News from Newcastle with An Advertisement,  
To all English men that (for the safety of themselves, their King and Country) they would abandon the fond opinion, (which too many do conceive) of the Scots good meaning to England, which our forefathers have ever experienced to the contrary; they having been oftentimes found to be circumventing Machiavillians, and faithless truce breakers. This ditty was written upon some occasion of news from the North; containing the Scots surprising of Newcastle, where they left three thousand men in garrison, with a brief touch of some of our brave Cavaleirs who manfully fought in that conflict.  
The tune is, let's to the Wars again.  

Newcasstle  
Scots  
English   

〈…〉 time,  
〈…〉 lime,  
〈…〉 your own,)  
〈…〉 known,  
〈…〉 coast  
〈…〉 lie.  
〈…〉 fool's fain,  
〈…〉 e   

〈…〉 n,  
〈…〉 iefe of men?  
〈…〉 know,  
〈…〉 so  
〈…〉 fain, &c.   

How shall we dare to trust them now,  
Unless old time hath ta'en a course,  
To make them better and us worse?  
O let not fair words, &c.   

How ever they for their own ends,  
Count some their foes, & some their friends,  
If we into their hands should fall,  
The sword no difference makes at all,  
Dear Country men than credit not,  
The promise of a flattering Scot.  
O let not not fair words, &c.   

They are you see already come,  
To seek us at our native home,  
But sure (Unless my wishes fails)  
They'll ne'er return to tell more tales,  
If God knit English hearts in one,  
jockey will wish that he were gone.  
Then let not fair words, &c.   

Newcastle they surprised have,  
Where certain of our gallants brave,  
Both horse and foot yielding their breath,  
Have (with their dying) conquered death,  
Others likewise they prisoners took,  
For a reward they soon must look.  
Then let not fair words, &c.   

The Second part,  
To the same tune.  
 

THe illustrious vizcount Conway stout,  
Did what man could to keep them out,  
His sword up to the hilts he ran,  
In a Scots heart (some noted man,)  
Yet he came off with little harm,  
Only a little hurt i'th' arm.  
Then let not fair words, make fools fain,  
But let us beat the Scots again.   

That valorous and worthy Knight,  
(Whose fame through Christendom shines bright,  
Bold S. John Digby's horse dead shot  
Became a prisoner to the Scot,  
The noble colonel Willmot shared,  
With brave sir John; both kept in ward.  
Then let not fair words, &c.   

That hopeful bud of chevalry,  
Valiant Charles Porter manfully,  
Being Cornet of a warlike troop,  
Ne'er yielded till death made him stoop,  
He sealed his honour with his blood,  
Dying for's King and countries good,  
Then let not fair words, &c.   

His broken sword in's hand was found,  
(When he say grovelling on the ground)  
His Cornet colours twixt his thighs,  
Thus yielded he in sacrifice,  
His life and blood in's country's right,  
Making his same in's death shine bright.  
Then let not fair words,   

Some other of our Cavaleirs,  
Were slain and hurt, as it appears,  
About six hundred men outright,  
(Of horse and soot) were killed i'th' fight,  
And of the Scots 'tis iustify'd,  
As many if not more than died;  
Then let not fair, &c.   

When they surprised had the town,  
(Wherein their minds to us is known,)  
Three thousand men in garrison:  
They left the town to luke upon,  
They seized and sealed th' warehouses all,  
Is this the thing you friendship call?  
Then let not fair, &c.   

The Country must the Army find,  
Such charge the Scots have left behind,)  
With bread, cheese, butter, drink, and smoke,  
All this to do they did provoke;  
At their return they will pay all,  
But that I trust they never shall.  
Then let not fair, &c.   

Our Lord protect King Charles; and send.  
This war may bring a peaceful end,  
Let palms of victory deck his brow,  
And having made his foes to how,  
Bring him in safety home again.  
Always in peace here to remains,  
Then let not fair words, &c.    
M. P.  
FINIS.   

Printed at London, by E.G. and are to be sold at the horse-shoe in Smithfield.