The ROYAL GENERAL Or the Camp at PUTNEY HEATH  
To the Tune of State and Ambition etc.  

NOw the great Monarch of England's bright Splendour,  
doth shine over Europe like Jove in his Throne  
Makes France to the Empire, & Spanierd surrender,  
The peace and the plenty of what is their own;  
The Turk and the Teiklites thereby are o'er powered  
And crushed by the conduct of Christians strong Arms,  
Such successful blessing the heavens have showered,  
The Turks and the Tartars are lost in the Storms.   

II.  
Great Charles and his Highness they brauly have Conquered  
Our pretended Protestant Turks of the Race,  
Of Haslrig, Bradshaw and Tapskie who Scampered,  
And left his desciples to hang in disgrace:  
With politic prudence and mercy 've turned  
The Sceam of the Kingdom as it was before,  
The saucy proud Presbyter formerly scorned,  
Are forced to their Sovereign to whine and adore.   

III.  
Come brave daring Tories that's warlike affected,  
O'th' offspring of Mars and delights in a Drum;  
At which the fanatics are vexed and affrighted;  
Where none but Heroic brave souls are to come:  
At Putney you'll see his brave Highness restored  
Chief General by Land as well as by Sea,  
His Merits deserving the gods have implored,  
That none but the right in succession should sway.   

iv  
Great Chalres more than Cesar an Army hath raised  
To protect his Friends, and keep Rebels in awe,  
Not to be disbantled at Parliament pleasure;  
we'll make those damded hotspurs Allegiance to know;  
The Oboes and trumpets sounds tan, ta, ra, ra, ra  
The Colours do flourish Drums beat dub, a dub  
Each loyal Commander his Soldiers doth cherist  
They'll make Jack Presbyter fly from his tub.   

V  
No Theatre, Opera nor garden of pleasure,  
Can equal the harmony of English Camp;  
Three Kingdom's Protection and Monarches chief Treasure,  
A terror to our English Turks o'th' same stamp  
Our New-castle Rebels and Scotch apprehended,  
Must lay by their hopes of rasing the Crowd;  
Rumbold now taken shall be recommended,  
With Argile on Gibbet as high as a Cloud.   

VI  
The Guards and Malitia in real Emulation,  
Each Soldier deserving Commissioners place;  
Their souls are aspired above Elevation,  
And ev'ry Commander Achilles' grace:  
The King & the Duke & Prince are Triumphant,  
With loud Acclamations, and Trophies of joys,  
To see proud opposers subdued that were Rampant.  
With huzza's let's drink their health Tory-Boys.   

VII.  
All that in warlike Discipline delighteth,  
Pray for the success of the Christians Arms,  
And for all that contribut's to pay those that fighteth  
In the Holy Wars & their Duty performs;  
And those that discovered the last Plot in Scotlland,  
Wherein Sterling-Castle was to be surprised;  
And for the preservation of peace in old England;  
And let those be hanged that trims in disguise.   
FINIS.   

London Printed for J. Dean, Bookseller in Cranborn-Street near Newport-House in Leicesterfields', 1684.