hangman, who (when's hand was in)  
Said he had as good truss up forty as one.   

3.  
First I'll tell you whence this Rump-regnant came,  
When England to Faction and Schism was bend,  
By means of long peace to settle the same,  
Our noble King summoned a Parliament.   

4.  
A Parliament which may make old men grieve,  
And Children that ne'er shall be born complain;  
I mean such as died before they did live,  
Like Harrington's Rota or th' Engine of Vane.   

5.  
This Parliament, like a wild skitish Tit,  
Unmanned and unbacked, and unapt to obey,  
Would let neither Prince, Peer, nor Prelate sit,  
Yet stammeled nosed OLIVER smelled out a way.   

6.  
With Pistol and Musket he brought the Beast under,  
And awed it so much, and so far did prevail,  
That tamely he dockt it, and (to all men's wonder)  
He cast off the Colt and saddled the Tail:   

7  
Which shortly began to kick at's Command,  
And restive it grew, and left its true pacing,  
Which made him resolve on his own Legs to stand,  
And turn the RUMP out of the stable a grazing.   

8.  
The Red-coats, with breath like my Lady's Bumblast,  
This Parliament-snuff blew twice out and in;  
But North and West-winds will so out it at last,  
That nought but Hell fire shall light it again.   

9  
Though now they tempt Monk with a 1000 per annum,  
In hopes that to worship, his face he'll fall flat on;  
Yet he's wise enough to resist and disdain 'em,  
And cry, Get behind me, thou Bob-tail of Satan.   

10.  
Right pat with St. George's this Story will jump,  
Poor England's the Damsel appointed for slaughter,  
And Monk the St. George to kill Dragon RUMP,  
And safely restore to the King his fair Daughter.   

11.  
The Rump thus in gross no more shall be played on,  
But now I will whet my Pen (if it please ye)  
To joint it, & show what foul parts it is made on,  
God grant that our Stomaches prove not over-queasie.   

12.  
Here's Lenthal once Mouth to the Parliaments mind,  
Though he at length acted the Fundament's part,  
Whose Speech was not breaking of Silence but Wind,  
And's giving the Thanks of the House, but a Fart.   

13.  
But many I find this Opinion are firm in,  
That he has no real distemper at all,  
But feigns it; and like a Prophetical Vermin,  
Runs from an old House that is ready to fall.   

14.  
If Ludlow the state of Grace he had been in,  
And kept himself safe fro' th' Committee of Safety,  
For's Father's sake, Deputy Fart he had been,  
Instead of the Frost, they call Say the crafty.   

15.  
Next comes the Rump's Gad-fly, the Jehu-like driver,  
King-abjuring ARTHUR; Sir, you (if I ken you)  
O' th' Bishop's uriah-like fall were Contriver,  
To get the fair Bersheba of their Revenue.   

16.  
But 'twas a more carnal concupiscence,  
That at Bristol-Vicaridge set you a neighing,  
Which you enjoyed and occupied in the sense  
Which puts pretty Maids to pishing and fying.   

17.  
Nay you like the Trojan-Adulterer swore,  
To those that once saved you from the King's Fury,  
That rather than Helen of Duresm restore,  
Their Troynovant in its own ashes you'd bury.   

18.  
But I dare no farther his passion provoke  
For fear of a prejudice which it may do me  
For with his own Choler should he chance to choke,  
The Hangman in Action of Trespass might sue me.   

19  
Then have at Sir Harry the Interest Refiner,  
Who's not of the Church, but Society of JESUS,  
And can make Divinity's Self-Diviner,  
And model new Heavens, and new Earth's to please us.   

20.  
'Twas he that injected the sublimd matter  
To late Lady Lambert, and she to th' Squire,  
Which made him Protector, and Parliament-hater,  
And to be fifth Monarch devoutly aspire.   

21.  
Like Grub from Sheep's tails, since the Rump doth him throw,  
He'll creep to some placket of Sanctification,  
And come forth a Flesh-fly next Summer, and blow  
New Maggots in's Church, of more whimsical fashion.   

22.  
Methinks in his eyes the waters do gather,  
As if the Lord strafford's Death troubled his sight;  
Perhaps he reputes and means (like his Father)  
Even in his own Garter to do his Ghost right.   

23.  
There goes the twice treacherous Bankrupt Salloway  
From Westminster Wolves, to Tower Lions bound,  
'Cause he from one Treason to another did fall away,  
And will fall again, but not quite to the ground.   

24.  
The next is a Politic Penman that got-land  
By's Knavery more than his Birth, and 'tis his-hope  
That Lambeth shall ever and ever be Scot-land,  
And seat of an Arch-one, but not of a Bishop.   

25.  
Here's Nevil (who to be made in Scot's stead  
A State-Secretary) did practise a New art,  
To th' Office, (by Letters unto the House read)  
He courted himself in the name of Charles Stuart▪   

26.  
Now see with a POX, where Martin comes on,  
The seed of corrupt and sinful Loins,  
Who a worthy had been, if as near Solomon  
In Wisdom, as number of Concubines.   

27.  
If in utter darkness there should be a failing  
Of Horror, the Rump may furnish it with  
Squire Fleetwood to help out the weeping and wailing,  
And Sir William Brereton for gnashing of teeth.   

28.  
Now Mildmay, and Whitlock, and Lisle I might call in,  
And Master Lord Salisbury (from Noble house  
Who seems not descended, so much as down fallen)  
And others, which well may serve a fresh Muse.   

29.  
And now the Rump's set in the Salt, and Monck  
Hath offered full fairly his own for to make it,  
But finding himself by the Devil out-drunk,  
He honestly cries, Nay then let him take it.   

30.  
But for 'em when hence they go, (such were their follies)  
Above nor beneath, there no quiet place is,  
King Charles' in Heaven, in Hell Tyrant NOL is,  
Who (as God used Fleetwood) will spit in their faces.   

31.  
Now mark what sweet Morsels Hell swallowed of late,  
There's Cromwell, and Prideaux, and Bradshaw, and there's  
He that made Old Nick (when he entered his Gate)  
Cry, Oh my Bon Pride, are you there with your Bears?   

32.  
And now I no longer will rake in this sink,  
But shortly the RUMP is for Tyburn, and then  
I'll tell you more of it; but you (as I think)  
Do now stop your Noses, and I'll stop my Pen.    

The She-Citizens Delight.  
To the Tune of Cuckolds all a Row.  

YOu Cow-hearted Citizens  
What is your damned pretence,  
To keep yourselves within your beds▪  
And not fight for your Prince;  
Whose Majesty should you behold,  
Your shame will breed your woe,  
And then like fools you will cry out▪  
Cuckolds all a row.   

There's some of you whose Bishops Lands  
Do so much clog their heels,  
That now they cannot stir, whereas  
Else would they run on wheels:  
But yet I hope a time will come  
When you shall be made know,  
And told unto their faces that  
You're Cuckolds all a row.   

But yet for one most reverend Act  
You are to be commended,  
That through your Ramshead zeal you have  
Your Brother Rump Befriended,  
To seat them in the Parliament House,  
Their wisdoms forth to show,  
But they and you are all alike  
Cuckolds all a row.   

But I advise you set this RUMP  
In salt for fear of stinking,  
'Twill fall unto the Devil's share,  
Because 'tis his by drinking;  
In spite of all their Acts and Laws  
he'll car' them down below,  
Then Hell and City all alike  
Cuckolds all a row.   

Alas poor Lambert is undone,  
And now he may go Preach,  
Since 'tis the English Al-a-mode  
For every Rogue to Teach;  
He'll nose it bravely in a Tub,  
And let his Brethren know  
That they are Damned unless they dip  
Cuckolds all a row.   

But where's your mighty Fleetwood now,  
His honor'● worn to th' stump,  
He'll serve Ambassador to hell  
To make room for the Rump,  
And thus King-killers one by one  
Shall to the Devil go  
Upon the City Asses pack  
Cuckolds all a row.   

And now Cow-hearts look to your shops,  
The Red-coats will you fright,  
And plunder you because they know  
Your horns hang in your light;  
Not matter, for you have been the cause  
Of all the Kingdoms woe,  
And do deserve still to be called  
Cuckolds all a row.   

But if that you would honest grow,  
And do a glorious thing,  
Which is to rouse and take your Arms,  
And fight for Charles our King;  
Which Act your Credits will regain,  
And all the World shall know  
That you shall then no more be called  
Cuckolds all a row.    

The RUMP Carbonadoed: or A New BALLAD.  
To the Tune of the Blacksmith.  

LEnd me your ears, not cropped, and I'll sing  
Of an hideous Monster, or Parliament thing,  
That City and Country doth woefully wring,  
Which no body can deny.   

Take care that no Sectary be in this place,  
For if you offend the least Babe of Grace,  
The Rump will be ready to fly in your face,  
Which, etc.   

They framed a Remonstrance, to set all on fire,  
Which took with the People, as they did desire,  
And forced them to Covenant that they would conspire,  
Which, etc.   

No sooner exalted was Essex his horn,  
But God's law, and man's too the Cuckold did scorn,  
To ruin our Country this Rebel was born,  
Which, etc.   

Take Warwick along, if company you lack,  
No Admiral like an old Puritan Jack,  
A verier Knave you can't find in the Pack,  
Which, etc.   

These armed with Commissions by Sea and by Land,  
Did send forth their forces the King to withstand,  
Till of all that was good they had soon made an hand,  
Which, etc.   

In glory and wealth, we once so abounded,  
And were in Religion so thoroughly grounded,  
That none could have shattered us thus but the Roundhead,  
Which, etc.   

Which plucked down the King, the Church and the Laws,  
To set up an Idol, then Nicknamed the Cause,  
Like Bell and Dragon to gorge their own Maws,  
Which, etc.   

They banished all Royalists out of the Line,  
And scarce would endure to hear any Divine,  
That would not for company cog, lie, and whine,  
Which, etc.   

So frantically zealous they were at that season,  
That the five rotten Members impeached of High Treason,  
They guarded against all Right, Law and Reason,  
Which, etc.   

Will fool was counted the worst of the twain,  
Till Tom fool Lord F— the Cause to maintain,  
His Honour and Conscience did fearfully slain,  
Which, etc.   

Sir William at Run-away-downs had a bout,  
Which him and his Lobsters did totally rout,  
And his Lady the Conqueror could not help him out,  
Which, etc.   

Though General B— do now fawn and beseech,  
The Cavaliers found him a bloodsucking Leech,  
He would seem a Convert, but he stinks of the Breech,  
Which, etc.   

All will confess that Saint Oliver Cromwell  
Had learned in his Reign the three Nations to cumwell,  
Although it be true that he did love a Bum-well,  
Which, etc.   

But young Dick and Harry, not his Heirs but his Brats:  
As if they had less wit and grace than Gib-Cats,  
Slunk from their Commands like a pair of drowned Rats,  
Which, etc.   

The sound of a Rump ne'er heard of before,  
In their addle pates did so whistle and roar,  
That straight they betook themselves to the back door,  
Which, etc.   

When Haslerig of the Rump brought up the rear,  
The Army was in such a bodily fear,  
That no one commander durst ever appear,  
Which, etc.   

Down goes the Public, when Knaves usurp Power,  
The Rump by one Ordinance can more men devour,  
Than all the great Guns shot from the Tower,  
Which, etc.   

Pennington long since was broken to fitters,  
Yet fits with the Rump of Sects to Pig-litters;  
And such as come near him, he all to besquitters,  
Which, etc.   

If Alderman Atkins you keep not in mind,  
he'll take it so ill, that he'll fly out behind,  
And make you remember with every wind,  
Which, etc.   

Titchborn could preach, pray and prate by the Spirit,  
And Ireton little better, who ranged like a Ferret●  
And Tyburn thinks long to give them their merit,  
Which, etc.   

Lord Gourney was right, whom the City betrayed;  
Now the City would be right, were the Mayor not a Jade:  
Till such as he be made examples, ne'er look for better Trade,  
Which, etc.   

ne'er did any Nation so court their own good,  
As we have all offers of mercy withstood,  
God's judgement on our rapine, and shedding of blood,  
Which, etc.   

All wise men and good, say it is a mischievous fate,  
A Kingdom to turn to a Popular State;  
Yet we'll take no warning until it be too late:  
Which, etc.   

A desperate crew of self-seeking Elves,  
Do wilfully force us on quicklands and shelves;  
This we see, yet we seek not to safeguard ourselves,  
Which, etc.   

For when the poor Cits are plundered by force,  
Their grievances find as little remorse  
I'th' man-beast, the Mayor as in his great horse,  
Which, etc.   

The Rump yet fits brooding upon their close stool  
In labour to bring forth a Knave or a Fool;  
Begotten by a new Legislative Tool,  
Which, etc.   

Sir Henry Vane Prince of the last modelled rout,  
Was known as a Traitor, both cunning and stout,  
Yet for being too rampant the Rump shit him out,  
Which, etc.   

James Harrington Knight or Knave, choose you whether,  
For in the Rump still Knight and Knave go together,  
The times cannot mend till he's tied to his tether,  
Which, etc.   

Harry Martin and Scot with some thirty eight more  
Are resolved on the question to keep us all poor,  
Whilst they have the power to Plunder and Whore,  
Which, etc.   

Who can gainsay that it was a strong fart,  
Which blew the Lord Disborough back to his Cart,  
And taught silly Fleetwood of crying the Art,  
Which, etc.   

'Tis pity that Hewson the Lord should have died  
For piercing his Brother, the Cobler's Hide,  
Since the word of Command came from his blind side,  
Which, etc.   

Luke Robinson wants both his Bristles and Awl  
To stitch up his lame Leg, and help him to crawl,  
Who downright hath halted betwixt God and Baal,  
Which, etc.   

The Prentices once put the Troupers to flight,  
And the Red-coats for fear than were ready to shit,  
When Lambert the Atheist marched Northward to fight,  
Which, etc.   

The Greeks that sack Troy from the Belly did come  
Of Epriis his Horse; but with Musket and Drum  
The War among us is carried on by the Bum,  
Which, etc.   

Jack Presbyter struts up and down in a jump,  
Curtailed on purpose for fear lest the Rump  
Should sit on his skirts and give him a thump,  
Which, etc.   

Instead of an Use of divine Consolation,  
The Hypocrite published a late Exhortation,  
To trapan this poor City, and beggar the Nation,  
Which, etc.   

For what is called Christian, it is no great matter,  
So they may but gather, they care not who scatter;  
They cannot be gifted unless they do flatter,  
Which, etc.   

Since Charles was beheaded we have backward gone,  
And now are brought even to the bare Rump-bone,  
Which speaks in no other but Atkins his tone,  
Which, etc.   

'Tis hard to say, how much these Arse-wormes do urge us,  
We now need no Quack but these Jacks for to purge us,  
For resisting our Head the Tail now doth scourge us,  
Which, etc.   

Lenthal now Lords it though the Rabble him mock,  
In calling him Speaker, and Speaker to the Dock,  
For an hundred pound more he'll kiss their very Nock,  
Which, &c▪   

And now if we crave but a Parliament Free,  
We are sure to feel Plunder, or Prison to see;  
They'll gore us, and bore us, & slaves we must be,  
Which, etc.   

We are sensible now, that there is no one thing,  
Can full satisfaction to all Interest bring,  
Till in spite of all Traitors, we fetch in the King,  
Which, etc.   

Monk like the Oracle plays fast and loose;  
We know not yet, whether he's a Fox or a Goose,  
He had need look about him, for his neck's in a noose,  
Which, etc.   

Then to conclude this innocent Song,  
Lest the Rump should infect you, which smelleth so strong:  
Old Old Nick bless them all, and take them e'er long,  
Which no body can deny.    

A Psalm sung by the People before the Bonfires, made in and about the City of London, Febr: 11.  
To the Tune of Up tails all.  

COme let's take the Rump  
And wash it at the Pump,  
For 'tis now in a shitten Case:  
Nay if it hang an Arse,  
we'll pluck it down the stairs,  
And roast it at Hell for its grease.   

Let the Devil be the Cook,  
And the roast overlook,  
And lick his own fingers apace;  
For that may be born,  
(if he take it not in scorn  
To lick such a privy place.)   

Though we are bereft  
Of our Arms, Spits are left,  
Whereon the Rump we will roast;  
we'll prick it in the Tail,  
And baste it with a flail,  
Till it stink like a Cole-burnt Toast.   

It hath lain long in brine,  
Made by the People's eyen,  
So 'tis salt through unsavoury meat;  
we'll draw it round about  
With Welsh Parsley, and no doubt  
It will choke Pluto's great Dog to eat.   

We will not be mocked,  
This Rump hath been dockt,  
And if our skill doth not fail;  
To fear it is good,  
Or else all the blood  
In the Body, will leak out at the Tail.   

Then down in your Ire,  
With this Rump to the fire,  
Get Harrington's Rota to turn it;  
If Paper be lacked,  
The Assessment Act  
You may stick upon'● lest ye burn it.   

But see there my Masters  
It rises in blisters,  
And looks very big on the matter;  
Like a roasting Pigs ear;  
It sings, do ye hear?  
'Tis enough, come quickly the Platter.   

Lay Trenchers and Cloth,  
And away bring the Erot●,  
Did the Devil o' th' Fag-end make none;  
But hold, by your leave  
Napkins we must have  
To wipe our mouths when we have done.   

Come Ladies pray where?  
Will you none of our Cheer?  
Are ye of such a squeamish nature?  
Pray what is the reason?  
Are Rumps out of season?  
But 'tis an abuse to the Creature.   

Come we'll fall on,  
Pray cut me a Bone,  
The Meat may be healthful and sound;  
Faugh! come let us bury●t,  
To th' hole we must carry't,  
This Rump it stinks above ground.   

This Fire we'll style  
The Funeral pile,  
The Grave shall be under the Gallows;  
The Vane shall be th' Scull  
Of some Traitorous Fool,  
And the Epitaph shall be as follows;   

Underneath the Stones  
A Rump-Corporate's bones,  
Are laid full low in a sink,  
And we do implore ye  
Let them rest, for the more ye  
Do stir them, the more they will stink.    

A Display of the Headpiece and Codpiece Valour, of the most Renowned Colonel Robert Jermy, late of Bafield in the County of Norfolk, Esq with his Son Captain Toll by his side; now on their way for New-England. Or, the lively description of a dead-hearted fellow.  
To the Tune of a Turd, or the Blacksmith.  

DId you ne'er hear of the Baby of Mars,  
That charged Fox's wife with a Tars,  
For his valour lies all in his Arse,  
Which needs must be very strong.   

A sanctify'd Colonel in beaten Buff,  
With a Scarlet Jump that's 
(1) Cudgelled by Mr. Armiger at Wells in Norfolk, Novemb. 4. 1654.  Cudgel-proof;  
And his Son 
(2) Ran away six miles at Crowland Siege, and ne'er locked behind him.  Crowland Coward of the selfsame stuff,  
Who got the Wench big with young. Probatum est.   

He's a Journeyman Soldier to the State's Army,  
And 'tis in his terms, When you fight you must spare me:  
So runs the Commission of Colonel Jermy,  
If I be informed true.   

Upon a Mock-Larm he's sure in the Van,  
Where he takes none, and does no more hurt than he can.  
He's a pitiful Soldier, though a cruel man,  
Let's give the Devil his due,   

To sacrifice to his fears and his pride,  
He caused a 
(1) He caused Parson Cooper to be ha●●'d by Judge jermy, for fear he should beat him.  Church-Champion be murdered and tried  
By the Judge of his name, and the Rope on his side;  
'Tis Pity they ever were parted.   

Yet you cannot but say 'twas very well meant,  
When he went to the House of Parliament,  
In love to his Country before he was sent,  
In a Coach, when he might have been Carted.   

You must always take the goodwill for the deed,  
Though at 
(2) He corrupted twenty free Burgherr at Risen, to give their Votes for h●m in the last Election for Parliament.  Pisen he had not the luck to speed;  
Yet some other place may have very great need,  
If the Devil release but his hire.   

So dear was his love that he 
(1) He hired 100 men to come with him to LYN with swords and guns, for fear Mr. HOWARD, and his two men should beat him.  purchased a throng  
Of Seamen, in Lice and Lungs very strong.  
Sure he will be some body ere it be long,  
If he be not laid in the mire.   

How the Sailors did hollow and throw up their Hats,  
And the men with wide mouths that used to cry Sprats;  
But the brave Spark of Arundel made them look like drowned Rats,  
When he 
(2) Mr. Howard gave him a box on the ear with the back of his hand, and he fell to the ground with fear.  humbled Tom T●ll for his sin.   

That highborn Hero had cudgelled their Swords,  
Had they not almost expired at his words;  
But the whole design was not worth two half-Turds,  
Though you throw the 
(3) Justice Cremar, Justice Peddar, and Justice Life.  three Justices in.   

In his last good service he 
(4) He took the City of Norwich when the Gates were open, and no opposition.  took the City,  
By an Order from the mistaken Committee,  
Where he scaped a scouring, the more was the pity;  
For 'twas foul when you've said what you can.   

He marched into the Gates with an hundred more,  
O brave! he ne'er did the like before;  
For he used to sneak in at the 
(5) Mrs. Foxe's back door.  back door,  
As becomes a right modest man.   

When they entered the Town they beleaguered the Mayor,  
And with wonderful courage they stormed the Chair;  
But they soon were all soul, and ran very fair,  
As if they'd been bred for the Course.   

For the 
(1) The Bells were rung backward, which alarmed the City, wh● came in and had beat him, if he had not run away upon the noise of it.  Bells were rung backward, as he says his Prayers,  
And his head went forward with his haste down the stairs,  
Like a man of dispatch in the State-affairs,  
Thank Fortune it was no worse.   

'Tis much to be wondered he should leave the Rump,  
Though his love to that end has received a Law frump,  
But that is his god whatever is Trump;  
Yet his Spirit now was blind.   

Had the Rump but once fizled, 'twas the strongest side,  
But a Fart has so routed his Troop in their pride,  
Though infallible 
(2) Iermy's Chaplain that prays, and swears, and fights, and lies for him in ordinary.  Butler was his guide,  
That they are both blown down the wind.   

Yet that would be thought a true 
(1) Let us show ourselves true English men, is his usual saying  Englishman,  
Let him make true Latin if he can;  
Yet learned men's lives this Rascal will scan,  
And when he has done it deny it.   

This is Jermy's Forlorn when brave Jacks appear;  
He has little of wit, and less of fear,  
And swears for his Colonel by the year;  
And when he is in, he will ply it.   

When the Nation was Jaded with a 
(2) He that drank so much Ass' milk, as, without the Parliament's mercy, he is like to be a Fool for ever.  Quaker,  
This Jipp●e forsooth was a great Undertaker,  
And amongst other Trades a Justice-maker,  

(3) Two justices in Norfolk.  Brewer, Tirrell, and Gaffer Life.   

We're made and created by his stinking breath,  
To sit on the Bench upon Life and Death.  
We'd as good have had a Turd in our teeth,  
Without any further strife,   

I thought this Colonel would fail,  
When he was upon his Codpiece-bail,  
He got such a flap with a Fox tail,  
As more at large in your 
(4) Master Armiger hath the exemplification of a Verdict in a Box, wherein Iermy's Bawdry with Fox's wife is set forth.  Box, Sir.   

But now if we may believe common fame.  
At present they say he's fled for the same,  
How poorly this Fellow has played his Game!  
But let him not scape without knocks, Sir.   

Yet he is such a Coward that I dare say,  
He neither dares fight nor yet run away,  
And yet he'd be glad to stand at a stay,  
If he might but have his Quietus.   

For tell him his baseness but once to his face,  
Y'are sure enough he dies on the place,  
If he hangs not himself upon this disgrace,  
'Tis one to a Thousand he'll beat us.    

A Litany for the New-year.  
FRom all and more than I have written here,  
I wish you well protected this New-year;  
From Civil war, and such uncivil things  
As ruin Law and Gospel, Priests and Kings;  
From those who for self-ends would all betray,  
From such new Saints that Pistol when they pray,  
From flattering Faces with infernal Souls,  
From new Reformers, such as pull down Paul's,  
From L●nsy woolsy Lords, from Town betrayers,  
From Apron Preachers, and extempore Prayers,  
From Pulpit-blasphemy & bold Rebellion,  
From Blood and— somethings else that I could tell ye on,  
From new false Teachers which destroy the old,  
From those that turn the Gospel into Gold,  
From that black Pack where Clubs are always, Trump  
From Bodies Politic and from the Rump,  
From those that ruin when they should repair,  
From such as cut off Heads instead of Hair,  
From twelve months' Taxes and abortive Votes,  
From chargeable Nurse-childrens in red Coats,  
From such as sell their Souls to save their Sums,  
From City Charters that make Heads for Drums,  
From Magistrates which have no truth or knowledge,  
From the red Students now in Gresham College,  
From Governments erected by the Rabble,  
From sweet Sir Arthur's Knights of the round Table,  
From City-Saints whose Anagram is Stains,  
From Plots and being choked with our own Chains,  
From these, and ten times more which may ensue,  
The Poet prays, Good Lord deliver you.   

The New State described.  
LO here a Glorious Realm subverted stands,  
Just Tumbler-like upon the Feet and Hands:  
Once Europe's Pride and Envy, now their Scoff,  
Since the base entrails cut the Head on't off,  
The Body lost its form, and's turned a Lump;  
Now all the Limbs are Vassals to the Rump,  
Which all the Nutriture devoured and spent,  
Yields nothing back but stink and excrement,  
And all returns that ever this doth send us,  
Serves only to defile us and offend us;  
'Tis by much pamparing grown a strange Disease,  
Which all receives, and gives nor food nor ease  
To th' pining Body, but is craving still;  
And we by feeding it ourselves do kill;  
Which nothing lives by that has any worth,  
But those base vermin which its stink brought forth.  
If every Member in this Body would  
Withdraw its strength and influence, as they should,  
This nasty Highness quickly must abate,  
And yield to th' Head which only saves the State.   

The Devil's Arse a Peake: or, Satan's beastly part, or in plain terms, Of the Posteriors and Fag-end of a Long Parliament.  
To be said or sung very comfortably. To the Tune of Cook Laurel.  

O Foolish Brittanicks, where are your hearts fled?  
What fiend doth the Nation bewitch;  
That since you like Rogues cut off your own Head,  
Your Noses close in with the Britch?   

The Britch! such a bit, Nolls paunch could never brook,  
For it put him still to his dumps;  
And though full meals of Hell-broth he oft took,  
Yet always he spewed out the Rumps.   

Till Lambert the Knave and Fleetwood the fool  
(Though Dick persuaded them from it)  
Did overturn the Devils Close stool,  
And like Dogs return to their Vomit.  
No sooner the Council Table was spread  
With many a vomited gull  
But the Army turned squeazie and turned their Head,  
For they soon had their Belly full.   

The Red-coats could never this Rumbling digest,  
Till advised by Old nick and his train,  
(Who good unwittingly oft may suggest)  
They spewed up their Vomit again.   

Their Surreverence was for a while out of sight,  
Till Whettam began to deplore 'em,  
And Arthur the Knight of the Spur a bold wight,  
The Rump of a Rump did restore 'um.   

Then a pox light on the pitiful Rump,  
That a third time above board vapers,  
Which Old Nick blew out; but now turns up Trump,  
As Joan farted in and out Tapers.   

The House by this Legion was long time possessed,  
But at last they were cast out of door;  
Yet finding it swept, returned a new guest  
Seventimes more a fiend than before.   

Away than ye pitiful Citizen slaves,  
Who let such enormities pass,  
Were you but true men or but errand Knaves,  
Fools durst not you ride like an Ass.   

Then dare to be Honest, and beat up your Drum,  
For when the Rogues hear of your power,  
You'll smell what a scent proceeds from the Bum,  
From Whitehall, at least to the Tower.   

SH' foot! what if these Ars-worms with gifts of our gold  
Great George to defend them should move  
Our goods & our Liberties, than would be sold,  
And the Devil a Monk would he prove.   

Then pluck up your Spirits, and draw out your Swords,  
'Tis force that must only prevail,  
We have long enough stood out in bare Words,  
Let's now make a stod for their Tayl.   

Then Vive le Roy let's merrily Sing,  
Can any Man well in his Wits,  
Think worse of Charles our Noble good KING,  
Than those who do govern by Fits?   

Search round the great City what ill you can see,  
Which the Rascally Rump hath not done,  
And then you will wish with the Nation and me,  
That CHARLES had his Heritage won   

For Swearing, Sacrilege, Murder, and Lies,  
KING-Killing, Hypocrisy, Cheats,  
They make no more of these Sins, then of Flies,  
HELL is almost out-damned by their Feats.   

Then fight ye like men for the good of the Nation  
As ye hope to be civilly Drunk,  
On free cost at blessed CHARLES Coronation,  
Pray hard for the trueness of Monk.   

Heaven bless our good Sovereign, the best of all Men,  
Let the King of our Hearts be Trump,  
That Peace and Prosperity may come again,  
Squire Dun and Old Nick take the Rump.   

Then let the Knaves shuffle three Kingdoms awhile  
Till each Cur at his Fellow snarls,  
Ere long they will Cut, and after the Broil  
The Dealing must fall to KING Charles'.   

This Flap with a Fox-tail shall have the same lot,  
That unhorsed his Tumble-down Highness,  
For since the rest of the Members are not,  
The Rump must shortly have FINIS.    

The Committee of Safety.  

Herded ye not of the Fanatic Committee  
Of Safety, whom London that stiffnecked City  
Profanely disturbed, and was not that pity?  
Oh blessed Reformation.   

This gallant Committee made up of a crew  
Of three and twenty bad men and untrue,  
Would have made both our Church & our State for to rue.  
Still blessed Reformation.   

Charles Fleetwood is first and leads up the Van,  
Whose counterfeit Zeal turns Cat in the pan,  
And dame Sankey will swear he's a valiant man.  
Oh, etc.   

John Lambert at Oliver's Chair doth roar,  
And thinks it but reason upon this score,  
That Cromwell had sitten in his before.  
Still, etc.   

Desborough's a Clown, of whom it is said,  
That to be a Statesman he never was bred,  
For his Shoulders are far better proof than his Head.  
Oh, etc.   

But whatever he wants is sound made up  
By subtle Sir Vane, who would bring us to sup  
Large draughts from the whore of Babylon's cup.  
Still, etc.   

And under the arm of that masked Turk  
Little Bennet creeps in to help on the good work,  
And by voting down Tithes to reform the proud Kirk.  
Oh, etc.   

The Tobacco-man Salway with a heart full of gall  
Puff-down Bells, Steeples, Priests, Churches, & all  
As old superstitious Relics of Baal.  
Still, etc.   

Holland the Link-boy's a worshipful Wight,  
For he must stand by to hold them a Light  
While they do their works of darkness and night.  
Oh, etc.   

Next Steel the Recorder, whose politic Noddle  
With Outlandish Notions of State doth still quoddle,  
Would here introduce the Venetian Moddle.  
Still, etc.   

Brandriffe a harmless and innocent Pigeon  
Most zealously moves, that each ignorant Widgeon  
May have leave to profess and own any Religion.  
Oh, etc.   

Wat Strickland him second's that furious Ram,  
And swears that when first to Holland he came,  
All Sects were permitted in Amsterdam.  
Still, etc.   

Whitlock that mischievous dangerous Elf  
Never sticks to turn sides to promote his own Wealth,  
And hath Wit enough, Law enough to damn himself.  
Oh, etc.   

Ludlow's a Saint of the Levelling mould,  
And of courage undaunted, for Faith makes him bold,  
Since the fort at Duncannon is his strong hold.  
Still, etc.   

Thompson a Person of noted affection,  
Though suspected as guilty of much circumspection,  
Yet is one of this Gang for the People's correction.  
Oh, etc.   

Jesuitical Berry can hardly afford  
A Gown-man to preach, but will make us accord,  
That Mars hath best right to the twoedged sword.  
Still, etc.   

Poor Sidenham would preach and pray too if he could,  
But finding he cannot perform what he would,  
He is bend and resolved ne'er to do what he should  
Oh, etc.   

At Precedent Laurence let none dare to scoff  
Or abuse his grave Sermons, to call them riff raff,  
he's a Father of England, and the Horsemen thereof.  
Still, etc.   

Lord Hughson the Cobler's teeth greedily chatter  
To carve up a Prentice's Head in a Platter,  
For he will go throughstitch with the whole matter.  
Oh, etc.   

John Clark in his haste is all lightning and thunder,  
To break all Demuries and weak Scruples asunder,  
While his fingers do itch at the City's rich plunder.  
Still, etc.   

No marvel that Lilburn is one of this Train,  
As frantic as any, and as cross in the grain,  
For Robin inherits his Brother's mad Brain.  
Oh, etc.   

The Mountain did travel and bring forth of late,  
What was't but a Mouse? and Sir Harrington's pate  
Is pregnant with forms of the Utopian State.  
Still, etc.   

What? A Scotch Rook among all these English Jackdaws,  
The Laird Warriston's in for the Good Old Cause,  
To subvert all Proprieties, Charters and Laws.  
Oh, etc.   

A brace of sage Aldermen act in the Play,  
Ireton and Titchburn who faithlesly may,  
The Londoners Counsels and Plottings betray,  
Still, etc.   

So here's a Committee of Safety compounded  
Of Knave and of Fool, of Papist and Roundhead,  
On Base's of Treason and Tyranny grounded.  
Oh, etc.   

These did their Protestant Sovereign kill,  
These gloried the blood of the Nobles to spill,  
And trampled on Parliaments at their own will.  
Still, etc.   

These were the Carbuncles of Oliver's Nose,  
And the Rump's stinking excrements as we suppose  
Bound up in the linings of Atkins' Hose.  
Oh, etc.   

Tredeskin himself never had such a Show  
As this Knack, which would all our Rights overthrow,  
And Caligula-like slay three Lands at a blow.  
Still, etc.   

What Resolves and what Orders were passed I shan't tell,  
Nor will any longer on this Subject dwell,  
ere now an Account is given in Hell,  
Where they'll make a new Reformation.   

For Monck charmed the Goblin, and packed it away  
To its properest Place, with black Pluto to stay,  
For which let true Englishmen joyfully say  
St. George wrought the true Reformation.    

The GANG or the Nine Worthies and Champions, Lambert, etc.  
To the Tune of Robin-hood.  

IT was at the Birth of a Winter's morn,  
With a hay down down a down down,  
Before the Crow had pissed,  
That nine Hero's in scorn  
Of a Parliament forlorn,  
Walked out with Sword in fist.   

Johnne Lambert was first a dapper Squire,  
With a hay down, etc.  
A mickler man of might  
Was ne'er in Yorkshire;  
And he did conspire  
With Vane Sir Harry a Knight.   

Desborough was such a Country Swain,  
With a hay down, etc.  
An Easter Sun ne'er see;  
He drove on a main  
Without any brain,  
Such a jolt-head Knave was he.   

Kelsey was a brave Button-maker;  
With a hay down, etc.  
As ever set mould upon Skewer;  
And this Wiseacre  
Was a great pain-taker,  
T' make Lambert's Nose look blewer.   

The devout and Holy Major Creed,  
With a hay down, etc.  
I known't of what Faith or Sect,  
Had mounted a stead,  
And vowed he would bleed  
'Fore Lambert should be checked.   

Duckenfi●ld (Steel was ne'er so true,)  
With a hay down, etc.  
And as wise as ever was Toby.  
Lay in the Pu●lew,  
The Cockpit Av●nue,  
To hinder the Speakers Go-by.   

A man of Stomach in the next Deal,  
With a hay down, etc.  
Was hungry Colonel Cobbet,  
He would eat at a Meal  
A whole Commonweal,  
And make a Joint but a Gobbet.   

The following Champion is Barrow,  
With a hay down, etc.  
An Ominous name for a Swineherd,  
He flew like an Arrow,  
Thither whence Lord Harry  
But durst not draw his Whinyard.   

Room for Packer a toiling Ditcher,  
With a hay down, etc.  
He had set his Spade an edge,  
He hoped to be Richer  
By being a Bricher  
And Lambert his Stake in the hedge.   

For Nobilities sake we may not forget,  
With a hay down, etc.  
That Valiant Mars his true Son,  
His Cobbling Feat  
Lacked a Parliament Seat  
That Marksman one-eyed Hewson.   

These being aided with Red Coat and Creepers,  
With a hay down, etc.  
After a short Dispute  
The Liberty Keepers,  
Were made Boo-peepers,  
And the Speaker strucken Mute.   

But well said Sir Arthur, what time of the day?  
With a hay down, etc.  
The Parliament's now in the Prime  
They stand at a Bay,  
And have missed their Prey,  
And Cowardly curse the time.    

The Second Part.  

NOw Johnne is gone to the North Country,  
With a hay down, etc.  
And glad he is to retire,  
He cries Cram O Cree,  
Have mercy on me  
〈…〉 set afire.  
And Desborough gotten into his Farm,  
With a hay down, etc.  
Until they do him need,  
‛ Meant the House no harm,  
But took it for a Barn,  
His Lord and he's not agreed.   

Kelsey is praying for the Dole,  
With a hay down, etc.  
Of the Hospital that's Suttons';  
He is out of the Roll,  
And hath ne'er a Loophole,  
And now his Arse makes Buttons.   

And Creed will now believe Sir Arthur,  
With a hay down, etc.  
His Steed is Chopped for a Jade,  
He will be a Carter  
Before a Martyr,  
And is turned Regenade.   

Duckenfield's in a pitiful Case,  
With a hay down, etc.  
The Speakers Horses and Coach,  
Were at stake with the Mace,  
And he's thrown Aums Ace,  
Tyburn owes him a reproach.   

By being too greedy Colonel Cobbet,  
With a hay down, etc.  
Has got a Bone in his throat,  
He hath sighed and sobbed  
And grievously throbbed,  
But it will not help the Choke.   

Pray take your turn too Mr. Barrow,  
With a hay down, etc.  
What think you of your Plot?  
Your Sow will not Farrow,  
The Hangman's Harrow,  
That Hurdle will be your Lot.   

Tie him up DVN, 'tis Goodman Packer,  
With a hay down, etc.  
That would set up another Nose,  
Had he been a Backer  
As Colonel Hacker,  
he'd lived in spite of his Foes.   

H●●son's Companions as scabby a● Coats,  
With a hay down down a down down.  
Have infected him with the mange,  
They have pissed in his boots,  
He must cry roots,  
And TURN OUT to Turnip must change.    

Vanity of Vanities, or Sir Harry Vane's Picture.  
To the Tune of the JEWS Corant  

HAve you not seen a Barthol'mew Baby,  
A Pageant of policy as fine as may be,  
That's gone to be Shown at the Manor of Raby,  
Which no body can deny.   

There was never such a prostitute Sight,  
That e'er profaned this purer Light,  
A Hocus Pocus juggling Knight,  
Which, etc.   

He was taken for a Delphic Tripus,  
Another doubt-solving Oedipus,  
But the Parliament made him a very Quibus,  
Which, etc.   

His cunning State tricks and Oracles,  
His lying Wonders and Miracles,  
Are turned into Parliament Shackles,  
Which, etc.   

Goodly great Sir Onesimus VANE,  
The Anointed King of Saints not Reign?  
I see all Godliness is not Gain,  
Which, etc.   

John a Leyden that Munster's Jing,  
Was a Fool and an Ass to this pretty Thing,  
But the Parliament hated the name of a King,  
Which, etc.   

This holy Saint hath prayed till he wept,  
Prophesied and Divined while he slept,  
But fell in a T— when aside he stepped,  
Which, etc.   

He sat late in the House so discontent,  
With his Arms folded and his Brows bend,  
Like Achitophel to the Parliament,  
Which, etc.   

He durst not speak of a Concubine,  
Nor gave more Council to any Design,  
But was musing on a Hempen Line,  
Which, etc.   

He see Mr. P— take a great deal of Pain,  
To get in with the rest as Members Again,  
But they were Voted as use-less as VANE▪  
Which, etc.   

They gave him a Congee with such a Vote;  
'Twas thought they had learned it by Rote,  
Ever since he went down to Gravesend by Bote.  
Which, etc.   

For all his Ceremonious Cringing,  
He shall undergo a notable Swinging,  
There is now no more need of his Engine,  
Which, etc.   

When first the English War began  
His Father was a Court Trepan,  
And ' rose to be a Parliament Man,  
Which, etc.   

So from the Father came unto the Son,  
Whom woe and Mis'ry now do wait upon,  
For Counselling Protector John,  
Which, etc.   

A Gemini they were, Pollux and Castor,  
One was a Teacher, the other a Pastor,  
And both like R— betrayed their Master,  
Which, etc.   

The Devil ne'er see such two Sir Harry's,  
Such a pestilent pair nor near nor far is,  
No not at the Jesuits Sorbon of Paris,  
Which, etc.   

They talked of his having a Cardinal's Hat,  
They'd send him as soon an old Nun's Twat;  
For turning in pan there was ne'er such a Cat,  
Which, etc.   

His dainty project of a Select Senate,  
Is Damned for a blasphemous Tenet,  
'Twas found in the budget ('tis said) of Monk Bennet,  
Which, etc.   

Of this State and Kingdom he is the Bane,  
He shall have the reward of Judas and Cain,  
And 'twas he that overthrew Charles his Wain,  
Which, etc.   

Should he sit where he did with his mischievous brain,  
Or if any his Counsels behind do remain,  
The house may be called the Labour in Vain,  
Which no body can deny.    

The Glory of the WEST, or, The Tenth Renowned WORTHY, and most Heroic CHAMPION of this BRITISH ISLAND. Being an unparallelled Commemoration of General MONK'S coming towards the City of LONDON.  

TO unperplex the Riddles of our State,  
And to discover t'us our hidden part,  
Welcome (we cry) Welcome to George the Great,  
A joyful sight to see.   

Not like the Macedon's impatient sword,  
That solved the doubt tied in the Gordian Cord,  
Great George doth time proportion due afford,  
A joyful, etc.   

Wisdoms great pattern bred at Bellona's Breast,  
Prudence and Valour joined in one Rest▪  
No more St. George shall be but George the Blessed,  
A joyful, etc.   

As Caesar did the affrighted Boat-man learn,  
When he sat trembling at the stinking stern,  
My fates Embarked that does the world concern,  
A joyful, etc.   

So the wracked Vessel of the state distressed,  
With heavens angry blasts, now seeks for rest,  
From the Favonian Gales of George o'th' West,  
A joyful, etc.   

His great excelling merits in the Scale,  
Of our raised hope, nor shall the angry Tail,  
Of any Comet 'gainst our peace prevail,  
A joyful, etc.   

Another Fabius, whose wise delays  
(Like a misty morn, guilt with the Suns nooned rays)  
Have Crowned him with the Glorious Bays,  
A joyful, etc.   

He that has marched quite three Kingdoms o'er,  
Subdued his great mind for to make them four,  
The signs to bring peace and plenty to our door.  
A joyful, etc.   

Let all ancient Glory then be a Romance,  
Let old Fame, and crazed Time, lie in a Trance,  
Nothing new but Honey Soit qui maly pense,  
A joyful, etc.   

This is the Noble Champion of the Garter,  
The Great Defender of the Magna Charter,  
The Sovereign Good came from the Northern Quarter,  
A joyful, etc.   

To settle a Nation without any Blows,  
To break down the Bridge of another Nose,  
To do what all wish, but no body Knows,  
A joyful, etc.   

To complete a Design without any Noise,  
To amuse the Loud cry of Vive le Roys,  
And sport all along with your Common wealth toys,  
A joyful, etc.   

But all the grand Hero's and wise ones together,  
None had such advantage of Wine and Wether,  
'Tis true he's sprung of a Princely Feather,  
A joyful, etc.   

Where shall we begin his Trophies to raise?  
Or when shall we make an end of his praise?  
The blessing and honour and joy of these days.  
A joyful, etc.   

The untamed Scot (before his glorious time)  
Has made t'expiate their treacherous crime,  
They own him sole Conqueror of their Clime,  
A joyful, etc.   

His great and most powerful Influence.  
Has restrained them in their Obedience,  
As if they owned the Viceroy of their Prince,  
A joyful, etc.   

The shifting Irish ' beyed his great command,  
The slaughtered Dutch, yet rolling on the sand,  
Crave a reflux, to keep them from his hand,  
A joyful, etc.   

Thrice did he Victory over them repeat,  
And the almost wearied State were forced to treat  
To save them from a final last defeat,  
A joyful, etc.   

Whether we conquered are, or we must submit,  
By his all-powerfull hand to them that sit,  
We are sure to be eased of our present fit,  
A joyful, etc.   

What if great George should come to the City,  
And in all your good humours should presently fit ye,  
And I hope he will do; else more is the pity.  
A joyful sight, to see.    

The City of LONDON'S New Litany.  
To the Tune of the Blacksmith.  

FRom Rumps that do Rule against Customs and Laws,  
From a fardel of Fancies styled a Good Old Cause,  
From Wives that have nails which are sharper than Claws,  
Good Jove deliver us all.   

From men who seek Right where it's not to be had,  
From such who seek good where all things are bad,  
From wise men far worse than fools or men mad.  
Good Jove, etc.   

From Soldiers that wrack the poor out of doors,  
From Rumps that stuff Coffers to pleasure their Whores,  
Which they secretly squeeze from Comm●●-wealth scores,  
Good Jove, etc.   

From Engrossers of wealth to lie by their walls,  
Which they force from poor women for keeping of Stalls,  
And choose for to rise by other men's falls.  
Good Jove, etc.   

From Knaves that do pocket good Subject's Estates,  
From such that give Plasters when they've broken our Pates,  
From Rumps that do Vote down our Posts, Chains and Gates,  
Good Jove, &c   

From Statesmen that Court the Thing that they hate,  
From woeful Repentance that comes too late,  
From those that delight in making of bate,  
Good Jove, &c   

From Soldiers who mutiny for want of their pay,  
And at last go sneaking without it away,  
Crying, they hope for a far better day,  
Good Jove, etc.   

From one who brought Forces to fill up the Town,  
That when Rumps were at highest he might pull them down,  
Because he himself doth aim at the Crown,  
Good Jove, etc.   

From Commanders who never drew swords but in Schools,  
Which were button-pointed to favour such fools,  
Who in vapouring words do threaten Joint stools,  
Good Jove, etc.   

Who to loose drop of blood would faint at the heart,  
And in dread of a Gun are scared at a Fart,  
If one blows but his Nose it makes them to start.  
Good Jove, etc.   

Who think every brush of wind an Alarm,  
To which they make ready and cry out Arm, Arm,  
Yet secretly pray that there may be no harm,  
Good Jove, etc.   

From a City that lies on its back to be Gelt,  
From those that won't stir till famine be felt,  
From the Pike, the Gun, the Sword, and the Belt,  
Good Jove, etc.   

From a simple Mayor not fit to Rule Hogs,  
From such as obey him like Spannel Dogs,  
From Summer's heat and from winter's Fogs,  
Good Jove, etc.   

From Country Petitions and Declarations,  
That will not be drawn one inch from thei● stations,  
But triumph in words for old Reformations.  
Good Jove, etc.   

From Apprentices valour and threats from the City,  
Which would Act great Wonders, yet forbear in pity,  
From Fools that conceit themselves very witty,  
Good Jove, etc.   

From Oaths and Engagements imposed by force,  
And broken as fast without any remorse,  
Alleging them Ceremonies of course,  
Good Jove, etc.   

From those whose damned actions with Treason are Crowned  
From such that would Law and Gospel confound,  
And vow that the City they'll burn to the ground,  
Good Jove, etc.   

From People that murmur with Swords in their hand.  
And keep an entreating when they may command,  
Yet had rather lose all than Knaves to withstand,  
Good Jove, etc.   

From Rumps that the Kingdom's Revenue have spent,  
From an everlasting Parliament,  
And from an Army full of discontent,  
Good Jove, etc.   

From such who do courtesies with a long pause,  
From those who condemn before they hear the Cause,  
And from Trades that are worse than picking of straws,  
Good Jove, etc.   

From a Foes mercy when one lies in his power,  
From a Friend's anger in an ill hour,  
And from a Fool that's Lieutenant of the Tower.  
Good Jove, etc.   

From men who make use of their Friends in the nick,  
And when the Brunts over against them do kick,  
The thoughts of such Varlets do make my Muse sick.  
Good night good people all.    

The RUMP served in with a Grand Salad: or, A New Ballad.  
To the Tune of the Blacksmith.  

1.  
POetical Muses have fallen heavy as a Mallet,  
Upon the poor Rump for disgusting their Pallet,  
To cure the disrellish take now a Grand Salad,  
Which no body can deny.   

2.  
This RUMP is derived by lineal descent,  
As the undoubted Heir, and excrement,  
Of the yet perpetual Parliament,  
Which, etc.   

3.  
This was such an Idol, as the Zealots did strain  
Their Purses and Consciences for to maintain,  
Though it proved both of Church and Kingdom the bane.  
Which, etc.   

4.  
The tail of the Dragon's not so bad as this Rump,  
Which hath three such Kingdoms worn to the very stump,  
And must leave them for the time a confused Lump,  
Which, etc.   

5.  
Our Laws, Lives, Lands, Liberties, were upon sale,  
By this everlasting Rump, Fag-end or tail,  
Yea to save our very Souls they refused to take bail.  
Which, etc.   

6.  
A Tail which was eaten up almost of the Pox,  
That stunk more like Carrion, than ever did Fox,  
Or that which was roasted of late at the stocks.  
Which, etc.   

7.  
A Rump that the People did hate, scorn, and curse▪  
As a Devil incarnate, or of something that's worse,  
Of Schism and Rebellion both Mother and Nurse,  
Which, etc.   

8.  
The Othodox Cler●y was forced for to fly,  
They were plundered and sequestered without reason why,  
But only because they would not comply,  
Which, etc.   

9  
Then as guilty of Popery the Common-prayer-book was damned,  
And with all kind of News-books the Churches were crammed,  
Venting lies, nonsense, blasphemy, and what's not to be named.  
Which, &c   

10.  
Then the Ancient Order of Bishops went down,  
Which in the Church Christian was ever of Renown,  
The Proverb proves true, No Mitre, No Crown,  
Which, etc.   

11.  
In whose stead we planted Elders and Presbyters,  
Which empowered, broke Princes and People in fitters,  
And with their Classes and Asses them all to besquitters,  
Which, etc.   

12.  
They called then a Synod which scarce could agree.  
I'th' space of three years whether there be a TRINITY,  
From such pur-pure-blind Levites God bless you and me,  
Which, etc.   

13.  
That Assembly was just like the Members that chose it,  
Without Learning and Honesty, all the World knows it,  
Fit Jakes-farmers for the Rump, they could twang and nose it,   

14.  
They combined with the Scots to bring in a Directory,  
Tending neither to our Good, nor yet to God's Glory;  
'Tis a shame that Tom Fuller should name't in Church-story,  
Which, etc.   

15.  
For whereas a Christian should be taught how to pray,  
And both rightly to believe, and humbly to obey,  
Nor Lords prayer, nor Creed, nor Decalogue have they,  
Which, etc.   

16.  
Then curse ye Meroz, in each Pulpit did thunder,  
To perplex the poor people and keep them in wonder,  
Till all the Reins of Government were broken quite asunder,  
Which, etc.   

17.  
Then St. Paul's the Mother-Church of this City and Nation,  
Was turned to a Stable, O strange Profanation!  
Yet this was one of their best fruits of Reformation.   

18.  
Of all that is Christian they make no great matter,  
So they may but gather they care not who scatter;  
Their Tryers would approve none but such as bribe and flatter,  
Which, etc.   

19  
Instead of an Use of Divine Consolation,  
These Hypocrites published a late Exhortation,  
To trepan and beggar this City and Nation,  
Which, etc.   

20.  
If they be establish● bid England farewell,  
And rather than dwell here i'th' Suburbs of Hell,  
Choose Turkey, or Tartary, or any where to dwell,  
Which, etc.   

21.  
This form will ne'er suit with the English Complexion,  
Which is free and too Heroic to yield base Subjection,  
Or to take from a Pope in each Parish correction,  
Which, etc.   

22.  
Who ever did Lord it like these self-seeking Elves,  
Which have forced us on covenants, vows, oaths, and other shelves,  
That should warn us for the future to look to ourselves,  
Which, etc.   

23.  
All sober men know that 'tis a mischievous fate,  
A Kingdom to turn into a popular State,  
And Episcopy into a Presbyterate,  
Which, etc.   

24.  
Yet the Parliament set 〈◊〉 the pure Members five  
Both of Church and ●ngdom, the downfall to contrive,  
That by the Ruins o● our Zion this their Babel might thrive,  
Which, etc.   

25.  
The Presbyters 3. years were long since expired,  
And yet, as if they had not our patience quite tired,  
To spurgall us still afresh they have conspired,  
Which, etc.   

26.  
Then why so many Bonfires of late in this City?  
Why such ringing of Bells, and rejoicing? 'Tis pity  
That ye should be so gulled by the Rump, that does out-wit ye,  
Which, etc.   

27.  
For the House is like Hydra, if one head ye kill,  
Another starts up, another full as ill;  
So, though one Rump is gone, yet another fits still,  
Which, etc.   

28.  
They have altered the scene, the people to please,  
Because in commotions they must them appease,  
We have thus changed our bed, but not our disease,  
Which, etc.   

29.  
Their shifting and shuffling is but to decoy us,  
While Spiders do spin, their Cobwebs annoy us,  
If the House bened swept clean, ere long they'll destroy us,  
Which, etc.   

30.  
If they mean as they talk of a Parliament free,  
How comes it that such Qualifications we see,  
That no one known Royalist can chosen be?  
Which, etc.   

31.  
The best things corrupted do ever prove worst,  
Then that the next Parliament make amends for the first,  
Let's choose no more Zealots, le●t in pieces we burst,  
Which, etc.   

32.  
For when as the Schismatics i'th' House do prevail  
Then the head and all the Members are led by the tail,  
So that all parts in doing their duty needs must fail,  
Which, etc.   

33.  
Let the Militia be settled ere you part with your Money,  
Else you'll find them gall and wormwood whom you took for honey,  
And the Soldiers will insult o'er as soon as they've undone ye,  
Which, etc.   

34.  
'Tis believed the 3. Generals, Fairfax, Waller, and Brown,  
Are sorry now for what they once helped to pull down,  
And 'tis hoped they'll redeem it by deeds of Renown,  
Which, etc.   

35.  
We are sensible now that there is no one thing  
Can full satisfaction to all Interests bring  
But only Charles the second, our known lawful King,  
Which, etc.   

36.  
Let's dally no longer, but like Britain's let's stand,  
For GOD and KING CHARLES', and the Laws of the Land;  
Let's up and be doing, let's do't out of hand.  
Which no body can deny.    

Saint George for England.  
To the Tune of Cook Laurel.  

THe Westminster Rump hath been little at ease,  
Of which you have heard enough one would think,  
And therefore we'll lay it aside if you please,  
For the more we do stir in't the more it will stink.   

These County resolves for a Parliament fre●,  
Makes the Rump smell worse than it did of late,  
For now it runs down their heels you may see,  
You may call them our Privy-Members of State.   

But why should this Rump deal so roughly with Kent?  
When England was conquered they were scot-free,  
Must they for declaring of all men be shent?  
But long-tail and bob-tail can never agree.   

'Tis much disputed who Antichrist is,  
I think 'tis the Rump, nor am I in jest,  
For indeed, although of the number it miss,  
Of this I am sure 'thas the mark of the Beast.   

I cannot believe that our General Monck  
Intends to protect it, he's not such a Fool;  
For if he were rightly informed how it stunk,  
He never would join with such Grooms of the Stool.   

Though't be not whole Antichrist, 'tis the worst part,  
By it both the Pope and the Turk are outdone,  
If it be not the head, nor the feet, nor the heart,  
'Tis the Rump of the Whore of Babylon.   

So pocky, so stinking, so cheating to boot,  
That he that has got but an eye or a nose,  
Would never bestride it; Then why should he do't?  
And make the poor Devil his stallionship lose;   

If I might advise him, he should not come near it,  
The scent of that house is naught for his Gout,  
And for his Army too; he might well fear it,  
'Tis enough to infect both his horse and his foot.   

Nor would I wish him to come to Whitehall,  
For that hath been an unfortunate place,  
From thence Noll was fetched, and Dick had his fall:  
And George may take heed that it be not his Case.   

I remember the time when he fought for the King,  
And the Cause was good though he did not prevail:  
O let not the Boys in the streets now sing,  
He was once for the Head, but now for the Tail.   

Then George for England strike up thy Drum,  
And do they devoir this Rump to destroy,  
That Noble King Charles the second may come,  
And our Streets may echo with Vive le Roy.   

●nd if He should come by thy Valour and Might,  
In that brave exploit thou'lt have more to brag on,  
Than e'er had Saint George that valiant Knight,  
Who rescued the Maid by killing the Dragon.   

Then lay by the thought of a Parliament free,  
But first bring the King in if you be wise,  
For without Kings & Lords there's none can be;  
'Twill be but a Rump of a bigger size.   

You know how to do it, and needs not much schooling,  
All that you need to say is, let it be done,  
Then why should you stand delaying and fooling,  
You fought for the Father, why not for the Son?   

If you do not do't, much honour you'll lose,  
Which He and We mean you, for this We do know,  
That in spite of the Rump, and all other his Foes,  
He will be brought in whether you will or no.    

The History of the Second Death of the RUMP.  
To the Tune of The Parliament sat as sung as a Cat.  

1.  
COme buy my fine Ditty  
Of News from the City,  
As it was told in Devonshire;  
The Pimp that whips weekly  
Your Breech Politicly  
Sells not so much truth in a choir.   

2.  
Tom Kingsman; near undone  
With long stay in London,  
Last week to the Country did gallop;  
Where he took Cavaliers  
With his News by the ears,  
As they did the Pot to drink all— up.   

3.  
Quoth he, I once went  
To th' late Parliament,  
Whose Members (when I had seen 'em)  
Made me think of a Rat,  
That was caught by a Cat,  
And eat up the tail, that is venom.   

4.  
But yet to the stump  
Of that Poisonous Rump,  
Th' Old Mouth did solder in season;  
And when that was done,  
Like a Lay-elder Gun,  
It stunk at both ends of High Treason.   

5.  
The Monster did come  
Of mere Mouth and Bum,  
Most cunningly thus compacted,  
That if questioned it were,  
For mischief done there,  
It might swear, 'twas by no body acted.   

6.  
O' the nature and name  
Of each Member that came  
Should I give a full relation,  
you'd guess by the stink,  
That I raked in the sink,  
And common-shore of the whole Nation.   

7.  
Religions you might  
Find all there, but the right;  
For through the same Sieve they ran,  
Which Noll used before  
To sift the House o'er,  
Till nothing was left but the Bran.   

8.  
But of those they had,  
Divisions being made  
By Fortune's hand, (which is uncertain)  
Some Members got many,  
Some few, some not any,  
As Nevil complained, and Martin.   

9  
Indeed from Usurpers  
They freed us and our Purse,  
And praise of thanks had been their hire,  
For taking us thean  
Out o'th' Frying-pan,  
Had they not cast us into the fire.   

19  
For Cromwell they voted  
A Tyrant, though rotten,  
'Cause when they first footed their Game,  
he'd not let them carry  
To pray on the Quarry,  
But gorged himself on the same.   

11.  
And King oliver's Sons,  
(Like Prince-playing Whore-Sons,  
That on too high parts had ventured)  
They stripped with a hiss  
Of their State-properties,  
And exeunt two Fools as they entered.   

12.  
What else they do,  
By our Purses we knew,  
As well as that scribbling Knave Nedham;  
Some good Laws they un-did,  
And some bad they founded,  
And shortened our Chain for our Freedom.   

13.  
To quell this fierce Monster,  
A Knight did anon-stir,  
Who wanted Arms; yet from a Wagon  
O' th' Popes he'd take none,  
But from Prester-John,  
And so St. George fell by the Dragon.   

14.  
Then Lambert's Wife chid him,  
And (like Cromwell) bid him  
Confound it, and mount the Throne Royal,  
Your Weapons are long  
Quoth she, and as strong,  
Myself of 'em both have made trial.   

15.  
He finds the Anabaptist  
For his purpose aptist,  
And treads the steps of Knipper Dolin,  
He fasts, and he prays,  
I'th' new canting phrase,  
As if Heaven were taken with drolling.   

16▪  
Some Packs he inveagles,  
O'th' blood-coated Beagles,  
To's party, the Rump-men did so to,  
And victualled so well,  
The adjacent fort Hell,  
As if they no other would go to.   

17.  
Little John thus did draw,  
'Gainst th' Outlaw,  
(Good King) to try who should have thy Deer,  
And thus for both poisons,  
A quarrel did rise once  
Betwixt the foul Toad and the Spider   

18.  
Bold Lambert advanced,  
He picquiered and pranced,  
And's Party with speeches did urge on.  
But though he and Morley  
Did snarl and look surly,  
They cheated the Devil and the Chirurgeon.   

19  
For soon the Red-coat,  
(who'll not fight, but vote)  
When Lambert's side stronger was found,  
By (at least) two foot,  
And a Trooper to boot,  
Did let the Rump fall to the ground.   

20.  
And with General Lent hall,  
The House they o'er w●natall,  
Religion and Laws they ne'er stood on,  
But sought still to hold,  
Ill got Land and Gold,  
Which first made the Old Cause a Good One.   

21.  
So fell the aged sway,  
Of five Months and a Day,  
We yet see no Heir apparent,  
But from Scabbard pregnant,  
Expect Posthume regnant,  
If Midwife Monck kindly take care on't.   

22.  
The Swordmen address to's,  
Pleas, and Manifesto's,  
Which show 'em less honest than crafty,  
Whilst a Tyrannous crew,  
Our dangers renew,  
That's called a Committee of Safety.   

23.  
But Fleetwood and Whitlock,  
(The Laws cunning Pick-lock)  
With Salloway and Vane, two prime Praters,  
Loved Treason so well,  
That again to't they fell,  
And betrayed even their own Fellow-traytors,   

24.  
In's villainy Bradshaw,  
Of constancy made show,  
For scorning Repentance as fickle,  
His life he soon ended,  
And to hell descended,  
This of my Faith is an Article.   

25.  
Yet Politicus.  
(The Devil's Succubus,  
To teem for his Commendation)  
Advizes us all  
To mourn, and we shall,  
Whilst that Hellhound yelps in our Nation.   

26.  
And now Lambert's Cohorts,  
And Monks (which makes woe hearts)  
Do seem to contest, but anon,  
We shipwreck shall be,  
When they can agree  
From what coast the storm shall fall on.   

27.  
Whilst Buff and Red-coats  
Are sanctified notes  
Of Christ's and his Gospel's Protectors,  
But 'mong themselves solely,  
Do they pass for holy,  
As Bessus and's Swordmen for Hector's.   

28.  
They that heard this story,  
First ●ighed, and were sorry  
To hear of poor England's confusion,  
Then drank a full Bowl  
To that Royal soul  
That must settle all in conclusion. 
Vivat.     

The Arraignment of the DEVIL for stealing away Precedent Bradshaw.  
To the Tune of, Welladay, welladay.  

2  
IF you'll hear news that's ill,  
Gentlemen, Gentlemen,  
Against the Devil: I will  
Be the Relator.  
Arraigned he must be,  
For that feloniously,  
w'out due solemnity,  
He took a Traitor.   

2.  
John Bradshaw was his name.  
How it stinks, how it stinks,  
Who'll make with blacker fame,  
Pilate unknown.  
This worse than worst of things  
Condemned the best of Kings,  
And what more guilt yet brings,  
Know 'twas his own.   

3.  
Virtue in Charles did seem,  
Eagerly, eagerly,  
And villainy in him  
To vie for glory;  
Majesty so complete,  
And impudence so great  
Till that time never met,  
But to my Story,   

4.  
Accusers there will be  
Bitter ones, bitter ones,  
More than one, two, or three,  
All full of spite.  
Hangman and Tree so tall,  
Bridge, Tower, and City-wall,  
Kite and Crow, which were all  
Robbed of their right.   

5.  
But Judges none are fit,  
Shame it is, shame it is,  
That twice seven years did sit  
To give Hemp-string doom;  
The fiend they would befriend,  
That he might in the end  
To them like favour lend  
In his own Kingdom.   

6.  
Swordmen it must be you,  
Boldly to't, boldly to't,  
Must give the Devil his due,  
Do it not faintly;  
But as you raised by spell  
Last Parliament from hell  
Omnipotently.   

7.  
The Charge they wisely frame  
(On with it, on with it,)  
In that yet unknown name  
Of Supreme power.  
Which six weeks hence by Vote  
Shall be or it shall not,  
When Monk's to London got  
In a good hour▪   

8.  
But twelve good men and true,  
Cavaliers, Cavaliers,  
He excepts against you,  
Justice he fears.  
From Bar and and Pulpit he  
Craves such as do for see  
Serve all turns: for he'll be  
Tried by his Peers.   

2.  
Satan, y'are guilty found  
By your Peers, by your Peers.  
And must die above ground,  
Look for no pity.  
Some of our Ministry,  
Whose Spirits with yours comply,  
As Owen, Caryl, Nye,  
For death shall fit' ee.   

10.  
Dread Judges; mine own limb  
I but took, I but took.  
I was forced without him  
To use a Crutch.  
Some of the Robe can tell  
How to supply full well  
His place here, but in hell.  
I had none such.   

11.  
Devil, you are an Ass,  
Plain it is, plain it is,  
And weakly plead the case;  
Your wits are lost.  
Some Lawyers will out-doed,  
When shortly they come to't,  
Your craft, our gold to boot▪  
They have ingross'd.   

12.  
Should all men take their right,  
Welladay, well-aday,  
We were in a sad plight,  
O'th' Holy Party.  
Such practice hath a scent  
Of Kingly government;  
Against it we are bend,  
Out of home-Char'ty.   

13.  
But if I die, who am  
King of Hell, King of Hell,  
You will not quench its flame,  
But find it worse:  
Confused Anarchy  
Will a new torment be;  
ne'er did these Kingdoms three  
Feel such a curse.   

14.  
To our promotion Sir,  
There are here, there are here,  
Through some confused stir  
Doth the high-road lie.  
In hell we need not fear  
Nor King, nor Cavalier,  
Who then shall domineer  
But we the Godly?   

15.  
Truth then, Sirs, which of old  
Was my shame, was my shame,  
Shall now to yours be told,  
You caused his death.  
The House being broken by  
Yourselves (there's Burglary)  
Wrath entered forcibly,  
And stopped his breath.   

16.  
Sir, as our Precedent  
Taught by you, taught by you,  
'Gainst the King a way went  
Most strange and new:  
Charging him with the Gild  
Of all the blood we spilt,  
With Swords up to the ●ilt,  
So we'll serve you.   

17.  
For mercy than I call,  
Good my Lords, good my Lords,  
And Traitors I'll leave all  
Duly to end it.  
Sir, Sir, 'tis frivolous,  
As well for you as us,  
To beg for mercy thus,  
Our crimes transcend it.   

18.  
You must die out of hand,  
Satanas, Satanas,  
This our Decree shall stand,  
Without control,  
And we for you will pray,  
Because the Scriptures say,  
When some men curse you, they  
Curse their own soul.   

19  
The fiend to Tyburn's gone,  
There to die, there to die.  
Black is the North anon,  
Great storms will be,  
Therefore together now  
I leave him and th' Gallow:  
So News-man take 'em thou,  
Soon they'll take thee.    

The Rota: Or 
News from the Common-wealths-mens'- Club,  
Written by Mr. Henry Stub;  
'Tis better than a Syllybub.   

1.  
AT Westminster where we take boat,  
There on the left hand you may note  
The sign of the Turks Head and Throat.   

2.  
What Heads and Thoats therein there be,  
If you'll have patience to see,  
These few lines here shall notify.   

3.  
Here Harrington breeds up his youth  
To the discover of no Truth,  
All Commonwealths-men in good sooth.   

4.  
A question here, though ne'er so rude,  
Is so belaboured, and so rued,  
And into sundry pieces hewed.   

5.  
If un-resolved by I, or Not,  
It must be put to the Ballot.  
'Tis Mr. harrington's own plot.   

6.  
The finest thing that ere was seen,  
The one side white the other green,  
And there you must put in a Bean.   

7.  
First Harrington doth hawk and hum,  
And tells a story of old Rome,  
Which from his own store never come.   

8.  
He citys Sigonius and Lampridius,  
Authors which to the Club are hideous,  
And he in quoting most perfidious.   

9▪  
But there a sad mishap befell,  
Which much doth grieve me for to tell,  
But I am glad it was so well.   

10.  
The learned man stood up and spoke,  
That by two Losses he was broke,  
His Reputation and his Cloak.   

11.  
Quoth he, my Reputation  
I hear is tumbled up and down  
Much like a Football through the Town.   

12.  
And for my Cloak, by this good light,  
This Rascal Miles but yesternight  
With Coffee did it all bedite.   

13.  
Next Polixfen, that Politician,  
Yet surely he is no Hebrician,  
And (as I take it) a worse Grecian.   

14.  
Whom 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 did so fright,  
He was not himself again that night,  
'Twas thought he did himself beshit.   

15.  
There's Poultney too that man of Law,  
In Politics he is but raw,  
But prattles more than a Jack-daw▪   

16.  
Who speaking once of Injustice,  
Made a distinction somewhat nice,  
It was between a Sin and Vice.   

17.  
Next comes in Gold that brazen-face,  
If blushing be a sign of grace,  
The Youth is in a woeful case.   

18.  
Whilst he should give us Sols and Ob's,  
He brings us in some simple bobs,  
And fathers them on Mr. Hobs.   

19  
Nay, he hath got the prettiest feat,  
Monarches out of the world to beat,  
Thus proves they're all a tacit Cheat.   

20.  
If man in state of nature be,  
And one imparts his right to me,  
I cheat him of his property.   

21.  
The like, if many men possessed,  
To one gives all their interest;  
He must be deemed a Cheat at best.   

22.  
We want not an Attorney height,  
Lame Collins (if I name him right)  
Oh! 'tis a very learned Wight.   

23.  
The subtlest man that ere I saw,  
Did arguments from Scripture draw,  
Religion was before the Law.   

24.  
If so Sir Harrington's mista'en,  
Religion doth the Law sustain,  
Law property, it is most plain.   

35.  
A Parson too, of no small note,  
His sense as threadbare are his coat;  
And neither of them worth a groat.   

26.  
The man doth hope in time to be  
Chaplain to the Academy;  
he's fit, for he can scarce tell three.   

27.  
Morley, who thought to have been one  
Of the Committee, but was none;  
For had he, they'd been all undone.   

28.  
'Twas well foreseen, for the wise Knot  
Thought that the man might have a Plot,  
For to have dipped their Ballot.   

29.  
One in a speech he did rehearse,  
'Gainst the Pope's land, he was so fierce▪  
He cut it off at least in a teirce.   

30.  
He said he'd quote Authority,  
That the full lengsh of Italy  
Contained but threescore miles and three▪   

31.  
A Cambrobritain here godwot,  
Must needs make one of this learned Knot,  
But 'twere as good if he were not.   

32.  
Taf● Morgan, God he● Worship save,  
Doth shit among them very grave,  
He's no great Statesman, but great K—   

33.  
Last, Skinner of his Chair grown proud,  
Doth gravely wield the busy crowd,  
And still to Orders cries aloud.   

34.  
To tell you more of Mr. Skinner,  
He'd rather talk than eat his Dinner;  
'tis that which makes him look the thinner.   

35.  
But whilst the Man to Strafford cried,  
Sir you to Orders must be tied,  
Or else you must not here abide.   

26.  
For our course here, is not to prate  
Of things that do too near relate  
To the Affairs of present state▪   

37.  
Speak to the question, it is sound,  
In what of Government the Ground,  
Or the foundation may be found.   

38.  
Strafford with that did lowly bow,  
Good Mr. Speaker calm your brow,  
And of my Argument allow.   

39  
For had your Question any sense,  
I should not take the confidence  
To give your Worship ought offence.   

40.  
But since for nonsense it may pass,  
To speak to you in Country-Phasse,  
Your Worship is a learned Ass.   

41.  
Which words he took in so much scorn,  
That nothing else would serve his turn,  
But presently he must adjourn.   

42.  
Adjourn, quoth Strafford, in a fright,  
Are you a Burgess or a Knight?  
Sure I shall to the Tower to night.   

43.  
But lo, the worst of all disasters,  
A Youth stood up, My learned Masters,  
All Governments are much like plasters,   

44.  
Plasters, quoth Strafford, let me die;  
If not this poor Academy,  
H●ve not some grand infirmity.   

45.  
And since it happens to be so,  
I may chance be infected too;  
Therefore my Masters all, adieu. Exit.    

The Cobler's last Will and Testament: or, the Lord Hewson's translation.  

1.  
TO Christians all I greeting send,  
That they may learn their souls to amend  
By viewing of my Cobbler's end.   

2.  
First, to the new Lords I would give all,  
But that (like me) they're like to fall,  
Though heartless Fleetwood has no gall.   

3.  
Yet he deserves this Legacy,  
ROPE take you all, well may I cry,  
Hou're Murderers as well as I.   

4.  
And will thus (wryneck) end your race,  
Since wilfulful Murder hath no place  
In the late Parliaments Act of Grace.   

5.  
My Paring-Knife I'll Lambert give,  
He may have use on't if he live,  
For's throat as well as his brow I believe.   

6.  
But Richard and Harry I have forgot,  
Shall I give them my Hammers? No, I will not,  
For they did not strike while th' Iron was hot.   

7.  
Vane take my Bends, and Wilks my Clue,  
Atkins my Hose of Safforn Hue,  
But Gregory saith my Clothes are his due.   

8.  
My Cushion will fit Q. Dowager Cromwell,  
Whilst Shipton wife's Prophecy she doth thumb well,  
In Chair of State 'twill ease her Bum well.   

8.  
For Oliver thou didst set me on high,  
I aimed not at it, though I winked of an eye,  
Yet I wish not now to come thee nigh.   

10.  
For sure ere this thou'lt burn with thy Nose,  
Which out of thy Nostrils Brimstone throws,  
Would thou wert here to sing my Foes.   

11.  
There is another Lord, that's Rich,  
To cure the City whose fingers did itch:  
But only I went through stitch.   

12.  
And yet they say I was out of my Trade  
When as Phlebotomy I Made,  
Some Chirurgeon to do't I'd better have paid.   

13▪  
Ill-looking death turn back thy shaft,  
If Charon me over Styx should waft,  
It would disgrace our Gentle-craft.   

14.  
I'th' Good Old Cause I traded st●ll,  
But in't my Lordship smelled some ill,  
To mend it though, proved past my skill.   

15.  
Therefore to Tyburn I must ride,  
Although it cannot be denied,  
But that I have lived single eyed.   

16.  
And if my Foes will do me right,  
They'll say, I've set the crooked straight,  
Why then I am a Man upright.   

17.  
I wish the Jury find it so,  
John lilburn's Jury would say no,  
Stitch up the Lord, let the Cobbler go.   

18.  
But 'tis no jesting matter I trow?  
For I can't laugh although you do;  
Yet may make a wry-mouth, or so.   

19  
Before, when we debauched the Nation,  
We could have vouched our Reformation,  
By a day or two of Humiliation.   

20.  
Now 'tis not currant Pay, for I  
Have wailed my sins, and yet they cry,  
Hang him, he weeps but with one eye.    

The Hangman's last Will and Testament, with his Legacy to the Nine Worthies viz. Col. Lambert, Creed, etc.  

I Have lived to see such wretchedness,  
When none but Honesty are Crimes,  
That my Ropes are turned into Rhymes.  
I and my Gallows groan.   

Things are so carried I can't tell how,  
There's as many above still as are below,  
I have hanged such in shirts as white as snow.  
I and my Gallows groan.   

Oliver he lived by a Plot,  
The Parliament sits still, and why not?  
And I fared well by a bow-knot.  
I and my Gallows groan.   

All my delight was in a Jail,  
My estate was got at a Cart's tail,  
I know not what these people ail.  
I and my Gallows groan.   

Oliver he a Coach would drive,  
And was honey in the Parliaments Beehive,  
Neither he nor I loved a reprieve.  
I and my Gallows groan.   

I wish I had had his Protectors rest,  
I'd have laid it an earnest for a jest,  
But Sir Harry Vane's worth all the rest,  
I and my Gallows groan.   

I have chopped off many a worthy Head,  
And thanks to the Sheriffs have been well fed.  
But that I can dock must never be said.  
I and my Gallows groan.   

Lambert I knew was troubled with the yellows,  
And more perplexed with his fellows.  
Had I lived I'd cured him at the Gallows:  
I and my Gallows groan.   

Never was any so bad as my Trade,  
The Nine Worthies would have made,  
As a Drudge before something a Jade,  
I and my Gallows groan.   

But I had got nothing by the thing,  
There's indemnity against the string,  
But my heir may get by a forward Spring,  
I and my Gallows groan.   

I see John Lilburn at a bar,  
And Sir George Booth that man of war,  
But could get neither in my Car.  
I and my Gallows groan   

I think the Ordinaries long Prayer,  
Hath spoiled frequenting of my fair.  
Till all longwinded R— are there.  
I and my Gallows groan.   

For half thirteen pence half penny wages  
I would have cleared all the Town cages,  
And you should have been rid of all the Sages.  
I and my Gallows groan.   

There was much climbing among the Grandees,  
Yet they all I see know the wood from the trees,  
And all to cousin me of my fees.  
I and my Gallows groan.   

The High Court of Justice was out of use.  
The Thiefs and the Bench had made a Truce,  
For want of Authority, a lean excuse.  
I and my Gallows groan.   

'Twould vex any body to keep an Axe  
As long as there are any Alderman Packs,  
Or Deshorough eke with his wide Sacks.  
I and my Gallows groan.   

That Duckenfield, Packer, and Major Creed,  
Of my helping hand should have such need,  
When I am not able to do the deed,  
I and my Gallows groan.   

Lambert would also borrow the Block,  
As well as my Lady did oliver's Cock,  
But like him I must patiently bear this mock.  
I and my Gallows groan.   

Fleetwood also lacks some of my skill,  
And that I can't do't Folks take it ill,  
I'd hang 'em all, if I could have my will.  
I and my Gallows groan.   

'Tis vain to look for old men's shoes,  
Else I had had Hewson in a noose,  
But my Successor won't him lose.  
I and my Gallows groan.   

Tyburn was once in mourning clad,  
For a great Man, and I also very sad,  
A full bunch will make you all glad.  
I and my Gallows groan    

A Hymn to the Gentle Craft: or Hewson's Lamentation.  
To the Tune of the Blind Beggar.  

LIsten a while to what I shall say  
Of a blind Cobbler that's gone astray  
Out of the Parliaments High way,  
Good people pity the blind.   

His name you wot well is Sir John Hewson  
Whom I intent to set my Muse on,  
As great a Warrior as Sir Miles Lewson,  
Good people, etc.   

he'd now give all the shoes in his shop  
The Parliaments fury for to stop,  
Whip Cobbler like any Town-top,  
Good people, etc.   

He hath been in many a bloody field,  
And a successful sword did wield,  
But now at last is forced to yield,  
Good people, etc.   

Oliver made him a famous Lord  
That he forgot his Cutting Bord,  
But now his thread's twisted to a Cord,  
Good people, etc.   

Crispin and he were ne'er of kin,  
The gentle Craft have a noble Twin,  
But he'd give Sir Hugh's bones to save his skin,  
Good people, etc.   

Abroad and at home he hath cut many a Hide,  
A Dog and a Bell must now be his Guide,  
They'll lash him smartly on the blind side,  
Good people, etc.   

Of all his Warlike valiant Feats,  
Of his Calf's leather and his Neat's,  
Let him speak 'em himself when he repeats,  
Good people, etc.   

I'll only mention one exploit,  
For which when he begs, I'll give him a Doit,  
How he did the City vex and annoyed,  
Good people, etc.   

He marched into London with Red-coat and Drum  
During the time we had no Bum,  
Being right for an Army as a Cows Thum,  
Good people, etc.   

And there he did the Prentices meet,  
Who jeered him as he went through the street,  
But he did them very well-favouredly greet,  
Good people, etc.   

Bears do agree with their own kind,  
But he was of such a cruel mind,  
He killed his Brother Cob. before he had dined.  
Good people, etc.   

He strutted then like a Crow in a Gutter,  
That no body durst once more Mutter  
The Capon-Citizens, began to Flutter,  
Good people, etc.   

After he had them thus defeated,  
To his old Quarters he retreated,  
And was by Fleetwood notably treated,  
Good people, etc.   

He is for this I hear Indicted,  
Though the Week before by them Invited,  
But Wise Men say they had as good as Shited,  
Good people, etc.   

He cares not for the Sessions a Louse,  
They reach not a Peer of the other House,  
He's frighted to see that he is a Parliament chouse,  
Good people, etc.   

And now he's gone the Lord knows whether,  
He and this Winter go together,  
If he be caught he will lose his Leather,  
Good people, etc.   

he'd best get him in some Country Town,  
And company keep with Desbrow the Clown,  
You see how the World goes up and down.  
Good people, etc.   

His Coach and his Horses are gone to be lost,  
He must vamp it and cart it and thank thee mine host,  
There's no more to be said of an old Toast,  
Good people, etc.   

Sing Hi Ho Hewson, the State ne'er went upright,  
Since Cobblers could Pray, Preach, Govern and Fight,  
We shall see what they'll do now y'are out of sight,  
Good people pity the blind.    

The Rump Ululant: or Penitence per force. Being the Recantation of the Old Rusty-roguy-rebellious-rampant, and now ruinous rotten-rosted RUMP.  
To the Tune of Gerrard's Mistress.  
FArewell  
False Honours, and usurped Powers farewell,  
For the Great Bell  
Of Justice rings in our affrighted ears.  
The Gripes  
Or wounded Conscience far exceed all stripes,  
Yet are small types,  
Of those sharp pains Rebellion justly fears.  
See how  
The unmasked people hiss us out of doors,  
And call us Knave.  
Because though We, their Servants be,  
We made them but our Slaves.  
For since  
We laid the Country waste like ravenous Boor●,  
They seek our bloods,  
Our Hands  
Because they prise their Liberties,  
But to devour their Goods.  
We dipped in Royal blood, to take his Lands  
At our Commands,  
And made 3. Kingdoms headless at one blow.  
The strife  
We caused was chiefly to cut off his life,  
With cursed Knife;  
He that was Virtue's Friend, must be our foe made  
Religion do our Drudgery to base Ends.  
But now we find,  
They that do sow pretences, mow  
A Harvest of the wind.  
And now  
When clamorous vengeance calling for amends  
Begins our grief,  
Our Friend the Devil, with his Evil,  
Can give us no relief.  
Go search  
All Lands beneath the Sun's Star-spangled perch,  
You'll find no Church  
Like ours, while reverend Bishops held the chair.  
But those  
We know with our designs would never close;  
And therefore chose  
In their steads to set up Extempore prayer.  
Poached Eyes,  
And words twanged through a whining Lecturers Nose  
Did fill our Purses,  
That many have Rings, and better things,  
Which now give only curses.  
And thus  
Hell was our Text, though Heaven were our Gloze  
And Will our Reason,  
Religion we made free of Hocus trade,  
And voted Loyalty Treason.  
Since we  
With wicked Arms have made the Crosier flee,  
Error is free  
To lay her nets, to make weak minds her prize,  
All Sects,  
Schisms cursed Heresies with stubborn necks,  
Corrupt our Texts,  
And crane up Scripture to maintain their lies.  
You see  
The crop-eared Anabaptist sowing Tares  
In every ground,  
Though the Plagues of War, wherever they are  
The Church and State confound.  
So do  
The Roman Noses vend their Popish wares,  
By twilight still;  
And the Quaker half mad, though he looks so sad,  
Grinds in the Jesuits Mill.  
Our Drums  
Did drown our Process, and our Writs; our Plums  
Bid kiss our Bums,  
We sent our Laws and Persons to the Tower;  
From whence  
To be delivered, 'twas in vain to sense  
By talking sense;  
No Habeas Corpus in the Court of Power.  
The Gown  
Did stoop the Reverend Velvet to a crew  
In short Red-coats,  
Who many a day, have made you pay,  
For cutting your own throats.  
We robbed  
The whole of Food to pamper out the few,  
Excized your Wares,  
And taxed you round, sixpence the pound,  
And massacred your Bears.  
But now  
Despairs black clouds do hang upon our brow,  
For all do bow  
Their hearts to their true Shepherd,  
Charles their King.  
And we,  
The Wolfish Rulers now must Subjects be  
To destiny,  
And end our Juncto in a fatal string.  
Then learn  
All future Traitors by our Tragic doom,  
ere 'tis too late,  
Lest when you make Kingdoms to shake,  
You copy out your fate.  
We know  
Our high affronts to Church and State make Room  
For us in Hell;  
But yet we'll hope, till the sad Rope  
Says bid the World farewell.  
Facit indignatio versum.   

The Holy Sisters.  
Fix of the Female sex, and purer sect,  
Had conference of late to this effect,  
How they might change the Popish Name of Preaching?  
Then quoth the first it shall be called Teaching.  
The second newly warmed with heavenly Nectar,  
Fell to commend the sacred name of Lecture.  
The third not half so learned, yet full as wise,  
Said, she like it best to call't The Exercise.  
Nay, quoth the fourth, the Brethren, as I hear,  
Do term it Speaking in Northamptonshire.  
The fifth with none of these yet did accord,  
But termed it purely handling of the Word.  
Then, quoth the sixth (Standing) a name most fit;  
For Preachers in the Pulpit seldom sit.  
For Application then, quoth they, we fear  
Ourselves not sufficient th'use to bear,  
Nor to conceive the meaning of some man;  
Some able Brethren we must have, who can,  
Being full of Spirit, Minister supply,  
And help 'gainst our Carnal infirmity;  
Repeat the Business, and all faults redress;  
Such, who with zeal and heat can fully press  
The Point home, that so the Cas● being clear,  
We may remember't sweetly many a year.  
And though in Concord Frailties we oft fall,  
The help of such good men will raise us all,  
By putting in New strength and life, whereby  
Being edified, We grow and fructify.  
Thus the Six Sisters did at last consent,  
And so departed thence Incontinent.   

The Second Part of Saint George for England.  
To the Tune of To drive the cold Winter away.  

NOw the Rump is confounded,  
There's an end of the Roundhead,  
Who hath been such a bane to our Nation,  
He hath now played his part,  
And's gone out, like a fart,  
Together with his reformation,  
For by his good favour,  
He hath left a bad savour,  
But's no matter, we'll trust him no more;  
Kings and Queens may appear  
Once again in our Sphere,  
Now the Knaves are turned out of door.  
And drive the cold Winter away.   

Se●, Nevil, and Vane,  
With the rest of that train,  
Are into Oceana fled,  
Sir Arthur the brave,  
That's as arrant a Knave,  
Has Harrington's Rota in's Head,  
But he's now full of cares  
For his Foals, and his Mares,  
As when he was routed before:  
But I think he despairs,  
By his Arms, or his Prayers,  
To set up the Rump any more.  
And drive the cold Winter away.   

I should never have thought,  
That a Monk could have wrought  
Such a Reformation so soon;  
That House, which of late  
Was the Jaques of our State,  
Will ere long be a House of Renown;  
How good wits did jump,  
In abusing the Rump,  
Whilst the House was pressed by the Rabble;  
But our Hercules Monk,  
Though it grievously stunk,  
Now hath cleansed that Augaean stable.  
And drive the cold Winter away.   

And now Mr. Prynne,  
With the rest may come in,  
And take their Places again,  
For the House is made sweet,  
For those Members to meet,  
Though part of the Rump yet remain;  
Nor need they to fear,  
Though the Breeches be there,  
Which were wronged both behind and before,  
For he saith, 'twas a chance,  
And forgive him this once,  
And He swears he will do so no more.  
And drive the cold Winter away.   

'Tis true there are some,  
Who are still for the Bum,  
Such Tares will grow up with the Wheat,  
And there they will be, till a Parliament come  
That can give them a total defeat:  
But yet I am told,  
That the Rumpers do hold,  
That the Saints may swim with the tide:  
Nor can it be Treason,  
But Scripture and Reason,  
Still to close with the stronger side.  
And drive the cold Winter away.   

Those Lawyers o'th' House,  
As Baron Wild-goose  
With treason Hill, Whitlock, and Say,  
Were the bane of Laws,  
And our Good Old Cause,  
And 'twere well if such were away:  
Some more there are to blame,  
Whom I care not to name,  
That are Men of the very same ranks,  
'Mongst whom there is one,  
That to Devil Bare-bone,  
For his ugly Petition gave thanks.  
And drive the cold Winter away.   

But I hope by this time,  
he'll confess 'twas a crime,  
To abet such a damnable crew,  
Whose Petition was drawn  
By Alcoran Vane,  
Or else by Corbet the Jew:  
By it you may know,  
What the Rump meant to do,  
And what Religion to frame;  
So 'twas time for St. George,  
That Rump to disgorge,  
And to send it from whence it first came, etc.  
And drive the cold Winter away.    

A New Kickshaw for the queasy Stomach of Satan and all those that fight under his Banner.  
To the Tune of Cook Laurel.  

YOu pitiful Rhymers now be you all dumb;  
Let no Dames of the Dunghill sing Ditties about  
St. George and the Dragon, and little Tom Thumb,  
With Wallingford House and the Rump are worn out.  
Here's an Ola Polidra so pleasant and new,  
The Tail of the State had ne'er such a Hogooe.  
With a hey down down, etc.   

Come listen you Cooks and learn my new Dish,  
'Tis that that will fill your Guests bellies with laughter,  
'Tis a meat neither made of flesh nor fish,  
But will make all that taste it to lick their lips after.  
Here's an Ola, etc.   

First take you three Farts from the Parliament-Breech,  
The head of an Onion to rub on your Platter,  
The Hums and the Has of Mr. Scot's speech,  
Spoke twice to no purpose, and mince not the matter,  
Here's an Ola, etc.   

Take the Linings of Alderman Atkins his Hose,  
Some o'th' cobbling colonel's Shoemakers wax,  
The juice of Tichburn's and ●reton's Toes,  
'Twill settle your Stomaches, and strengthen your Backs.  
Here's an Ola, etc.   

If an Independent Sermon you hear,  
Be sure you take all that is spoke to the Text,  
Some of my Lord Pride his Zeal for a Fear,  
And a Prayer by the Spirit made by that Part comes next.  
Here's an Ola, etc.   

Take Munson's chaste motions towards a Wench,  
The Sword of the Spirit handled by Gough,  
The fear of the Judges that sat on the Bench  
When the Head of this Isle by the Tail was lopped off.  
Here's an Ola, etc.   

Take all the old Speaker's Honesty whole;  
For if it be lessened 'twill prove little or none;  
And, if you have room, you may stop up the hole  
With the Knighthood and Wisdom of Sir John his Son.  
Here's an Ola, etc.   

Take one of Sir Arthur's passionate dumps,  
Sir Harry Vane's Harry Vane's hearty Prayers for Monk,  
The froth of the Good Old Cause worn to the stumps.  
And modest Harry Martin's discourse for a Punk.  
Here's an Ola, etc.   

Of Public Faith an Ounce if you can get it,  
Stewed well in an Honest Committee-mans' skull,  
Then with the Coals of Hugh Peter's Devotion beat it,  
'Twill give all the Devils in Hell Belly full.  
Here's an Ola, etc.   

Take the Whites of a Puritans liftedup eyes,  
And the Saffron engendered on a Presbyters gums,  
Mr William ●illye's Astrogolical Lies,  
And the meditations of Salloway biting his thumbs.  
Here's an Ola, etc.   

Of Lam●ert's Religion as much as a Nut,  
And of his Wive's Honesty much thereabout,  
With the spirit that moveth holy Brethren to rut,  
And maketh the holy Sisters hold out.  
Here's an Ola, etc.   

Sow it in an Excise-man's Conscience well feared,  
And in a frenchman's Codpiece 2. hours let it stew,  
Then strew it o'er with a Puritan's beard;  
'Tis a Dish for the Devil and for his Dam too.  
Here's Ola, etc.   

But then if it want a Man to say grace,  
It must be done by one that's a Sinner,  
An Independent Doctor just turned out on's place,  
Must needs be most fit to give thanks for this Dinner.    

England's Triumph: or, The Rump Routed by a true Assertor of England's Interest, General George Monk.  
A SONNET. To the Tune of, Fill up the Parliament full.  

WHat makes the Soldiers  
To stand to their Arms?  
'Tis for what they professed,  
To keep us from harms,  
The Members secluded  
Comes in by fwarmes  
To fill up the Parliament full, full, full,  
To fill up the Parliament full.   

You know that the City Gates  
Late were thrown down  
The Walls too were ordered  
By Parliament frown:  
But General M●nk has pleased  
Soldier and Gown.  
And filled up the Parliament full, full, full,  
And fill up the Parliament full.   

A dispute there was had  
By the Members secluded,  
Brave Monk was the Umpire  
And found them deluded,  
But England's great joy  
Is now wholly concluded:  
For he's filled up the Parl. full, full, full,  
For he's filled up the Parl. full.   

Sir Arthur the Valiant  
Must make his Speech large,  
Left the Members Excluded  
Lay Treason to's Charge.  
he'd better have dealt  
With his Newcastle Barge,  
Than to s●e the Old P. full, full, full,  
Than to see the old P. full.   

The Aldermen Grave,  
And the Commons o'th' City  
Imprisoned were,  
The more is the pity,  
But General Monk said,  
That I will acquit ye,  
For the P. now shall be full, full, full,  
For the P. now shall be full.   

Have you not seen  
Fresh Flowers in the Spring;  
And have you not heard  
A Cage-bird to sing?  
But if the Cage-Members  
Would bring in the King.—  
It would fill up the Parl. full, full, full,  
It would fill up the Parl. full.   

The Parliament now will  
Come into their Jeers,  
For Secluded P—  
(That once lost his Ears)  
Marched in with his Rapier  
For Commons and Peers,  
To fill up the Parliament full, full, full,  
To fill up the Parliament full.   

Whose often Declaring  
Has furnished the Nation  
With Parliament Arguments  
Of the old Fashion,  
And would have both  
King, Lords and Peers in this Nation  
To fill up the Parliament full, full, full,  
To fill up the Parliament full.   

Our brave General Monk  
We bound are to thank,  
The Honest Lord Fairfax  
Has played (too) his prank,  
No thanks to be given  
To the Rump nor the Shank  
To fill up the Parliament full, full, full,  
To fill up the Parliament full.   

Had the City ne'er moved,  
Nor the Prentices strove,  
They'd lost their Old Charter:  
But MONK had a love  
To challenge the Grand Ones  
Which Mischiefs did move;  
And so filled up the Parl full, full, full,  
And so filled up the Parliament full.    

The Parliament-Complment: or, the Readmission of the Secluded Members to the Discharge of their long retarded Trust.  

SInce sixteen hundred forty and odd,  
We have sound been lashed with our own rod  
And we have bowed ourselves down at a Tyrant's nod,  
Which no body can deny.   

When have seen a new thing called a Council of State,  
U●held by a Power that's now out of date,  
Put to th● Question, by th' Members of Forty eight,  
Which, &c▪   

We have seen what we hope we shall ne'er see again  
Now Lambert and Desbrow are snared in the gin,  
The tail cunningly pieced unto the skin.  
Which, etc.   

A sword that has frighted our Laws out of door,  
A Back sword I wot, that must cut so no more,  
By the honour of Monk now quitting that score,  
Which, etc.   

A Vote lately called the Judgement o' th' House,  
To be esteemed and reputed not worth a Louse,  
And the Grandee of Portsmouth made a fine chouse  
Which, etc.   

We have seen an Assessment, a thing for Taxes,  
Though the Commonwealth wane the private Waxes:  
Swords into Plowshares, and such Bills into Axes,  
Which, etc.   

Another new story of Qualification,  
That belonged to no honest man of the Nation,  
Like the ill contrived Authors, quite out of Fashion.  
Which, etc.   

Original sin was damned by that Law,  
The Son of a Cavalier made a Jack-straw,  
To be chewed again by their ravenous Jaw,  
Which, etc.   

To fill up the House, and to shuffle the deal,  
New Writs issued out, for their new Common-weal,  
But it's not worth ask who is't pays the Seal,  
Which, etc.   

I wonder who pays the late Parliament Printers,  
That Place they may hold as many Summers as Winters,  
And wish their Presses were broken in splinters,  
Which, etc.   

A great many Traitors by them lately made,  
Makes Treason be thought a Common trade,  
Sir George Booth and Jack Lambert a while in the shade,  
Which, etc.   

We shall now sure give over that word sequester,  
Now the tail is cured of that rankling fester,  
The twentieth of April is much about Easter,  
Which, etc.   

How many thanks of the House ha' been idly spent  
Upon people that still have been Malcontent,  
But they must fall from those dainties in this shriving Lent,  
Which, &c▪   

That honourable favour no more shall be given  
To the factious merit of a Party Hell-driven,  
For now our twenty years' odds will be even,  
Which, etc.   

Then room for our Prisoners detained in the Tower,  
And away with the new Lieutenant's power,  
Who's minting the widowed Good Old Causes Dower,  
Which, etc.   

Sir George Booth shall not think this a hit of sat,  
Nor Excuse his Keeper whose Warrant's out 'f date,  
We shall see them all cry Peccavi too late,  
Which, etc.   

Eleven years' Mischief, tumults and rage,  
Are the only Memorials of this Commonwealth's age,  
And all to be thanked by Hasl●rigg the sage,  
Which, etc.   

Let our Liberty-keepers be changed to Restorer,  
Let our Peace carry Truth and Duty before her,  
he's a Fool and a Knave that else will adore,  
Which, etc.   

This Janus-like freedom, though it please not all,  
And aversly doth look on the Sceptre and Ball,  
Will shut up his Temple at next Common-hall,  
Which, etc.   

Then let's pray to Great Jove, that made Monk so kind  
To our desperate estate, to put him in mind,  
With the rest of our Worthies of the Great Thing behind,  
Which no body can deny.    

The Cock-Crowing at the Approach of a Free-Parliament: Or,  
Good news in a Ballot,  
More sweet to your palate  
Than Fig, Raison, or stewed Prune is:  
A Country wit made it  
Who ne'er got the Trade yet;  
And Mad Tom of Bedlam the Tune is.  

1.  
MOre Wine Boy; to be sober  
Is sottish in my Opinion,  
When so near we do see  
The day that will free  
Three Kingdoms and a Dominion.   

CHORUS. Then off with your Pots, English, Irish and Scots,  
And loyal Cambro-britains',  
From Lobster-like jump  
And the Headplaying Rump  
You'll soon have an Acquittance.   

2.  
Though Monk's mind lies not open  
To every mind that's busy,  
A Free Parliament  
Is his intent,  
No Noll, nor Lambert is he.  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

3.  
A Parliament untainted,  
(Away with secluded Members:  
New flame it might make,  
Again to untake,  
And stir up rebellious Embers.)  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

4.  
A Parliament of Members  
That in Blood and Estate are no small Boyes●  
The devilish Rump-elves  
Are for none but themselves,  
Those will be (like God) for us all boys.  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

5.  
Such a Parliament more happy  
Than Fishes will create you,  
Though no trade you do drive  
But to tipple and swive,  
You'll be plump in flesh and estate too.  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

6.  
A Hound and a Hawk no longer  
Shall be tokens of disaffection,  
A Cockfight shall cease  
To be breach of the Peace,  
And an Horse-race an Insurrection.  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

7.  
The Stages to their Freedom  
Shall be restored soon after,  
And Poets like Lictors  
Shall scourge our Afflictors,  
And make our old Sufferings our Laughter,  
Cho Then off with, etc.   

8.  
W— P— shall be the Master  
O'th' Revels (for's contrition,)  
His Histrio-mastyx  
Was one of his rash tricks,  
E'er his early circumcision.  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

9  
We'll preach and pray w'out canting,  
In a Language Heaven knows better▪  
Than ah Lord repeating,  
And Hum and Ha bleating  
With calves of the Lips in the Letter●  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

10.  
we'll no more to enslave us  
Wear Chains, but to boast our Riches,  
We Lobsters will eat,  
And not be their meat,  
When the right Rump wear● the Breached.  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

11.  
All Nations shall adore us,  
Stiff Don at our foot shall tumble,  
The Dutchmen shall fear us,  
And all to M●jn Hear us;  
And French cry votre tres-humble.  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

12.  
The Citizens shall flourish,  
Lord Mayor, when the office expires,  
Shall a Knighthood obtain,  
If they're not of the strain  
Of Excise, nor Churchland Buyers.  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

13.  
This London had effected  
E'er now, and honour had got so,  
But for Knaves Ireton  
And Titchburn were known,  
When the Drugster's Son was not so.  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

14.  
Each year shall bring a harvest  
To th' Ploughman, who was vexed ill  
When but every fourth year  
By the Tax-Calendar  
It came like the Bissextile.  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

15.  
His Rent he shall pay duly,  
Nor to spend shall he want his groate'r;  
His Landlord shall be  
Of his Beer to him free,  
And of's flesh to his Wife and his Daughter.  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

16.  
But now my furious fancy  
A Project is concocting  
When God shall have sent  
A true Parliament,  
What a Rope shall we do with this mocking?  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

17.  
Like Mare with dock to th' Manger,  
To show it no cheat at all is  
It like one doth appear,  
But it is none, and where  
The head should have been, the tail is:  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

19  
Or we'll send for the Ghost of Lorrell,  
Who choked so neatly the Peak-feast,  
And he'll Carbonado  
It with little ado,  
To make the Devil a Breakfast.  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

20.  
We read of a Rump in St. Austin,  
That (before this of ours) outwent all,  
Which sounds did let ●ly  
As articularly,  
As if it had a Lenthal  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

20.  
But ne'er poor Rump was firked  
Like this by wits, and no wits.  
Nor ever was game  
So fit as this same  
To enter and flesh young Poets.  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

21.  
More good things I could utter,  
But now I find by a token,  
That the play will begin,  
And good fortune come in  
E'er the Prologue be quite spoken.  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

22.  
Charles Wanes' o'er the new Chimney,  
The Suns near our Horizon,  
The Fowls of the night  
Are taking their flight,  
Ere Cheshire prey they seize on.  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

23.  
we'll drink and pray no longer  
For the King in mystical fashions:  
But with Trumpets sound  
His Health shall go round,  
And our Prayers be Proclamations.  
Cho. Then off with, etc.   

24.  
Now jockey, Teag, and Shenken,  
Shall boast no more of St. Andrew,  
St. Patrick, or St. Davie,  
But St George, who, to save thou,  
'Gainst Dragon-Rump like a man drew.   

Chorus. Then off with your Pots, English Irish and Scots,  
And loyal Cambro-britains',  
From Lobster-like jump,  
And the Headplaying Rump  
You'll soon have an Acquittance.    

Saint George and the Dragon.  
To the Tune of, Old Souldjour of the Queens, etc.  

NEws, News:— Here's the Occurrences, and a new Mercurius:  
A Dialogue betwixt Haslerig the baffled, and Arthur the furious:  
With Iretons readings upon Legitimate and Spurious,  
Proving that a Saint may be the Son of a Whore; for the satisfaction of the curious.  
From a Rump insatiate as the Sea,  
Libera nos Domine.   

Here's the true reason of the City's infatuation:  
Ireton has made it drunk with the cup of abomination:  
That is,— the Cup of the Whore, after the Geneva interpretation:  
Which, with the Juice of Tichburn's Grapes, must needs cause Intoxication.  
From a Rump, etc.   

Here's the Whipper whipped— by a friend to George, that whipped jack, that whipped the Breech,  
That whipped the Nation, as long as he could stand over it:— After which  
It was itself Re— jerked, by the sage Author of this Speech:  
Methinks a Rump should go as well with a Scotch spur, as with a Switches.  
From a Rump, etc.   

This Rump hath many a Rotten and unruly Member,  
Give the General the Oath, cries one;— (but his Conscience being a little tender,)  
I'll Abjure you, with a Horsepox, quoth George,— and make you remember  
The 'Leaventh of February, longer than the Fifth of November.  
From a Rump, etc.   

With that— Monk leaves (in Rump assembled)— the three Estates.  
But oh,— how the Citizens hugged him for breaking down their Gates,  
For tearing up their Posts and Chains, and for clapping-up their Mates,  
(When they saw, that he brought them Plasters for their broken Pates.)  
From a Rump, etc.   

In truth, this ruflle put the Town in great disorder,  
Some Knaves (in Office) smiled,— expecting 'Twould go further;  
But at the last— my life on't, George is no Rumper— said the Recorder:  
For there never was either Honest man, or M●nck of that Order.  
From a Rump, etc.   

And so it proved, for Gentlemen, says the General,  
I'll make you amends;  
Our Greeting was a little untoward, but we'll part Friends,  
A little time shall show you which way my Design tends,  
And that, besides the good of Church and State, I have no other ends.  
From a Rump, etc.   

His Excellence had no sooner passed this Declaration and Promise,  
But in steps Secretary Scot,— the Rumps man Thomas,  
With Luke, their lame Evangelist— (the Devil keep 'em from us,)  
To show Monk what precious Members of Church and State the Bummha's.  
From a Rump, etc.   

And now comes the Supplication of the Members under the Rod,  
Nay, My Lord, (cries the Brewer's Clerk) good my Lord,— for the love of God,  
Consider yourself, us,— and this poor Nation, and that Tyrant abroad;  
Don't leave us:— but George gave him a Shrug, instead of a Nodd.  
From a Rump, etc.   

This mortal Silence was followed with a most hideous Noise  
Of Free-Parliament Bells, and Rump-confounding Boys:  
Crying, Geld the Rogues, Sing their Tails— when with a low Voice;  
Fire and Sword, by this Light, cries Tom, let's look to our Toys.  
From a Rump, etc.   

Never were wretched Members in so sad a Plight:  
Some were Broiled,— some Toasted, others burnt outright.  
Nay against Rumps so Pittylesse was their Rage and Spite,  
That not a Citizen would kiss his Wife that Night.  
From a Rump, etc.   

By this time, Death, and Hell appeared in the ghastly Looks  
Of Scot, and Robinson; (those Legislative Rooks)  
And it must needs put the Rump most damnably off the Hooks,  
To see, that when God has sent Meat, the Devil should send Cooks.  
From a Rump, etc.   

But Providence, their old Friend, brought these Saints off, at Last,  
And through the Pikes and the Flames, un-dismembred they passed,  
Although (God wot) with many struggle, and much Hast.  
(For— Members,— or no Members was but a measuring Cast)  
From a Rump, etc.   

Being come to Whitehall;— there's the dismal moan:  
Let Monk be Damned, cries Arthur, in a terrible tone:  
That Traitor:— and those Cukoldly Rogues that set him on.  
(But, tho' the Knight Spits blood, 'tis observed that he Draws none.  
From a Rump, etc.   

The Plague Bawl you, cries Harry Martin, you have brought us to this Condition,  
You must be canting, and be Poxed,— with your Barebones Petition,  
And take in that Bull-headed, splay-footed Member of Circumcision,  
That Bacon-faced Jew, Corbet: that Son of Perdition.  
From a Rump, etc.   

Then in steps Driv'ling Mounson, to take up the Squabble:  
That Lord; which first taught the use of the Wooden Dagger, and Laddle,  
He,— that outdoes Jack Pudding, at a Custard, or a Caudle.  
And were the Best Fool in Europe, but that he wants a Bauble.  
From a Rump, etc.   

More was said, to little Purpose; the next News, is a Declaration  
From the Rump; for a Free-State, according to the Covenant of the Nation,  
And a Free-Parliament, under Oath, and Qualification,  
Where none shall be Elect, but Members of Reprobation.  
From a Rump, etc.   

Here's the Tail Firked; a Piece acted lately with great applause,  
With a Plea for the Prerogative Breech, and the Good Old Cause:  
Proving, that Rumps, and Members are ancienter than Laws:  
And that a Bumme Divided, is never the worse for the Flaws.  
From a Rump, etc.   

But all things have their Period, and Fate,  
An Act of Parliament dissolves a Rump of State:  
Members grow weak; and Tails themselves runs out of Date:  
And yet thou shalt not Die; (Dear Breech) thy Fame I'll celebrate.  
From a Rump, etc.   

Here lies a Pack of Cheats, that did their Souls, and Country Sell.  
For Dirt: The Devil was their good Lord; him they served well;  
By his Advice, they Stood, and Acted; and by his Precedent they fell,  
(Like Lucifer) making but one step betwixt Heaven, and Hell.  
From a Rump insatiate as the Sea,  
Libera nos Domine.    

A Free-Parliament Litany.  
To the Tune of, An old Soldier of the Queens.  

1.  
MOre Ballads;— here's a spick— and— span new Supplication;  
By Order of a Committee for the Reformation,  
To be read in all Churches and Chapels of this Nation,  
Upon pain of Slavery, and Sequestration.  
From Fools and Knaves, in our Parliament-free  
Libera nos Domine.   

2.  
From those that ha' more Religion, and less Conscience than their Fellows;  
From a Representative, that's fearful, and jealous;  
From a starting Jadish People, that is troubled with the yellows,  
And a Priest that blows the Coal— (a Turd in the Bellows.)  
From Fools and Knaves, etc.   

3.  
From Shepherds, that lead their Flocks into the Briers;  
And then, Fleece 'um.— F●om Vow-breakers, and King-tryers:  
Of Church and Crown-lands from both Sellers and Buyers:  
From the Children of him, that's the Father of Liars.  
From Fools and Knaves, etc.   

4.  
From the Doctrine and Discipline of 
* Sedgewick  now, and anon;  
Preserve us, and our wives: from  

‖ john a Nokes.  John T & Saint 
† john a Styles.  John  
Like Master, like Man, every way but one:  
The Master has a large Conscience and the Man has none.  
From Fools and Knaves, etc.   

5.  
From Major Generals,— Army— Officers; and that Phanatique Crew:  
From the Parboiled Pimp Scot; and from Good-face the Jew:  
From old Mildmay, that in Cheapside mistook his 
* Repulsed by a Citizen's wife.  Que●e,  
And from him that wont Pledge— give the Devil his due.  
From Fools and Knaves, etc.   

6.  
From longwinded Speeches, and not a wise word,  
From a Gospel-Ministry settled by th' Sword,  
From the Act of a Rump, that stinks when 'tis stirred;  
From a Knight of the Post, and a Cobbling Lord,  
From Fools and Knaves, etc.   

7▪  
From all the Rich People that ha' made us Poor;  
From a Speaker that creeps to the House by a Backdoor:  
From that Badger Robinson, (that limps, and bites sore:)  
And that dog in a doublet Arthur,— that will do so no more  
From Fools and Knaves, etc.   

8.  
From a certain Sly Knave with a Beastly name:  
From a Parl'ment that's wild, and a People that's tame.  
From Skippon, Titchbourne, Ireton,— and another of the Same;  
From a Dunghill Cock, and a Hen of the Game.  
From Fools and Knaves, etc.   

9  
From all those that sat in the High Court of Justice;  
From Usurpers, that stile themselves the People's trusties;  
From an old Rump, in which neither Profit nor Gust is;  
And from the recovery of that which now in the Dust is.  
From Fools and Knaves, etc.   

10.  
From a back-sliding Saint, that pretends t' Acquiesce;  
From crossing of Proverbs (let 'em Hang that confess)  
From a Snivelling Cause in a Pontifical dress:  
And two 
‖ Jacks both.  Lawyer's, with the Devil,  
And his Dam in a mess.  
From Fools and Knaves, etc.   

11.  
From those that trouble the Waters to mend the Fishing;  
And fight the Lord's Battles, under the devil's Commission:  
Such as eat up the Nation, while the Government's a Dishing,  
And from a People when it should be Doing stands Wishing.  
From Fools and Knaves, etc.   

12.  
From an everlasting Mock-Parliament;— and from none;  
From strafford's Old friends,— Harry, Jack and John.  
From the Sollicitor's Wolf Law, deliver our King's Son:  
And from the Resurrection of the Rump that is dead and gone.  
From Fools and Knaves, etc.   

13.  
From foreign Invasion and Commotions at Home,  
From our present Distraction, and from worse to come:  
From the same hand again, Smectymnuus or the Bum:  
And from taking Geneva in our way to Rome.  
From Fools and Knaves, etc.   

14.  
From a Hundred thousand pound Tax, to maintain Knaves and Whores:  
(But it is well given to These, that turned Those out of Doors)  
From undoing ourselves, in plastring old Sores:  
He that set them a work, let him pay their Scores.  
From Fools and Knaves, etc.   

15.  
From Saints, and Tender-Consciences in ●uff;  
From Mounson in a Foam; and Haslerig in a Huff;  
From both Men and Women that think they never have Enough.  
And from a Fool's Head that looks through a Chain and a Ruff.  
From Fools and Knaves, etc.   

16.  
From those that would divide the Gen'ral and the City;  
From Harry Martin's Whore, that was neither Sound nor Pretty;  
From a Faction, that has neither Brain nor Pity;  
From the Mercy of a Phanatique Committee▪  
From Fools and Knaves, etc.   

17.  
Preserve us good Heaven from intrusting those,  
That ha' Much to Get, and Little to Lose;  
That Murdered the Father, and the Son would Depose.  
(Sure they can't be Our Friends, that are their country's Foes,)  
From Fools and Knaves, etc.   

18.  
From Bradshaw●'s Presumption, and from Hoyles Despairs;  
From rotten Members; blind Guides; Preaching Aldermen; and false May'rs;  
From Long Knives, Long Ears, Long Parliaments, and Long Prayers,  
In mercy to this Nation,— Deliver us and our Heirs.  
From Fools and Knaves, etc.  
Libera nos Domine.    

A Dialogue betwixt TOM and DICK: the former a Countryman, the other a Citizens' Presented to his Excellency and the Council of State, at Drapers-Hall in London, March 28. 1660.  
To the Tune of I'll never love thee more.  Tom. 
NOw would I give my life to see  
This wondrous Man of might.  Dick. 
Dost see that Jolly Lad? That's he;  
I'll warrant him he's Right.  
There's a true Trojan in his face:  
Observe him o'er and o'er.  Dick. 
Come Tom; If ever George be base, Chorus  
Ne'er trust goodfellow more.  
he's none of that Fantastic Brood,  
That Murder while they Pray;  
That Truss and Cheat us for our Good;  
(All in a Godly way,)  
He drinks no Blood, and They no Sack  
Into their Guts will pour.  
But if George does not do the Knack, Cho.  
Ne'er trust goodfellow more.  
His quiet Conscience needs no Guard;  
he's Brave, but full of Pity.  Tom. 
Yet by your leave he knocked so hard,  
he'd like t' awaked the City.  Dick 
Fool, 'Twas the Rump that let a Fart,  
The Chains and Gates it tore,  
But if George bears not a true heart, Cho.  
Ne'er trust goodfellow more.  Tom. 
Your City blades are cunning Rooks;  
How rarely you colloque him?  
But when your Gates flew off the Hooks,  
You did as much be-rogue him.  Dick. 
Pug'h— 'Twas the Rump did only feel  
The blows the City bore.  
But if George bened as true as Steel, Cho.  
Ne'er trust goodfellow more.  Tom. 
Come, by this Hand, we'll crack a quart,  
Thou'lt pledge his health, I trow.  Tom. 
Tope boy, Dick— A lusty dish my heart,  
Away wilt; Tom— Let it go.  
Drench me you slave in a full Bowl,  
I'll take't and 'twere a score.  Dick. 
Nay, if George be'nt a hearty soul, Cho.  
Ne'er trust Goodfellow more.  Tom. 
But hark you, Sirrah, we're too loud,  
he'll Hang us by and by.  
Me'thinks; he should be vengeance Proud?  Dick. 
No more than There or I  Tom. 
Why then I'll give him the best Blade  
That e'er the Bilbo wore.  Dick. 
If George prove not a Bonny Lad, Cho.  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.  Tom. 
'Twas well he came, we'd mawl'd the Tail.  
— We've all thrown up our Farms,  
And from the Musket to the flail,  
Put all our Men in Arms.  
The Girls had ta'en the Members down,  
ne'er saw such things before.  Dick. 
If George speak not the Town our own, Cho.  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.  Dick. 
But prithee, are the Folk so mad?  Tom. 
So mad sayest?— They're undone,  
There's not a Penny to be had,  
And every Mother's Son  
M●st fight, if he intent to eat,  
Grow Valiant now he is Poor.  Dick. 
Come— yet if Geore don't do the feat, Cho.  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.  Tom. 
Why Richard, 'tis a Devilish thing,  
We're not left worth a Groat.  
My Doll has sold her Wedding-ring,  
And Sue has pawned her Coat.  
The sniveling Rogues abused our Squire,  
And called our Mistress Whore.  Dick. 
Yet— if George done't what we require,  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.  Tom. 
By this good day; I did but Speak,  
They took my Py-balled Mare;  
And put the Carri'on Wench to th' squeak:  
(Things go against the Hair.)  
Our Prick-eared Cor'nel looks as big  
Still, as he did before.  Dick. 
And yet if George don't hum his Gigg, Ch.  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.  
I'faith, Tom our Case is much at one;  
We're broke for want of Trade;  
Our City's baffled and undone,  
Betwixt the Rump and Blade.  
We've emptied both our Veins & Bags  
Upon a F●ctious Score.  
If George compassion not our Rags Cho.  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.  Tom. 
But what dost thou think should be the Cause  
Whence all these Mischiefs spring?  Dick 
Our damned breach of Oaths and Laws;  
Our Murder of the King.  
We have been Slaves since Charles his reign▪  
We lived like Lords before.  
If George don't set all right again, Cho.  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.  Tom. 
Our Vicar— (And he's one that knows)  
Told me once,— I know what▪—  
(And yet the Thief is woundy Close)  Dick. 
'Tis all the better;— That  
H'as too much Honesty and Wit,  
To let his Tongue run o'er;  
If this prove not a luchy hit, Chorus.  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.  
Shall's ask him, what he means to do?  Tom. 
— ' Good faith, with all my heart;  
Thou mak'st the better Leg o'th' Two:  
Take Thou the Better part:  
I'll follow, if thou'lt lead the Van.  Dick. 
Content;— I'll march before.  
If George prove not a gallant man, Chor.  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.  
My Lord;— in Us the Nation craves  
But what you're bound to do.  Tom. 
— We have lived Drudges: Ric.— And we:  Both. 
We would not die so too.  
Restore us but our Laws again; Chorus  
Th' unborn shall thee adore;  
If George denies us his Amen,  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   

A Psalm of Mercy. Usula, (who cries Ends of Gold and Silver) reads, and all the Sisters sing.  
To the Tune of, Now thanks to the Powers below▪ Sing it in the Nose.  

WHat a Reprobate crew is here,  
Who will not have Jesus Reign?  
But send all our Saints  
To Bonds and Restraint,  
And kill 'em again and again?  
Let's rise in a holy fear,  
And fight for our heavenly King▪  
We will ha' no power  
But Vane in the Tower  
To rule us in any thing!  
Come Sister, and sing  
An Hymn to our King,  
Who sitteth on high Degree;  
The Men at Whitehall,  
And the wicked shall fall,  
And hay, than up go We.  
A Match, quoth my sister Joyce;  
Contented, quoth Rachel too;  
Quoth Abigail, yea, and Faith, verily,  
And Charity, let 't be so.  
Our Monarchy is the fifth,  
Shall last for a thousand years;  
O'th' wicked on earth  
There shall be a dearth,  
When Jesus himself appears!  
And we are the Babes of Grace,  
The fruits of an holy Seed;  
For old Father Cann  
(That Reverend man)  
Begat us in Word and Deed.  
The earth is our own,  
For Title there's none,  
But in the right Heirs of Zion;  
Then let us be free,  
For verily we  
No King ha' but Judah's Lion.  
'Tis verity, quoth old Joan,  
And Sooth, quoth my sister Prue,  
'Tis manifest truth, quoth mortified Ruth,  
And the Gospel is so, says Su.   

The Bishops and Bells shall down,  
For we have an holy Call;  
The Saints are beyond  
All Order and Bond  
Of duty to Priests of Baal.  
Their Pipes and Organs too,  
Their Superstitious Shirt,  
Their Canons and Bulls,  
(To cozen poor Gulls,)  
we'll trample 'em in the Dirt.  
No Ordinance shall  
Command us all,  
For we are above their thrall.  
We care not a Straw  
For Reason or Law;  
For Conscience is all in all.  
Ay marry, quoth Agatha,  
And Temperance, eke also,  
Quoth Hanna, it's just, and Mary it must  
And shall be, quoth Grace, I trow.   

The Steeplehouse Lands are ours,  
Kings, Queens, Delinquents too,  
And James' and all  
The Court at Whitehall,  
And Somerset-house also.  
For The'balds it is our right,  
And Marrow-bone-Park to boot,  
And Eltham's our own.  
At Endfield there's none,  
But ourselves that shall grub a root.  
And Greenwich shall be  
For Tenements, free  
For Saint to possess Pellmell.  
And where all the Sport  
Is at Hampton Court,  
Shall be for ourselves to dwell.  
'Tis blessed, quoth Bathsheba,  
And Clemence, w' ar' all agreed;  
'Tis right, quoth Gartrude, and fit says sweet Judas.  
And Th●m●sine yea indeed.   

For Husbands we shall have have none,  
But Brothers in purity;  
We will not be Wives  
And tie up our Lives  
To Villainous slavery;  
But couple in love and fear;  
When moved by the spirit to't;  
For there is no sin  
To let a Saint in,  
When he has the grace to do't.  
And thus are we taught,  
No folly is wrought,  
When Brothers will execise▪  
Both Kiffin and Hills  
(No Printer of Bills)  
Have proved it in ample wise.  
'Tis true, quoth Elizabeth,  
And 'tis very good, quoth Pris,  
And Aquila too will have it be so,  
And so will my Sister Si●.   

What though the King Proclaim's  
Our Meetings no more shall be;  
In private we may  
Hold forth the right way,  
And be, as we should be, free,  
Our Husbands we'll make believe,  
We go but to take the air,  
Or visit a Nurse,  
And lighten their Purse  
With a little dissembling Prayer.  
Or if they be cross,  
(Let 'em stand to the loss)  
We'll tempt our Apprentices,  
(By writing a Dash,  
To cozen the Cash,)  
And make 'em mere Novices.  
Oh very well said, quoth Con,  
And so will I do, says Franck.  
And Mercy cries I, and Mat, really,  
And I'm o' that mind, quoth Thank.   

we'll cut off the wicked Rout,  
And bathe us all in their Bloods;  
Their Houses and Land  
we'll have at Command.  
And common upon their Goods  
No mortal King nor Priest,  
No Lord, nor Duke we'll have,  
we'll grind 'em to Grist,  
And live as we lift,  
And we will do wonders brave;  
Come Dor●as and Cloe,  
With Lois and Zoe,  
Young Letice and Beterice and Jane,  
Phill, Dorothy, Maud,  
Come troup it abroad,  
For now is our time to reign.  
Sa, sa, quoth my sister Bab,  
And Kill 'em, quoth Margery;  
Spare none, cry's old Tib, nor quarter says Sib.  
And hay! for our Monarchy.   

Let's all take the Sacrament,  
That we to each other be true,  
And kill without pity  
In Country and City,  
The wicked ungodly Crew.  
We'll favour no Sex, nor Age,  
No Quality, nor Degree;  
But all shall to Pot,  
Both English and Scot,  
That hinder our Liberty.  
The Mayor of the Town,  
(That terrible Brown,)  
And Cox and the Captains all,  
we'll torture and slay  
In a merciless way,  
And mince 'em, like herbs, as small.  
Ay, that is the way, quoth Emm,  
Quoth Phoebe, we conquer shall;  
Says Lucy, 'tis well; quoth Jylian and Nell,  
'Twill make us amend for all.    

A Loyal Wish.  
What Faith, Hope, and Charity,  
fanatics in Truth profess,  
By Germanie's Woe,  
And our Rebels 
‖ or, Sisters, Vtrum, horum, harum.  here too,  
Well may we do more than guess  
Th' ar' just like Gadarens Swine,  
Which the Devils did drive and bewitch!  
An Herd, set on evil,  
Will run to the Devil,  
And's Dam, when their 
* Brains  Tails do itch:  
The let 'em run on!  
Says Ned, Tom, and john:  
Ay! let 'em be hanged, quoth Mun!  
theyar' mine quoth old Nick,  
And take 'em says Dick,  
And well come! quoth worshipful D●.  
And God bless King Charles, quoth George,  
And save him, says Simon and Sill,  
I, I, quoth old Cole, and each loyal Soul▪  
And Amen, and Amen, cry's Will.   

The Honest men's Resolution.  
But what, shall we do with our Wives,  
That fi●k up and down the Town?  
And one is for Bowls,  
And t'other for Knowles,  
But all against Cox and Brown?  
They cheat us all with their looks,  
And snivel and snot by roate!  
And nothing but sqeak,  
For Venner and Feake,  
And for a Laced Morning-Coat,  
For such a Belldam,  
Says Sylas and Sam,  
Let's have an Italian Lock!  
No, no! It's far better,  
Quoth Robin and Peter,  
To take 'em all down i'th' Dock!  
But that will not do, says Nump,  
Then nothing, says Roger and Ralph!  
Let's lay 'em, says not, and splay 'em, says Wat,  
And then we shall make 'em safe.  
But, Faith, y'are all out o'th' way!  
The Sisters have such a Trick!  
No Instrument will  
Seclude 'em from ill,  
But still against P—'s, they'll kick.  
What shall we do then? quoth Hall,  
Let's cope up their Lechery!  
Says Rowland we may,  
Be Masters, that way.  
But will not last long, quoth 
* Theophilus.  The.  
What shall we do then,  
Quoth Cuthbert and Ben.  
Let's do 'em like men, quoth Dan,  
Let's fill up their Chincks,  
Says Mystical Sphynx.  
Quoth Taffie, then I'm your man!  
And I am as cut, quoth God,  
And She●kin, Me ●at-a-whe.  
Ap Howel, It's true, and Morgan & Hug●  
Y Cambrie, Dieu, Dal●h-a-whe.   
FINIS.