THE CITY'S FEAST TO THE LORD PROTECTOR.  
To the Tune of Cook Lorrell.  

SIR Mayor invites his Highness his guest  
And bids him to Grocers-Hall to dinner,  
There never was Saint at so great a Feast  
Provided him at the Charge of a Sinner.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

And what was the day do you think, without jesting,  
Of all the year it was Ash-wednesday  
This pious Reformer set apart for his Feasting,  
When all good Christians should fast and pray.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

The Soldiers in clusters thronged for place,  
To see this Monster of their own making,  
And said it was a Protectors grace,  
But that it wanted not much of A King.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

The Bucks of the City in herds were met,  
And were paled in with a very good fence,  
But what their Does did, I cannot tell yet,  
Of that ye may here three quarters hence.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

With that the Recorder marched up to the Hall  
With a dish of divinity dressed for his palate,  
And laid before him a shoulder of Saul,  
With a savoury simile by for a salate  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

His Highness commanded to lay it by,  
'twas fit for his people he'd make it known,  
And they should have it, good reason why,  
For they wanted more shoulders than their own.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

A dish of Delinquents heads in a Charger  
Was sent as a present from Goldsmiths-Hall,  
He wished his stomach ten times larger,  
Yet made a long neck and poached them all.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

A Prelate was next, and to him he buckles,  
With a Bishopric trussed before and behind,  
His Highness was in with him up to the knuckles,  
And to his own kitchen the skuers assigned.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

His Highness then called for a bowl of Canary,  
And drank so deep that it made him reel,  
He tossed it to Lambert, and Lambert to Harry,  
And Harry to the Mayor, and the Mayor to Steel.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

When dinner was ended, away to the banquet,  
Where snatching of Sugar-plums one from another,  
Hal filled up his pockets, and said God be thanked,  
And carried them home to his Lady-mother.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

Then His Highness commanded the Mayor to kneel,  
The Beast of the City was soon on his knees,  
He made him a Knight with Iron and steel,  
And bid him rise up, and pay him his fees.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

Up rose my Lord's worship and made him a leg,  
With that the Knight-maker did give him the Sword,  
His Highness did spice him without a nutmeg,  
When he made a bad Knight of a pitiful Lord.  
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.   

When he left the City he broke a jest.  
His words were pithy, and I'll repeat them,  
Farewell (quoth his Highness) thou spurgalled beast,  
Fools make the feasts, and wise men eat them.   
FINIS.  
MARCHEMOUNT NEEDHAM.   

LONDON, Printed for Henry Marsh at the Prince's Arms in Chancery-lane. 1661.