O. Cromwell's THANKS TO THE Lord General, Faithfully presented by Hugh Peter's In another Conference.  
Together with an Hue and Cry AFTER Mercurius Politicus.  
London, Printed by M. T.   

Cromwel's Thanks to the Lord General, faithfully presented by HUGH PETER.  
Oliver Cromwell, having had a late Conference with the new Lord General, (truly reported by Hugh Peter, wherein he made an earnest request to his Excellency for the sending of several persons to him, to receive their just Rewards, as well as himself, which by good Fortune is very much gratified) appeareth again to Peter's in Saint Jamses Park; To whom he applieth himself after his wont manner, as followeth.  Cromwell. 
HOnest Hugh! Well met! Of all my old Acquaintance and Familiars; I have none in such esteem, as thyself! Thou art honest indeed! I did but desire George Monk to do me a civil Courtesy; and I really find, that thou thyself hast been very Solicitous and assiduous in moving him to grant it; which he hath done to my great content and satisfaction, and for which I am come again of purpose to thee, that I may present my Thanks unto him by thine own hands.  Peter's. 
Sir, I am body and soul at your Devotion and service! I am your obsequious Vassal, and shall with all Observance and Fidelity perform your Commands.  Cromw. 
Prithee Peter! How does honest George Monk?  Pet. 
He is very well, Sir. And who but He! You never had a quarter of that Love and Respect from City or Country, as he has gotten by his Policy, in all your life.  Crom. 
Seriously so Robin Titchburn tells me. The old Proverb is very true, Birds of a Feather, will flock together: And so will gregal Beasts too. I did but desire honest George, to send that Ape to me, and he has sent me my little Marmoset Jack Ireton too in Company? It's honestly done of him. He was ever a noble Fellow, and as good, if not better, than his word: And that's more than ever I was in all my days, all the world knows.  Pet. 
Nay but Sir, you may be well assured, and take my honest word for it, that his Excellency will send you some more Company, ere it be long: He is very mindful of your Requests.  Cromw. 
I believe thee.  Pet. 
Sir, For all Jo. Lambert did show him a slippery Trick lately, and go out of the Tower, and headed a part of the Fanatic party near Daintry, together with Okey, young Hasterige, and divers others; yet by the prowess and valour of your Cousin Richard Ingoldsby, and others under his Command, they are all routed, and Lambert himself, with the Heads of that knot of Rebels, and Traitors (as they call them) are brought up prisoners, and secured in Cold harbour, and other parts of the Tower of London; and it will not be long first, ere they be all sent packing by an Attainder in Parliament to see how you do; or else they'll have very ill luck.  Crom. 
I profess, Peter! I am very glad of it: I thought I should not be long without Company. I shall be glad to see my old Chronees again. I'll do what I can for them, as I promised before, when I was last with thee. But why dost thou stay all this while from me, to thy prejudice, when thou mightest have a Congee d'eslure presently (I am confident) to be Archbishop of our Infernal Babel, if thou wouldst but come to me? What is it, that I cannot do, if I please, when I am pleased? And that was always a very hard matter to do, thou knowest! But, I find it very true, What I have often said heretofore: The Devil is good when he is pleased. And thou dost fit my turn daintily.  Pet. 
I marry Sir, I shall be well set up indeed. A Bishopric! and an Arch one too! Oh brave, my Lord! I'll come to you, I'll warrant you! I never was such a simple fool yet, as to be a foe to my own profit. A Bishop! I'll not refuse your proffer, my Lord: If John Calvin might have had but the like at Geneva, he would never have been such a rigid Presbyter, as he was. Oh my Stars! This is a noble proffer indeed. A Bishop! and Bishop of Babel too! Why! its double honour, my Lord! An Archbishop! a Metropolitan! a Primate! What not? a Province! 'tis admirable! I profess, I'll be sure to prefer Mr. Feake. Up, he goes! And for Luke Harrunny (the metal man) he shall be Incumbent at St. Thomas Watering. My dearly beloved, Ignatius Loyola (Philip Nye) has given me the slip (as some say) like a cunning knave, and gone over to Holland for a Trial without me: And so has Nedham too of a certain, like a sly Rogue, as he is: He's fully resolved to take up my namesake Hugh's trade, and Cobble the second part of Mare Liberum: But I will send an Hue and Cry after him to the Hogen Mogans, that he may be remitted from thence to his own proper Country. Would you think it my Lord, that Bunce and massy are come over again? Nay more, That massy should be chosen a Parliament-man. The wheel turns strangely round. Yonder's the Earl of Northumberland, and all the Lords gotten together again, I protest, in the House of Peers. There's such a Noble Pack of them, that it would make you stark mad, if you were but here a little to see them. They are not such a base Pack, as you shuffled together, we all know to be true. Nay, now the King will come in, and you can hardly see any body without his or his Father's Colours in their Hats. Their work goes on amain: And I'll tell you one remarkable thing more, my Lord, for a rare secret; as sure as may be, if they alight on you, they'll lay you by Sindercombe at Tower-hill: For your old friend, the Earl of Manchester is Speaker again of the Lords House; and he will be sure to remember your former kindness and love to him at Dunnington Castle.  Crom. 
Why! this is news indeed! I think I had best come oftener hither, that I may know how squares go. What a fool was I to be so merciful to the royalist and Presbyterians? If I had sent them all to Heaven in a string, this had never been brought about! prithee what does Sr. Arthur Haslerige do?  Pet. 
Do! Do you call it? Why! he's gone into Holland too, and they say, that he has an huge bank there. But my Lord, what do you think is become of Harry Martin?  Crom. 
Why! what's betided of him?  Pet. 
Harry is gone to sweat out the Pox at Serranam in the West Indies, as sure as a Club, and has taken a whole Covey of Whores with him, to plant the Country. Oh! There will be sweet work with them, I trow. He has paid all his Debts with a pox to him, and Sr. John Lent halls Chamber rend too with a mischief.  Crom. 
Oh brave Harry! He has more knavish wit, than twenty of them. Well, he'll be sure to come to me however at one time or other. Caelum non animum mutant, qui trans mare currunt; Change of Country is no change of Condition! But is there no more gone beyond the Seas?  P. 
There's divers more gone over the water to Lambeth-house:  Crom. 
Why! that's well! And what does Ned Dendy keep them there, as he was wont to do in my time?  Pet. 
No, no, Do not ye believe that Sir: There is a Norfolk man gotten into his place, that (they say) has an hundred times more honesty in him, than ever that formal Coxcomb had. Well Sir, The old Herbwomen, Gardeners, Butchers, and Poulterers; nay, and all the Victuallers in London, are resolved to make an Holy day for Titchburn and Ireton: They have obtained favour already for a couple of Beards for them (against the day) to be made of the wool of an old Dog, that's come very lately from Mareco, to congratulate the members of the Committee of Safety, and confirm a League with them in the behalf of his Master the Majesty of Leatherland.  Crom. 
It's an ill wind, that blows no body no profit! Rob. Titchburn, and my other small Officer have always had good fortune: witness Spencer the poulterer, and the honest Chandler in Blackfriars, Cum multis aliis, as I remember.  Pet. 
I, my Lord! They are both to be posted up in Pauls-Church-yard for a couple of eminent Worthies; in whose Majoralties so many goodworks were done for the honour of the City, to their praise be it spoken; as the Consecration of Pauls-Churchyard for Cabbages and Turnips, the Repairing of Paul's Steeple, and erection of a very lofty Spire upon, that may be plainly seen on the ground in Newgate-market without lifting up of one's head, and so forth.  Crom. 
Thou tellest me wonders indeed.  Pet. 
Your printers are resolved to come to you, (Sir) and embrace your favour; so as you will let them print, as you promised gratis; for they have little to do now, but to listen after Intelligence.  Crom. 
They'll be hanged first, before they'll come at me!  Pet. 
Nay, Sir, It was no more than time to give them a little ease; for Harry Hils drove on so furiously, that one of his presse-men for hast-sake, has quite overwrought his man Thomas, and strained his back. He thought, there was no more to do, than up and ride; but I think he's paid with a pox to him. His Master had better luck, when he wrought Journeywork with the Tailor's wife in Blackfriars. If the virulence of his distemper continue, he must get a better head-piece, or a Steel cap to keep in his Brains, or they'll run quite away from him; unless he can procure some skilful physician in St. Thomas' Hospital to hold them within the Reins.  Crom. 
There's an Engine indeed: A printing-press! The Devil would not be a press-man, to work like a Horse, and have no better success. Well, Peter! I must be gone to my Master; but fail not to give George hearty thanks for remembering me so respectively. And let me know, what he saith to thee, as soon as you can.  Pet. 
I will Sir.  Exit Cromwell. PETER solus, Singing and dancing for joy! 

O Babel! I thy Bishop  
Elected am! an Arch one!  
No Monk shall remain  
In thy province; but Vane,  
And Hewson along shall march on.   

I am for Deformation,  
Let order be confounded;  
All things will go well,  
When the Bishop of Hell  
Rules all the Rost with's Round-head.   

Then hay! for the See of Babel!  
And hoh! for the old Protector!  
The Bishop his Grace,  
Is come into place,  
And made an infernal Rector.   

Peter's goes to St. James' House, and presenteth old Oliver's Thanks to the Lord General in a Canto, as followeth.  
To the Tune of, I tell thee Dick, etc.  

REnowned George! I have Command,  
From Oliver to kiss your Hand,  
And thankfully to pay  
His best respects to you, who have  
Him speaking from his restless grave;  
In manner, as I say.   

George Monk; you have done well indeed,  
In doing it with such good speed,  
Some Company to send,  
Who shall be welcome! Come there more,  
We have reserved for them such store,  
Shall never have an end.   

I would not have them stay too long;  
Nor yet be sent in such a Throng,  
To trouble Charon's score.  
No! I would have them have their Due;  
And such Examples made by you,  
The like may be no more.   

And therefore send us Three or Fou●  
At once; and then as many more,  
And thus our Boat will Row;  
Charon will make a quick Return  
With Lambert, Ireton and Titchburn,  
And more securely go.   

This Order keep, and you will find,  
The rest, that shall be left behind,  
You may dispatch with ease,  
From Tyburn, or from Tower-hill:  
A few fanatics sped thus, will  
Prevent a worse disease.   

And thus I thank you, and have sent,  
Our Bishop's Grace (Incontinent)  
Your Excellence to greet!  
Be honest, George, and you shall be,  
A Subject of Felicity,  
And you and I near meet.   
Exitus acta probat:  
Finis non pugna coronat.   

An Hue and Cry after Mercurius Politicus.  
To the same Tune.  

OYes! Oyes! Oyes! I sing!  
If any one can Tidings bring,  
Or News, come do't with speed,  
A good reward you shall be paid  
By every honest Coffee blade,  
To fear you shall not need.   

A Newgate Bird of late did fly,  
Whose Marks and Tokens I descry,  
Or else ye'de call me fool.  
Though Bos in Linguâ he hath not;  
Nor is he a prodigious Scot,  
Hatched in the Solun Poole;   

Yet is he of as strange a kind;  
Produced he was, as does the Wind,  
‛ Gender the Spanish Race!  
A puff, or two of vain Applause,  
Made him for, or against the Cause,  
To Cant in any Case.   

His Name is kind to CERBERUS,  
Tricapito MERCURIUS:  
A Proteus-like Decoy!  
His Habit first was for the King.  
At Oxford, till this mere Changeling  
Got new Ones at New- Troy.   

Then was he called Britannicus,  
Sometimes the Spy, and thus, and thus.  
He fluttered up and down;  
Till he did send his Hue and Cry  
After his Sacred Majesty,  
(Disguised from Town to Town.   

Wherein he did prescribe a Does  
Should be administered in gross,  
Unto our Glorious King,  
Of Pennyroyal, Herb-of-Grace,  
The Thistle, that called blessed was,  
And other Herbs i'th' Spring.   

And that he should be blooded too  
Venâ Basilicâ, that so  
All his Malignant blood  
Might be let out, and thereby all  
His Evil Humours, from his Gall  
o'er flowing, might be good.   

But when the Parliament disdained,  
That such a Rogue should be maintained  
In his Impiety;  
To Newgate was he sent with speed,  
And quartered had been for that Deed,  
But for another Cry.   

He mercy craved from our good KING,  
At Hampton-Court, and vowed to sing  
A Palinede; and then  
He turned Pragmatious, so long,  
Till Bradshaw made him sing a Song  
In Newgate once again.   

When Murdered was our Royal King,  
No place, or Age e'er knew a Thing  
So damnable before!  
And that the bloody Precedent,  
Corrupted had Mar. Nedham, Gent.  
He was a Cab no more.   

Then did he plead for Commonwealth,  
And made a Case with so much stealth,  
The like was never seen!  
Politicus was all in all!  
His Leyden Letters witness shall,  
What Traitor he has been.   

The Virtuous King of Scots, he makes  
A Vicious Tarquin, and up rakes,  
What malice could invent,  
To make our ancient Government,  
By three Estates in Parliament,  
And hellish Regiment.   

And whom! but for the Rump, contend's!  
Till Oliver them packing sends,  
In April fifty three:  
And then he turns the Cat i'th' pan!  
Politicus is no such man,  
As he was wont to be!   

He turns a Protectorian;  
Says, Cromwell is the only Man  
For Government most fit,  
And in the Weekly Phamphets, chirrups  
Such stuff, as Atkins makes in Syrups,  
When he is all be-   

When Noll was sent for down to Hell,  
(As all the Devils know it well,)  
And Dick hopped into's place!  
Oh! how he made that formal Fool  
For Government the only Tool,  
That was in all the Case.   

But when the Brothers were skipped out,  
And made a flout by every Lout,  
As well they did deserve!  
Then Noll, and his Usurping Fry,  
('Tis truth! For Interest will not Lie!)  
Nedham no more can serve.   

He's for the Rump again, till they  
By Lambert trudged the Postern-way,  
As once before they went:  
And then he turned an Army-blade,  
Till honest George them Fools had made,  
And brought the Rump in scent.   

Then was poor Pol at such a fault,  
(Before a Cripple who can halt?)  
He knew not how to beat;  
But to be beaten was most sure,  
For such a Turncoat, who'll endure,  
That is a Man complete?   

Thus as he passed along the Strand,  
A Gentleman, that was well manned,  
Made him to turn his Tail,  
And drubbed him so upon the Rump,  
The Rump was never trussed so plump,  
Since 'twas a Rump for fail:   

This, and the News of our good King,  
And Lords and Commons, well coming  
Each other in short space;  
At Westminster the Birds is flown,  
And to some other place is gone,  
By changing of his face.   

But if at Amsterdam you meet,  
With one that's purblind in the street;  
Hawk nosed, turn up his hair,  
And in his Ears, two holes you'll find,  
And (if they are not pawned behind,)  
Two Rings are hanging there.   

His Visage smeager is and long,  
His Body slender; but his Tongue  
If once you chance to hear;  
Observe it well; It has a Grace,  
Becoming no such Traitor's face,  
Of English, that are there.   

Some forty years he is of age,  
In's prime to act on any Stage,  
And fit for any Plot;  
Had not he been of Oxford shire,  
Because he writes so much for hire;  
I'd swear, he was a Scot   

If you will ask, what shall be done  
With this Piebald Chameleon,  
In case you send him home;  
He shall be hanged upon a Tree,  
Cut down alive, and then you'll see  
His Quarters have their Doom.   
Finis, Funis, Funus.