A justification of our Brethren of Scotland.  
under the Willow Tree.  

1.  

DEarest Jockey, we unto thee  
Are beholden every way,  
And yet some strive to undo thee,  
But I now the truth will say.   

Thou unto our aid cam'st running,  
Leaving thine own pleasant soil,  
And thy Al●, that was a tunning,  
In our most barren land to moil.   

Wherefore we will ever love thee,  
Over the shoulder, as they say,  
But if thou com'st again, we'll shove thee  
Home, the clean contrary way.  
We thee pray no more to aid us  
In that kind thou didst before:  
For, we find thou hadst betrayed us,  
Had we harkened to thy lore.    

2.  

Yet in thee there's no more cunning,  
Then in a devil of two years old:  
Prithee come no more a mumming,  
For we shall not our fingers hold.   

We know well thou camest hither,  
Only our welfare to advance;  
And therefore in the North didst gather  
All their plate and coin perchance.   

We know well, our most dear brother,  
Thou never meantst to sell the King;  
But that thy love thou couldst not smother,  
When we gold to thee did bring.  
We thee pray no more to aid us, &c.    

3.  

Friendly neighbour, that hast ever  
Been a sure card at our need;  
Though it hath been our luck, never  
To find thee false in word and deed.   

Thou great good will dost bear unto us,  
Loving the ground whereon we tread:  
But we pray thee truly show us,  
Is't not for our English bread?   

Alas dear soul, thou hast we know well,  
Been contented with all pain:  
As thy deeds did lately show well,  
To lose thy own land ours to gain.  
But we pray thee no more aid us, &c.    

Counter Tener.  

WE will love thee, O dear brother,  
And will never while we live  
Thy good turns within us smother,  
But will full requital give.  
For thy aiding,  
And persuading,  
Thy assenting,  
And thy entering.   

We will give thee yet more money,  
And will pay thee home, we swear,  
With a Cornish hug, thou blue-cap Bonney,  
we'll embrace thee, never fear.   

Thou shalt be incorporated  
One with us, and we with thee,  
When thy presbytery is instated,  
And Lay Elders ruling be.  
For selling,  
And rebelling,  
For thy aiding,  
And upbraiding:   

We will make a rare exchanging,  
And will give thee wheat for oats:  
If in mean time there be no ranging,  
And we do not cut your throats.    

An English Dance to a Scottish Bagpipe.  

A Hall, a Hall; let's dance, our task is done;  
Thanks unto Lowdon, and to Hinderson:  
Our bounds we will enlarge, our names advance,  
While that the English to our bagpipe dance:  
A Jig, a Jig, Edwards that Boanerges,  
Is come, accompanied with Doctor B—:  
Old G— halts hither too, and call—,  
To try the case of the presbytery.  
Delicious Swads, that by the rubric prate,  
The Alphas and Omegas of the State:  
Most holy Caterwaulers, that can pry  
Into men's acts, by wit's stenography.  
Olympic gewgaws, framed of pitch and tarre,  
Whose sayings still are found orbicular.  
New-modeled Elders; whose brains are as dry  
As blasted trees, or sand on mountains high.  
Blow thy wind Instrument, about, about,  
This music has enchanted, out of doubt,  
The English Senate, that on so small ground  
They gave to us two hundred thousand pound.  
The while their sovereign doth drenched lie,  
The essence of true griefs hydrography.  
Here comes too some o'th' Army, whose intent  
Is alike good to King and Parliament.  
Why then dance ye together in a ring?  
You hate the Parliament, and they the King.  
And now we may prepare, unto our pain,  
Scylla and Marius days to see again.  
Let Samson turn these fox's tail to tail,  
They need no firebrands for to assail;  
Their tongues are fired by hell, their hands do fall  
More ponderous than Talus iron maul.  
Their hopes and fears can't rest, until the Fates  
Do thrust them down to Proserpina's black gates.  
But when these Herod's show their cruelty,  
The guiltless children every one must die:  
But prudence through dark windings some may lead  
Safely with Ariadne's clew of thread.  
If all were like to them, where should there be  
Saints for the heaven, for earth posterity?  
Great Xerxes then might justly shed his tears,  
And say, that all will die within few years.  
The Daunian Wolves, Spartan Molossian Dogs,  
The Marsian boars, Arcadian boars and Hogs;  
Th' African may 'mongst us his monsters find,  
His painted birds, and fowls of strangest kind.  
But while yourselves you weary, have a care  
Of those that of you both so hated are.    
Anno 1647.