A CURSE Against Parliamentale.  
With a Blessing to the JUNCTO; a Thanksgiving to the Council of STATE; and a Psalm to OLIVER.  

Tom Randal did once, in a merry Tale,  
Writ the Commendations of a Pot of Good Ale:  
Revealing what Cures, and Griefs it did ease,  
And all sorts of People comfort and please:  
But now our Damned Juncto, to add Sorrow to Grief,  
Have Rob us all, of our best Relief:  
That Causes my Muse at the Rebels to Rail,  
That Eight Years have Sat, to Reform our Ale.  
We praying this Curse may soon on them fall,  
Their Wives, and their Children; A pox take them all.   
NOD-NOL: Printed for the good of the State. 1649.   

A CURSE Against Parliamentale.  

BAse Miscreants, Rebels, could ye not invent  
Some other Plague in your damned PARLIAMENT  
To vex good-fellows, but you must put down  
Strong-Ale, the chief upholder of the Crown?  
Sure, sure you feared (since you have mischief wrought)  
That we should curse you every Morning's draught;  
Talk of your usurped Power, and in conclusion  
Turn off a Double Pot to your confusion.   

What made ye else to Act against our good,  
And put down ALE, the nourisher of blood?  
Alas, I knew your hellish PLOT before,  
'Cause you shed blood, you'd have us breed no more.  
Or does your tainted souls in reason think  
'Cause we want Meat, to keep us from our Drink:  
Now against winter too, in snow and Frost,  
Basely to rob us of our POT and TOSSED!  
The ancient DRINK of England to forbid!  
The cursedst Act the Juncto ever did:  
'Twas all our TRADING now, to tell a Tale,  
And repeat wrongs over a Pot of ALE:  
Tell the sad Story of Good CHARLES his Fate,  
How you have Reformed Monarchy to State:  
How fruitful since your time the Church is grown,  
That hath a Thousand heresies for one.  
What Acts and Laws ye make; and what observe,  
What ye have done: and what your Deeds deserve;  
What Rule ye Rule by; By what Power ye sway,  
And seek our good, the clean contrary way;  
〈◊〉 by Oppressing you do ease oppression,  
And of the Deadly sins Vote no Transgression.  
How you do thrive by Theft, and live by murder;  
Go on in Fraud, till you can go no further;  
And when on top of all your haughty pride  
Make yourselves Saints by acting Regicide.   

With such Discourse the time we did beguile,  
Whilst every one clubbed round his Pot the while,  
To season grief, and banish base despair,  
And ease our minds of Poverty and Care.  
But since Strong ALE is now departed hence,  
Thus will we CURSE his Small-beer Excellence.  
The Juncto, Army, that procure our woe,  
My Curse light on them, and the People's too.    

A Blessing to the Juncto.  

MAY Tom of the North, with Pride and his froth, his Yest-Tubb, Hoggs-heads, Barrel;  
be filled with Small-Beer, that never yet was Clear, that the Rebels may drink till they Quarrel.  
May Noll Cromwel's Grace, with his Copper in his Face, drink what a Bog invites him:  
let his Nose stick in Mud, as his hands are brewed in Blood, and a guilty Conscience affright him.  
May his Lifeguard Conspire, and his Nose lose the fire, Strong-Ale at first infused:  
may he all Curses have, till he comes to his Grave, that hath a whole Kingdom abused.  
May Ireton that Rebel, march quickly to Hell, and for Thirst like Dives complain:  
may Noll and he, and all their Progeny, never drink strong-Ale again.  
May perpetual Thirst, make them all still Accursed, in hunger let them pine:  
and never let them drink, but water that doth stink, or the dregs of some poisonous Wine.  
May their Food be Hopps and grains, and all end their Reigns, at Tyburn take their Degrees:  
like to Absalon, let them come still short home, and end all their lives on Trees.  
Let Bradshaw take a Bribe, to betray all the Tribe, as he hath done his King:  
and after he hath done, into Perdition run, and end his life with a Swing.  
Let Sir Harry Mildmay; like judas betray; their Cause in his whimsy-fitt:  
and when with his Maid, he hath often played, be ta'en in the Gravel-pitt.  
Let Steel, Cook, and Wild, that have so often beguiled, the Kingdom of their Right:  
do Justice at last, and all the Rebels Cast, that against their Sovereign fight.  
Let Pride with his Sling, that Reigns like a King, be sod in his own Fat:  
his Children and Wife, live at variance and strife, and his  die all of the Rot.  
Let Hewson fight his Last, and in his Ends be still crossed, with clean and pleasant weather:  
may his Knife and Threads break, and his Soul spring a leak, and his skin be tanned to make Leather.  
May Whitlock have his Due, that yet was never True, to Gospel, Law, or Reason:  
and when he doth departed, I wish with all my heart, he may Suffer for High Treason.  
May Martin and his Punk, be every day Drunk, until a Surfeit speed them:  
and when they be poor, run still on the Score, and the Chirurgeon deny to Bleed them.  
May Peter Preach and Fight, and in Sedition delight, till his Tongue do set all on Fire:  
and in the conclusion, some sudden Confusion, frustrate the Rebels desire.  
May Corbet the Jew, that yet was never true, be stoned through Loathbury:  
and like Doctor Lamb, be sent from whence he came, or be Chained in Charon's Ferry.  
May Okey and his Rout, of Dragoons face about, and once again brew Small-Beer:  
may they wait for the Day, and always miss their Pay, or be Routed twice in a year.  
May Lenthall that Atheist, turn Alcymist, and Cheat the State of their Coin:  
that he may Buy Land, and Cole have Command, of all he doth Purloyn.  
May whaley and Rich, and Barksteed and such, base scums, as Deshury, Sanders:  
when these Wars do cease, and once we have a Peace, be hanged for High-way-standers.  
May Lilburn from the Tower, overthrew all their Power, and his  
Levellers Rise and prevail:  
may they hang up Committees, that undo Towns and Cities, and lay all Excize-men in Jail.  
May the old doting Mayor, fall into Dispair, and the wise Aldermen of the City:  
like Perjured Elves, fall mad and hang themselves, and their Case let no man pity.  
May the Common-Councel sit, without Money or Wit, to Raise a new Sum for the Army:  
then let Noll Return, and your City Sack and Burn, and the Juncto the whilst dis-arm ye.  
May Alderman Bide, get the uper hand of Pride, and Scarlet still adorn him:  
and when he doth fail, to Brew more Strong Ale, pray Vulcan his Wife may Horn him.  
May all Countries Rise, and Pay no Excize, till King CHARLES be set on His Throne:  
may they Raise new Force, of Money, Men, and Horse, and seek to secure their own.  
May their Navy all Sail, by some unlucky Gale, to Dunkirk or Oastend:  
when their Sailors be drunk, let their Ships be all sunk, and their Piracy come to an end.  
May the Blood they have shed, and their King Murdered, aloud for vengeance Cry:  
till the Heavens do send, some Plague for their end, that have destroyed Monarchy.  
May the Church-Lands, lie still on their Hands, and he be Cursed that Buys them:  
'gainst the will of the Dead, when themselves are Buried, just Heaven will sure deny them.  
May all the King's Goods, His Parks, Chases, Woods, His Children now distressed:  
be delivered from their Paws, that will observe no Laws, and the People that do it Blessed.  
May their several Vows, that no breaking allows, their Oaths and Perjuries:  
besides their murder and stealth, and the wronged Commonwealth, procure their Miseries.  
May their Pitts, Nets, and Traps, made for others Mishaps, procure their sudden woe:  
and when they be Dead, lie Unburied, and their Souls to the Devil go.  
May their Wives turn all Jades, and live on their Trades, and their Children be marked like Cain:  
may they never have a day, of Comfort or Joy, till CHARLES the Second do Reign.   
Amen.   

A  to the Army.  
MOst Powerful, and Puissant Conquerors, that by your Might in Wickedness, have overcome and cut off our most Rightful and Gracious King, subdued our Laws, filled our Land with Schism, Heresy, Profaneness, Murders, Lies, Robberies, etc. We bless you, we magnify you, we adore you, and acknowledge all we have to be at the mercy of your Swords, from this time forward, Parliament everlasting, world without end. Amen.   

To the Council of State.  
MAy it please you Right Horrible, Damnable, etc. The taking down the Councel-Board, Star-chamber, and High-Commission, was because they were Tyrannical, and Obnoxious to the good and well-being of the people; And finding you to be more Tyrannical and Wicked then ever those Courts were, We desire to know from whence you derive your Power; And are Resolved (God willing) to Down with you next, notwithstanding your immuring yourselves in Whitehall, placing a Guard upon you, till you Commit wickedness with a high hand.  
Let Juncto, Army, Devil, do what they can,  
Your Ends shall be like Buckingham and Lambe.   

A Hymn to CROMWELL.  
To the Tune of, Let Cromwel's Nose alone.  

SING old Noll the Brewer, sing old Noll the Brewer,  
With his Copper-face, and Ruby- Nose, now is Routed sure:  
Let Cromwel's nose still reign, let Cromwel's nose still reign,  
'tis no disgrace to his Copper-face, to Brew strong Ale again.   

Tredagh he took by Storm, and there he got much Riches;  
But Ards and Inchiquin, has made him wrong his Breeches.  
Let Cromwel's Nose still Reign, etc.   

Trim and Dundalk was quit, and Noll did forward go,  
Before he at Killkenny came, A lack and alas for wo.  
Let Cromwel's Nose still reign, let Cromwel's Nose still reign,  
'tis no disgrace to his Copper-face, to Brew strong Ale again.   

Ormond with Irish stout, did Charge him in the Van,  
And gave him there a Rout, that killed both Horse and Man.  
Let Cromwel's Nose still Reign, etc.   

Tredagh is now Regained, the Mount was never ta'en,  
Most People now do think, that he will end his Reign.  
Let Cromwel's Nose still reign, etc.   

Hugh Peter lay for dead, and said he was not well,  
One striping him, he said, He new came out of Hell.  
Let Cromwel's Nose still reign, etc.   

Ireton was found dead, Jones had his deadly-blow,  
Which made the Ely Bull to Roar, Bellow, and Loe.  
Let Cromwel's Nose still reign, etc.   

Sure Lily was a Witch, that did persuade his stay,  
But he without his Breech, to Ireland would away.  
Let Cromwel's Nose still reign, etc.   

Now they have hemmed him up, within a Castle sure,  
The juncto little think, what's Lordship doth endure.  
Let Cromwell's nose still reign, etc.   

They now do say the Lawrd, did their great Cause betray  
And sent them all to heaven— the clean contrary way.  
Let Cromwell's nose still reign, etc.   

Thus every Tyrant thrives, and every Traitor shall  
Aiming to reach a Crown, into Perdition fall.  
Let Cromwell's Nose still reign, let Cromwel's Nose still reign,  
'tis no disgrace to his Copper-face, to Brew strong Ale again.    
FINIS.