The Lamentation of a Bad Market: OR, The Disbanded soldier.  

IN Red-coat rags attired,  
I wander up and down,  
Since Fate and Foes conspired,  
thus to array me,  
or betray me,  
to the harsh censure of the Town;  
My buff doth make me Boots, my Velvet-coat and Scarlet  
Which used to do me credit, with many a Sodom Harlot,  
Have bid me all adieu most despicable Valvet:  
Alas poor soldier, whither wilt thou march?   

I've been in France and Holland,  
guided by my stars,  
I've been in Spain and Poland,  
I've been in Hungaria,  
in Greece and Italy.  
and served them in all their Wars;  
Britain these 18 years has known my desperate slaughter,  
I've killed ten at one blow, even in a fit of laughter,  
Cone home again and smiled, and kissed my landlord's Daughter.  
Alas poor soldier, &c.   

My valour so prevailed,  
meeting with my Foes,  
Which strongly me assailed;  
Oh! strange I wondered,  
they were a hundred,  
yet I routed them with few blows;  
This falchion by my side, has killed more men I'll swear it,  
Than Ajax ever did, alas he ne'er came near it,  
Yea more than Priam's Boy, or all that ere did hear it:  
Alas poor soldier, &c.   

For King and Parliament,  
I was a Praester John,  
Devout was my intent;  
I haunted Meetings,  
used zealous greetings,  
crept full of Devotion;  
Smect●m●s won me first, then holy Nye prevail,  
Then Captain Kifin flops me with John of Leydon Tail,  
Then Fox and Naylo● bangs me with Jacob Beamonds' flail:  
Alas poor soldier, &c.   

I did about this Nation,  
hold forth my gifts and teach,  
Maintained the toleration;  
the common story,  
and Directory▪  
I damned with the word (Preach)  
Time was when all Trades f●i●ed men counterfeitly zealous,  
Turned Whining snieuling Pr●ters, or kept a country alehouse,  
Got handsome Wives turned Cuckolds howe'er were very jealous:  
Alas poor soldier, &c.   

The World doth know me well,  
I ne'er did peace desire,  
Because I could not tell,  
of what behaviour,  
I should savour,  
in a Field of thundering fire;  
When we had murdered King, confounded Church and State,  
Divided Parks and Forests, Houses, Money, Plate,  
We then did Peace desire to keep what we had got:  
Alas poor soldier, whither wilt thou march?   

Surplice was surplisage,  
we Voted right or wrong,  
Within that furious Age  
of the Painted Glass,  
oh Pictured Brass,  
and liturgy we made a Song.  
Bishops and Bishops Lands were superstitious words,  
Until in soldier's hands, and so were Kings and Lords;  
But in fashion now again in spite of all our Swords:  
Alas poor soldier, &c.   

Some say I am forsaken  
by the great men of these times,  
And they're no whit mistaken,  
it is my Fate  
to be out of date▪  
my Master's most are guilty of such crimes;  
Like an old almanac I now but represent,  
How long since Edge-hill fight, or the Rising was in Kent.  
Or since the dissolution of the first Long-Parliament.  
Alas poor soldier, &c.   

Good Sirs what shall I fancy,  
amidst these gloomy days?  
Shall I go Court brown Nancy,  
in a country Town,  
they'll call me Clown,  
If I sing them my outlandish plays;  
Let me in inform their noddle with my heroic Spirit,  
My Language and worth besides, transcend unto merit,  
They'll not believe one word, what mortal flesh can bear it?  
Alas poor soldier, &c.   

Into the country places,  
I resolve to go,  
Amongst those Sun burut Faces,  
I'll go to Plough,  
or keep a Cow;  
'tis that my Masters now again must do:  
Soldiers ye see will be of each Religion,  
They're but like Stars, which when the true Sun rise they're gone;  
I'll to the country go, and there I'll serve Sir John:  
I, I, 'tis thither, and thither will I go.   
FINIS.   

LONDON, Printed for Charles Gustavus, 1660.