A NEW ballad, To an Old Tune. Tom of Bedlam.  

MAke room for an honest Red-coat,  
(And that you'●l says a wonder)  
The Gun, and the Blade,  
Are his Tools,— and his Trade,  
Is for Pay, to Kill, and Plunder.  
Then away with the laws,  
And the Good old Cause,  
ne'er talk o'the Rump, or the Charter,  
'Tis the Cash does the Feat,  
All the rest's but a Cheat,  
Without That there's no Faith, nor Quarter.   

'tis the Mark of our Coin, GOD WITH US,  
And the Grace of the Lord goes along with't,  
When the George's are flown,  
Than the Cause goes down,  
For the Lord is departed from it.  
Then away, &c.   

For Rome, or for Geneva,  
For the Table, or the Altar,  
This spawn of a Vote,  
He cares not a Groat—  
For the Pence, he's your Dog in a Halter.  
Then away, &c.   

Tho' the Name of King, or Bishop,  
to Nostrils pure may be loathsome,  
Yet many there are,  
That agree with the May●r,  
That their lands are wondrous toothsome.  
Then away, &c.   

When our Masters are Poor, we Leave 'em,  
'Tis the Golden Calf we bow too:  
We Kill, and we slay,  
Not for Conscience, but Pay;  
Give us That, we'll fight for you too.  
Then away, &c.   

'Twas That first turned the King out;  
The Lords, next: then, the Commons:  
'Twas that kept up Noll,  
Till the Devil fetched his Soul;  
And than it set the Bum on's.  
Then away, &c.   

Drunken Dick was a Lame Protector,  
And Fleetwood a Backslider:  
These we served as the rest,  
But the City's the Beast  
That will never cast her Rider.  
Then away, &c.   

When the Mayor holds the stirrup,  
And the Shreeves cry, God save your Honours:  
Then, 'tis but a Jump,  
And up goes the Rump.  
That will spur to the Devil upon us.  
Then away, &c.   

And now for fling at your Thimbles,  
Your Bodkins, Rings, and Whistles,  
In truck for your toys,  
We'll fit you with Boys:  
('Tis the Doctrine of 
* To the butcher's wife.  Hugh's Epistles.)  
Then away, &c.   

When your Plate is gone, and your Jewels,  
You must be next entreated,  
To part with your Bags,  
And strip you to Rags,  
And yet not think y'are cheated.  
Then away, &c.   

The truth is, the Town deserves it;  
'Tis a Brainless, Heartless Monster:  
At a club they may Bawl,  
Or Declare at their Hall,  
And yet at a Push not one stir.  
Then away, &c.   

Sir Arthur vowed he'll treat 'em,  
Far worse than the men of Chester:  
He's Bold, now they're cowed,  
But he was nothing so loud  
When he lay in the ditch at Leicester.  
Then away, &c.   

The Lord hath left John Lambert,  
And the Spirit, Feak's Anointed,  
But why oh Lord,  
Hast thou sheathed thy Sword?  
Lo, thy Saints are disappointed.  
Then away, &c.   

Tho' Sir Henry be departed:  
Sir John makes good the place now,  
And to help out the work  
Of the Glorious Kirk,  
Our Brethren march apace too.  
Then away, &c.   

While Divines, and statesmen wrangle,  
Let the Rump-ridden Nation bite on't,  
There are none but we  
That are sure to go free,  
For the soldier's still in the right on't:  
Then away, &c.   

If our Masters won't supply us,  
With money, Food and Clothing:  
Let the State look to't,  
We'll find one that will do't,  
Let him Live,— we'll not damn for nothing.  
Then away with the Laws,  
And the Good old Cause,  
ne'er talk o'the Rump, or the Charter,  
'Tis the Cash does the feat,  
All the rest's but a Cheat,  
Without That their's no Faith, nor Quarter.   
FINIS.