DREGS OF DROLLERY▪ OR OLD POETRY IN ITS RAGS.  
A full cry of Hellhounds unkennelled to go a King-catching;  
To the Tune of Chevy-Chace:  
LONDON, Printed in the year 1660.   

TO His most Honoured Friend and Cousin, George Lord Monk, Viscount Poderidge, Duke of Albemarle, Earl of Essex, Knight of the most Noble Order of the Garter, Lord General of all His Majesty's Forces in the three Kingdoms, Master of his Horse, and one of his most Honourable Privy-Council.   

DREGS OF DROLLERY, OR OLD POETRY In its Rags, etc.  
To the Tune of Chevy-Chase.  

1.  
OF Buck-hunting, and Fox-catching  
I have heard; But th'Royal Game,  
King-catching, ne'er was heard of yet,  
From the shrill Trumpet of Fame.   

2.  
Yet this unheard of drerefull sport,  
I sadly sit and sing;  
By Rebel Rogues acted upon  
As gracious, as great King.   

3.  
His Judas servants first are the●  
That for unrighteous wages;  
Him shamefully into th'hands betray  
Of Jewish bloody Sages.   

4.  
To him all things presented are,  
Disordered in the Nation;  
And therefore must a Parliament,  
Be called for Reformation.   

5.  
Pembroke the wise, his mouth now opes,  
And telleth him that he's nigh ill;  
And that there now remains no hope,  
(As he hath heard from Mighill)   

6.  
To sage advice his ear bow down,  
Unless he shall prove willing;  
Lose surely he will, his triple Crown,  
Called alias fifteen Shilling.   

7.  
A monstrous hand is then held forth  
Of one of Anak's sons;  
With six Fingers, that their design,  
Even he may read that runs.   

8.  
And that strange antic names be not  
Wanting to these Dissemblers;  
These signally must now be called,  
Kimbolton and five Members.   

9  
These on a roar the whole house set  
Impetuously a crying,  
The people's peace can't be redeemed  
Without great Strafford's dying.   

10.  
Then tumults raise they such, no sound  
Is to be heard to ring,  
But first we will no Bishops have,  
And then we'll have no King.   

11.  
And these like Bulldogs trained indeed,  
First flyed the Bishop's head,  
And never leave their hot pursuit,  
Till Canterbury's dead.   

12.  
Our blessed brethren then, the Scots,  
Must come into our aid;  
For which their love they must have Pounds  
Three hundred thousand paid.   

13.  
Horned Essex then into Regiments  
Divides his City power;  
For which horned beasts all still shall be  
Upon Record i'th' Tower.   

14.  
And Atkins then with his wide stretch  
Doth his great Horse bestraddle,  
That of the colour of his Chain,  
Eftsoons he makes his saddle.   

15.  
Then's Edge-Hill-Fight, where whilst is seen  
Many a brave soul on the ground,  
Stout Wharton with his Morglai keen,  
Is in a Saw-pit found.   

16.  
With more than good speed, then to''th' Town  
of Gloster high's our Liege;  
And with a courage like himself,  
Layeth to it a close Siege   

17.  
Him after Cuckold Essex Posts,  
And close to work he falls;  
And with his Ram's horns, Josuah-like▪  
He bloweth down the City walls.   

18.  
And thence away with winged speed,  
Getteth him into the West:  
The King he followeth soon, and chase  
Giveth to this Royal Beast▪   

19  
Thence to Exon come, and there having cheered  
His Dear, and blessed his baby;  
To Oxon than he hasteth away,  
With all the speed that may be.   

20.  
And now, when Essex had his hire  
Of treason, by poison, paid;  
And all his valiant traitorous acts,  
By th'wall 〈◊〉 are laid.   

21.  
Black Tom in this cursed Cuckolds place,  
Being now his Oxcellence grown,  
Tamely he hopes the King to seize,  
But finds this great Bird flown.   

22.  
The King is now the Scottish Faith,  
For safety, forced to sound;  
But basely they him deliver up,  
For two hundred thousand pound.   

23.  
Now, for's possession, to Holmeby brought,  
One striveth to out-wit another;  
But the Independents here's too hard  
For his Presbyterian brother.   

24.  
Thence to Hampton-Court in triumph led,  
He's there put in t'a fright,  
B' Horse-regiments, and therefore must  
Away to th'Isle of Wight.   

25.  
Cow's Castles first for th' captive King,  
Thought a convenient ward;  
But then, for more security,  
Hurste Castle a stronger guard.   

26.  
To James then first, thence Westminster,  
Where he receives his charge,  
From more Tertullusses than one,  
Whereon they boldl' enlarge.   

27.  
Black Bradshaw then in Bloud-red-robes,  
Old Pontius Pilate acts;  
And passeth on our Sovereign Lord,  
Sentence for traitorous acts.   

28.  
To White-Hall last, his Royal Seat,  
With strong guards they him bring;  
To go forth from his Banqueting-house,  
To an Heavenly banqueting.   

29.  
One of's accusers, Dorislaus,  
To his place (you know) is gone;  
With Hoil, his Judge; and what o'th'rest▪  
Becomes, you'll hear anon.   

30.  
And that all the King's Enemies,  
May prosper as did they,  
All Loyal Subjects of the King,  
I'm sure, will heartily pray.   The Wise man dyeth as the Fool; Eccles. 2. 16. 
FINIS.   


An Hymn, penned by an old Bard; but set to a new Tune of a latter date (When I came first to London Town;) and now the rather thus far exposed to public view; for that it is conceived to have something of a Prophetic Spirit in it.  

1.  
NOw Countermarch Noll and face about;  
The time is at hand of thy fatal rout;  
Now the Lords Anointed gins t'appear;  
No more room for thy Saints, and Idols is hear:  
And now that these cease their fanatic noises,  
Gods Preachers spite of thee, shall lift up their voices.   

2.  
The Soldier may practise now every day,  
To trail his Pike a funeral way.  
No sound to be heard from the beat of the Drums,  
But look about Oliver, Rowland comes:  
And all the notes, the clarions sound,  
Is Noll must on a dry Hill be drowned.   

3.  
'Tis time for thee Oliver to turn Hector,  
For General thou mayst not be and Protector.  
Look well to thyself; since the people all cry,  
Noll must a Tibur-Martyr die.  
And 'tis their only unanimous vote,  
An Haltar's the knife must cut Nolls throat.   

4.  
Now plaints of all sorts are entered the ears  
Of the Highest, with Widows and Orphans tears;  
These unto him will ne'er cease to cry,  
Till shamefully Noll there come to die,  
And these such vengeance shall draw down on thine head;  
As shall make thy Nose look Hell-fire red.   

5.  
Now Mopsa must cease to be a Queen,  
And lie on her Parsley-bed so green;  
And from her high surfeit of courtly wishes,  
Learn her old trade of washing the dishes.  
And since her old Oliver's going to his place,  
Find out a new Traitor, to regain her Grace.   

6.  
And now her Jone-ship the three Kingdoms sway,  
Seethe that no longer she continue may;  
That she may yet in some way be served,  
Though she nor bread nor water e'er deserved;  
From her new Blackhall time that she address her,  
To her old Royal Palace of Gurmunt-Chester.   

7.  
Now Salisbury and Pembroke, those two lofty Knaves,  
That base Lenthals tamely are far base slaves;  
That take't for a character of their noble strain,  
Like Hand-men, to bear up this poor Speakers train.  
Dove, Garter, as those spurs, shall jointly lose,  
Whilst Oliver's neck's tied up in a Noose.   

8.  
Now Pride to his Grain-tub must retire,  
And Barksteade to's trying of dross by fire:  
The one for his Crest a Thimble shall wear,  
The other for his Arms a Sling shall bear.  
And Vinour and Pack their spurs shall lose,  
Whilst Oliver's neck's tied up in a Noose.   

9  
Now high time for Prideaux to hie him away  
To Black-Hall, where great Abaddon bears sway;  
And since that of late he's dropped into Hell,  
Where the Devil on his bones are feasting full well;  
And his Soul in the Lake the Saints still see burn,  
By Post 'twill be late to bethink of return.   

10.  
Now the eagle's chicks, with his wings displayed,  
Gins bravely t'appear, by his fast friends aid;  
And Coplestone with his sharp edge eyeing,  
And the thin skull of his false honour descrying,  
On his Cople-crown a stone shall let fall,  
And so spoil a Knight and a General.   

11.  
Time then Doctor Walker in haste be fetched,  
To make his last Will, whose neck must be stretched,  
And thus religiously he gins,  
'Tis too late repent me of mine old sins;  
And therefore my soul, after its long night,  
To him I bequeath, hath to it most right.   

12.  
To Bradshaw I give my cruelty,  
To say and seal mine hypocrisy:  
To Commissioner Fines my cowardice,  
To Atty Haselrigge my covetise;  
Mine heart to my Mistress, Lambert's wife,  
When th'Gallows shall me have bereft of life.   

13.  
Return shall we to our Trade, Pride thou shalt be  
Great Elder of our Swine-Presbytery;  
And we having by Money got, and the Law of clubs,  
We'll reconverse gladly with our Draugh-tubs;  
And the Swine all the week we have fed with Draught  
From the same Tubs on the Sabbath shall rarely be taught.   

14.  
And now, as the Swedes late frantic Queen,  
Since no longer I may be what I have been.  
O! That I might to Jamaica go!  
But that way's obstructed both to and fro:  
The place than I find must, for which I am bend,  
Wither mine Harbinger Hannum before I have sent.    

Or this mock Mock-panegyrick.  

HOw doth the present State towards us abound,  
From whom ought nothing, but divine Truth sound?  
How do they their late Ancestors outvie,  
Towards our Tribe in works of piety?  
The former is confined to a petty cure,  
And whilst t'a Directory they us enure;  
Though the pains they spared us of a studied Prayer,  
Yet made they each Pulpit their triumphant Chair.  
These our Commission graciously enlarge,  
And grant each of us an Apostles charge.  
The former forced us with our daubing praise,  
Basely to follow their triumphant Bayss.  
These, as the purest Gold, trying us by fire,  
Their worth constrains in silence to admire:  
So that cause it speak to the height none can,  
We may no longer speak of God, or Man;  
And yet, whilst Egypt's Taskmasters did sore  
Oppress God 's people, as they still the more  
Increased; whilst there our Bishops strive to rout  
Both Root and Branch, they thus still thick sprout.  
Each such a Bishop now, as hath no less  
Than the whole World for his vast Diocese.  
And so are made now, by this blessed Crew;  
Thousands of Gentiles for one wandering Jew.  
And therefore, when, with brave acts of your glory;  
You shall great volumes fill of Ballad-story;  
Whilst daily at the Andrews corner there are sung,  
The Ropes shall be yours, wherewith the Bells are rung.    

Of Tombs his being Preacher in the Temple, And then afterwards a new Gate made thereinto from the Divel-Tavern.  

ONce near the Temple's pinnacle was seen  
A Spirit unclean, and that the like hath been  
Mongst Tombs I've heard, so that not strange to see  
Tombs and the Devil sweetly to agree.  
Tombs was the first, this Devil's morris led;  
Since thousands are there, him have followed:  
'Twixt the Devil and Temple since such harmony▪  
That each to other passeth readily.  
Yea, each of these with us hath the same lot,  
To each we offer that they hurt us not:  
And now the Templars getting where he was▪  
The Devil to him's no better than an Ass.  
Newgate and Temple are now very near,  
To th' Devil from th' Temple the way now is clear.    

Cromwell's march to Grocers-Hall.  

ROom, room, make room, for your great General,  
That on his march is now to Grocers-Hall:  
His Rufties, and his Muftis, making way,  
With bare teeth, fore him to a City fray,  
And, as he rideth, he ducketh, the boys to court,  
Whilst they of this his courtship make them sport;  
Only a Butcher, a true well-bred Lown,  
In Wastecoats, red as Bradshaw's Scarlet Gown;  
Within a Coach thinking he had seen his Fere,  
Would Rumps and Kidneys fain have changed with her.  
But on they go, and got the Hall within,  
Their brains with Sack well warmed, there doth begin  
A Fray, inflamed with many a well filled Glass,  
As thereto th'Counter-scuffle is an Ass.  
Cushions, their breeches till now ne'er did know;  
Now valiantly they at each other throw.  
And Atkins hath out-flung with that smart spring,  
And its guts ' bouts his ears so fluttering;  
That Sack and it, so die his chaps in red,  
No guts in's breech he hath left him, less in's head.  
And now enough hath each of Pepper-grains,  
Whilst ●●ch ●an● Nutmegs yet, to cool his brains.  
And in their Lord's Coach set is suc● a spoke,  
That now he needs wheels most, they all are broke.    

Grand Signieur and his Bashaws.  

GRand Signieur Cromwell now himself bewails,  
For spreading so fa●re's grander Bashaws sails;  
For now, for want of Ballast, every day,  
Each the●r great Masters threats to oversway:  
Yea so fare are they now with him to bring,  
In no wise will they hear of's being King.  
Mean time, whilst we in Coffee ●aily health,  
To make good w' have a Turkish Commonwealth;  
And with our Turkish manners now we see,  
This Turkish Phtheseude so well to agree:  
Come fort●, for God's sake, all you Christian Kings:  
And clip this great Turks, with his Bashaw's wings;  
And do a work, may well become you t'own,  
Settle an exile brother on his Throne.    

Upon the fall of the Stair of the Banqueting-house.  

THe Janisaryes to their grand Signieur come,  
To visit, as to visit Mecha's Tomb.  
No sooner hath the Visier the room entered  
Of's great Lord's presence, and there boldl'adventred  
To makes address, the rest now on the stairs,  
To drink in, what he spews with greedy ears:  
But now they gotten up unto their height,  
Soon sink those stairs under their sinful weight.  
Examine their Religious very wind,  
As steady as best of all them shall you find.  
Their villainy is that, which sinks them dead  
To th'deep Abyss, as Talents may of Lead.  
And maketh mean time their white, indeed Blacks Hall  
No other than a Cripples Hospital:  
Where heads are broke, and arms, and legs, and thighs;  
But necks kept for a Tyburn sacrifice.  
We cannot of that sad disaster hear  
In the Blackfriar, and not shed a tear.  
For that, though th' Sufferers were o'th' Romish side,  
Yet that they were Christians cannot be denied.  
Such heathenish Rebels these, whom Bridewell sound,  
May in a spittle sick be justly found:  
And now may ye see what 'tis to make your King,  
From th' same room to pass to his suffering;  
And take this for the First-fruits of your doom,  
For Crowning thus your King with Martyrdom.    

Upon the Authors late less of a Parsonage, for a passage in an Epistle of his to a Sermon lately Printed, pinting ●he Knaves every day turning.  

TRuth, as of old, so much more now's become  
Of hatred, such a mother unto some,  
That, let a man, a Knave, but dare to name,  
More wince than that one will, as all the same;  
So have I heard it be with many string,  
No sooner is one touched, but all do ring.  
That Cow-babe Fines, Fr' a tower a shade can fright,  
Dares quarrel yet Patrons undoubted sight;  
And tender he, the least worm dares not harm,  
'Gainst Justice yet will stoutly lift his arm.  
And boldly, blindly, sentence give that way,  
Gold-weights the scale of Justice he finds sway;  
And Lisle, poor Fool, that all th' while Whitlock sat.  
His fleering Grinders ne'er dust  to prate,  
Now, like a Virginal-jack, he still doth chatter,  
Though whether't be in tune, or no, no matter.  
Such Gemini-keepers are they for this Isle,  
That 'tis Treslisle Fines, as 'tis Fines Trelisle:  
So peaceably are these two Consuls bend,  
They'll ne'er divided be in Argument:  
But causes 'twixt them s ' ordered may you see,  
That 'tis nought else, but K. me, I'll K. thee.  
Nor may good men see better days  hope,  
Till this their sweet accord end in a Rope.   
Amen.    

TO his highly esteemed Friend and Cousin, John, Lord Grenvile, Baron of Stow, Earl of Bath and Biddiforde, Lord-warden of the Stanneryes, and Lord Lieutenant of Devon and Cornwall, and one of his Majesty's most Honourable Privy-Council, and one of the Getlemen of his Bedchamber.  Gratior est pulchro veniens è corpore virtus; 
What by a graceful is expressed,  
Is in men's thoughts more vigorously expressed.   


GEORGE THE SECOND, FORERUNNER TO CHARLES The Second.  

TO Good King Edgar's never dying praise,  
'Tis storied, he to God doth Temples raise,  
Monks for the Temples, and that th' Monks abide,  
Doth for them liberal maintenance provide.  
Lo here a Monk this Edgar doth outvie,  
He breath, without which th' English Church must die,  
Restores unto this Church, in that the King,  
Its nostril's breath, he doth home safely bring,  
Nay George as well as Monk is he, and hath  
Dragon Rumpsters put to endless scathe.  
Go on Great George, and make truth once more r.  
Greater to make 'tis than to be a King.  
And th' reason by every boy is given daily,  
Quod tale efficit magis est tale.  
And since of late to our great good unthought,  
From the Andrews Cross, thyself George whom thoust brought,  
As Boniface doth on th' Imperial Throne,  
Set Phocas, which to give yet's not his own;  
Whilst he with universal Bishop's name,  
Doth Boniface throughout the World's fame▪  
Our gracious Sovereign to thee prove a Carl,  
I would not have, but Duke of Albemarle;  
Let him create thee, yea, let him still live,  
More honours of thy worth fare short to give,  
And the George-Garter let make still appear,  
Th' a second English George dosts justly hear.  
That lately hast found out a new Charles-Wain,  
For transfretating Charles through the Main.  
Nay then th' Kings Scire more must thy praise times sing,  
That but a Prince thee getting, this a King.  
Now Rebel-Scot, whose Viceroy George did ragin  
Of late, too late 'tis to call George again;  
Nor may Pharaticks ever hope more quarrels  
To raise against our Sovereign Lord King Charles.  
Yea this, and much more than I can say,  
Was by thee finished, George on Charles Birthday.  
Now Lily is in his Prognostics faded,  
And Wharton's Almanac true as he that made it;  
Even now about much, each with other face,  
And th' former take the latters Newgate place.  
And the Fates now observe we may decree,  
Climb Haman shall Mordecay's cursed Tree.  
And base Arguile according to his merit,  
Shall great Montrosses unjust fate inherit;  
And that the Devonshire man's the first day tried  
A Courtier, now's the Proverb verified.  
Since Grenvile, Monk, and Morris, bear all date,  
Fro' th' same Birthday o' their great Triumvirate.    

A knotty Dialogue betwixt the Good Lord Say, and the Good Earl of Northampton.  

A Learned speech when many a Peer had made  
In their own House, according to th' old trade,  
Up crawls old Say, by site of th'Isle of Lundee,  
But by Religion of the Town of Dundee,  
And clamours Bishops, and th'Book of Common-Prayer,  
As th'only Trumpets to this unhallowed war.  
To whom up riseth the composed Lord Compton,  
And thus (right Son o'th' Church as he is) he mumps him.  
Your Lordships fare from being in the right,  
That Prayer thus, and Bishops to despite.  
For not that Prayer the cause was, nor the Mitre,  
But only the Hellish Spirit of Jack-Presbyter.  
And that this true is, you can't choose but gather,  
Peace, Prayer and Mitre, being returned together.  
And that our miseries sensibly now slack,  
Since rooted out is now New-Elder-Jack.  
Now Calvin may go look for his (Obey,)  
Since Constantine's old Bishops now're to sway:  
Nay reason now shall we all have to sing,  
We Lawn-sleeves, Surplice, Cross, we'll have and Ring.  
And now our Church to collective old Fines,  
Shall say, thou shan't profane what ere mine is.  
Now Presters teeth so dulled are, he can't by't,  
And th' Mask is pulled off from this Hypocrite.    

Upon some of the late King's Judges.  

ATkins, that hast thought it th'greatest height of art,  
To sweeten with the best perfume a Fart.  
Thou ne'er thought'st of tasting the waters of Marah,  
Till the Trump now for Tyburn sounds Tarah, rah, rah, rah.  
Lords Tichburn and Ireton, that as sharp were as Verjuice  
In shuting up th'Church-doors 'gainst our Christmas service;  
You ne'er thought of tasting the waters of Marah,  
Till the Trump now for Tyburn sounds Tarah, rah, rah, rah.    

Upon the Author's Twelve pound Bishopric at Marrowbone, Given him by John Foreset Esquire.  

THe leaness of my Bishopric let none deride,  
Since th' better part by Fore-sets set aside.  
This Seas yet pulse, and water, me more clear,  
Than th'▪ richest wines, and all the daintiest fare,  
That the most errand, raging, Tyrants board.  
With all its greatest gayties can afford.  
But why the Bishop's sea's called Marrowbone,  
men's several fancies are not like, less one.  
That Marrowbones 'tis called fro' a bone of Marrow,  
Is a conjecture that is much too narrow;  
Of all conjectures that is true alone;  
From Maria bona tis called Marybone.   
Scripsit Didimus Bullingerus Episcopus Maribonensis. Annis, 56, 57, 58, 59 60. Ipse natus sex plusquam sexaginta.   


Now th'Church robbing Major, with his more holy Horse,  
Thought y'had made a Covenant with Lady Mors.  
You ne'er thought of tasting the waters of Marah,  
Till the Trump now for Tyburn sounds Tarah, rah, rah, rah.   

Thou Lord Say and Seal dost so sharply inveigh  
'Gainst the holy Book, whereby daily we pray;  
Thou ne'er thoughtst of tasting the waters of Marah,  
Till the Trump now for Tyburn sounds Tarah, rah, rah, rah.   

Let a man for his person be never so bold,  
Thou Lambert canst prove he may be a Cuckold;  
Whilst thou ne'er thought of tasting the waters of Marah,  
Till the Trump now for Tyburn sounds Tarah, rah, rah, rah.   

Thou Cromwell hast swallowed the whole World for a time,  
And thoughtst in bright lustre th' very Sun to outshine,  
But ne'er thoughtst of tasting the waters of Marah,  
Till the Trump thee to Tophet call all Tarah, rah, rah, rah.   Go you cursed, etc. Mat. 25. 41. Nay, but except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish, Luke 13. 3. Qualis vita, Finis ita.   
FINIS.