Rump, or, An exact collection of the choycest poems and songs relating to the late times by the most eminent wits from anno 1639 to anno 1661.

RUMP-SONGS. The First Part. (Book 1)

The ZEALOUS PURITAN. 1639.

MY Brethren all attend, And list to my relation: This is the day, mark what I say, Tends to your renovation; Stay not among the Wicked, Lest that with them you perish, But let us to New-England go, And the Pagan People cherish; Then for the truths sake come along, come along, Leave this place of Superstition: Were it not for we, that the Brethren be, You would sink into Perdition.

There you may teach our hymns, Without the Laws controulment: We need not fear, the Bishops there, Nor Spiritual-Courts inroulment;

Nay, the Surplice shall not fright us, Nor superstitious blindness; Nor scandal-rise, when ••e disguise, And our Sister-kiss in kindness; Then for the truths sake, &c.

For Company I fear not, There goes my Cosin Hannah, And Ruben, so perswades to go My Cosin Joyce, Susanna. With Abigal and Faith, And Ruth, no doubt, comes after; And Sarah kind, will not stay behind, My Cosin Constance Daughter; Then for the truth, &c.

Tom Tyler is prepared, And th' Smith as black as a coal; Ralph Cobler too with us will go, For he regards his soul; The Weaver, honest Simon, With Prudence, Jacobs Daughter, And Sarah, she, and Barbary Professeth to come after; Then for the truth, &c.

When we, that are elected, Arrive in that fair Country, Even by our faith, as the Brethren saith, We will not fear our entry; The Psalms shall be our Musick, Our time spent in expounding, Which in our zeal we will reveal To the Brethrens joy abounding; Then for the truths sake, &c.

Pyms Juncto▪ 1640.

TRuth I could chide you Friends, why, how so late? My Watch speaks Eight and not one pin o'th State This day undone, can such remisnesse sit Your Active spirits, or my more Hellish wit? The Sun each step he mounts to Heavens Crown, Whilst Pym commands, should see a Kingdome down; Y'ave spurs enough I'me sure to make you run. HOPES guilty, FORTUNES crackt, and th' ILLS y'ave done. Thus Whilome seated was Great James his Heir, Just, as you see me now, ith' Kingdoms Chair: There the Great Seal, there Richmond, Hertford sate, There Marshall, D••rset, Fristol••'s temperate pate, But there sate P••mbroke, life of Loyalty, There Holland, flower of Fidelity. We are no lesse then Charles in power and state, You are our Junctoes, who were his of late; Here sits K — Holy Say, and Seal, With Whartor, Warwick, Brookes inspired zeal: Stro••d, Hampden, H — Has••••rigge, bold spirits, Bold Martin, Ludlow, Vain, unmatched wights, But their Church-Elder, Whites Religious beard, There sits Abomination Statists: Perd▪ Charles wear at York thy Crown that pretty thing We must most humbly be at London King▪ But what's the businesse of the House this day, How speaks my note, Commissioners of Array,

The nineteen Propositions to be scand A second time, M— Train-band, Letters from Tristram Whitcombe, and from Hull, From Amsterdam, the Admirall; how full Of high concernments are we Sirs, advise How we most warily may weigh our prise: I do conceive it must be our first play, Be't right or wrong, by Vote to damn th' Array, If ever that take footing and advance, Farewell Militia, and our Ordinance, But what will the appearance be? yet stay, Who dares our leading Votes and Wills gainsay? Should any haughty spirit presume so far, What serves the Tower for then, or the Bar? But if we fear the businesse will not bend As may be most conducing to our end: By some feignd wile it must be our next Plot To put it off, and a new time alot, And just Jumpe for our turn: these Letters shall From Whitcombe, Hotham, or our Admirall, (Though forg'd untruths) be interpos'd and read, To spend the time, and maze the Peoples head; If the next day we yet suspect to find Such whose just Conscience cannot be inclin'd To be made Vassals to our desperate sence, 'Tis easie to procure a Conferrence, Which shall out-spin the leisure of the morn, Then we'••e resume the House, and so adjourn Till five at night, the moderate wearied thus, Will quit their seats and leave us, none but us; There's President for this, this was the feat That pluckt the Bishops from the Barons seat, This wrought good Orders, manag'd many a Vote, This Art must my Disciples learn by Rote.

But if the Accommodation chance to spring Into debate, then your Artillery bring, And lay that flat, that cold: my Genius starts With fear to find ith' House two Loyal hearts; Seem though we must teeth outwards to comply, And humbly kisse the feet of Majesty, Yet live we cannot, but obedience dead, Nor stand elsewhere but on the Kingdoms head; Calmes proper are for guiltlesse sons of Peace, Our Vessels bear out best in storming Seas; Charles must not reign secure whilst reigns a Pym, The Sun if it rise with us must set with him; You have one pleasure which must be exprest To Leicester Pembroke, St — and your rest, Bid Essex, Percy, and your Quondam Grom O'th stool, to wait us in the Princes Room: Some of you subtilly may in Cottons walk, Sit and allure Affection by your talk, 'Twill be a work worthy your nimble wit, To gain the Devil and us a Proselyte. So, to your businesse, yet ere you be gone Take my advice, then blessing light upon Your nimble Votes, and first be sure you shroud Your dark designs in a Religious Cloud, Gods Glory, Churches Good, Kings head Supreme, A Preaching Minister must be your T••eame; Next structure of your Babel to be built, Must speciously be varnisht o're, and gilt With Liberty, Propriety of lives And fortunes, 'gainst th' high stretcht Prerogatives. And then a Speech or two most neatly spent, For Rights and Privilege of Parliament; These two well mixt, you're need no other lures To gain the People, and to make them yours.

If Charles displeased, with some witty, tart Message (and justly too) shall make you start, Saying ye have put him to his Guard, be sure Ye then be loud enough, and first cry Whore, War rais'd against the Parliament, a great Hinderance of the Irish Ayde, and strong Abet Unto the Rebels: then if any thing You have may blast the Honour of the King, Be it had enough, no matter from what hand, Wee'l Vote it true, and then to believe command; But on your memories if I impose no more, You cannot misse your way when I'me before: Rise Synna, Sylla, Marius, Gracchus Ghost, With the rest of the whole Mechanick Host, Romes greatest Earth-quakes, and this little trunck Make with your desperate Spirits deeply drunk, Up from your drousie urnes, the Ghost of those My Ancestors that Richard did depose, Drop fresh into my breast, my soul inspire, And strongly actuate me with your fire, That theirs thus mixt with my Malitious Gall, Mine may with theirs fully possesse you all. Go and exceed their Villanies as much more As theirs did all attempts that was before; Act past example, that it may be known You copied no example but your own. And if in after times, when silently We sleep, another si••ebrand chance to be, 'Twill be chief Crown and Glory unto him, To say he playd his Prancks like you and Pym.

Upon Mr. Pyms Picture.

REader, behold the Counterfeit of him Who now controuls the Land; Almighty Pym▪ A man whom even the Devil to fear begins, And dares not trust him with succesless sins; A man who now is wading through the Floud Of Reverend Lauds, and Noble Straffords Bloud, To strike so high as to put Bishops down, And in the Miter to controul the Crown; The Wretch hath mighty thoughts, and enter∣tains Some Glorious Mischief in his Active Brains, Where now he's plotting to make England such As may out-vye the villany of the Dutch; He dares not go to Heaven, 'cause he doth fear To meet (and not pull down) the Bishops there: Is it not strange, that in that Shuttle-head Three Kingdoms ruines should be buried? Is it not strange there should be hatch't a Plot Which should out-doe the Treason of the Scot, And even the Malice of a Puritan? Reader behold, and hate the poysonous man; The Picture's like him; yet 'tis very fit He adde one likeness more, that's hang like it.

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A Song.

To the Tune of Blue Cappe for me.

LEt Scots now return at Lesleys demand, How all the Affairs in the North-part do stand, And tell him the Parliament is fully agreed To send him good store of Mony with speed, To serve their occasions: thus say, they shall find For to come to passe, when the Devil is blind.

Let all their Brethren be new circumcis'd, And Burton and — for Saints canonis'd, And at the Sacrament sit for their ease, And pray unto God, even just when they please, The Scots in despite shall please their own mind, And do what they please, when the Devil is blind.

Next they will have in each City and Town All painted Glasse-windows to be pull'd down; One Bell in a Church to call them away, It's enough when the Spirit doth move them to pray, Without any Surplice or Tippet behind The Priest shall say Service, when the Devil is blind.

Lastly, the Parliament in any case Will down with all Organs, for Piping is base;

No cringing below the Altar shall be, For that is a Trick of Idolatry: Now tell me good Scots, are not English-men kind, But when this comes to passe, say the Devil is blind.

Mr. Hampdens Speech against Peace at the close Committee.

To the Tune of I went from England.

BUt will you now to Peace incline, And languish in the Main design, And leave us in the lurch? I would not Monarchy destroy, But only as the way to enjoy The ruine of the Church.

Is not the Bishops Bill deny'd, And we still threatned to be try'd? You see the King embraces Those Councellours he approv'd before: Nor doth he promise, which is more, That we shall have their Places.

Did I for this bring in the Scot, (For 'tis no Secret new) the Plot Was Sayes and mine together: Did I for this return again, And spend a Winter there in vain, I went more to invite them hither.

Though more our Mony than our Cause Their Brotherly assistance draws, My labour was not lost. At my Return I brought you thence Necessity, their strong Pretence, And these shall quit the Cost.

Did I for this my County bring To help their Knight against their King, And raise the first Sedition? Though I the Business did decline, Yet I contriv'd the whole Design, And sent them their Petition.

So many nights spent in the City In that invisible Committee; The Wheele that governs all; From thence the Change in Church and State, And all the Mischiefs bear the date From Haberdashers Hall.

Did we force Ireland to despair, Upon the King to cast the War, To make the World abhor him: Because the Rebells us'd his Name, Though we our selves can do the same, While both alike were for him.

Then the same Fire we kindled here With that, was given to quench it there, And wisely lost that Nation: To do as crafty Beggars use, To maim themselves thereby to abuse The simple mans compassion.

Have I so often past between Windsor and VVestminster unseen, And did my self divide: To keep his Excellence in awe, And give the Parliament the Law, For they knew none beside.

Did I for these take pains to teach Our zealous Ignorants to preach, And did their Lungs inspire, Read them their Text, shew'd them their Parts, And taught them all their little Arts, To fling abroad the Fire.

Sometimes to begg, sometimes to threaten, And say the Cavaliers are beaten, And stroke the Peoples ears; Then streight when Victory grows cheap, And will no more advance the heap, To raise the price of Fears.

And now the Book, and now the Bells, And now the Act the Preachers tells To edifie the People; All our Divinity is News, And we have made of equal use The Pulpit and the Steeple.

And shall we kindle all this Flame, Onely to put it out again, And must we now give o're, And only end where we begun In vain this Mischief we have done, If we can do no more.

If men in Peace can have their right, Where's the Necessity to fight, That breaks both Law, the Oath; They'le say they fight not for the Cause, Nor to defend the King and Laws, But as against them both.

Either the Cause at first was ill, Or being good it was so still; And thence they will infer, That either now, or at the first They were deceiv'd; or which is worse, That we our selves may erre.

But Plague and Famine will come in, For they and we are near of kin, And cannot go asunder: But while the wicked starve, indeed The Saints have ready at their need Gods Providence and Plunder.

Princes we are if we prevail, And Gallant Villains if we fail, When to our fame 'tis told; It will not be our last of prayse, Sin' a New State we could not raise To have destroy'd the old.

Then let us stay and fight, and vote Till London is not worth a Groat; Oh 'tis a patient Beast: When we have gall'd and tyr'd the Mule, And can no longer have the rule, We'le have the Spoyle at least.

A Song.

To the Tune of The Queens old Souldier.

TO make Charles a great King, and give him no Power, To Honour him much, and not obey him an Hower; To provide for his Safety, and take away his Tower, And to prove all is sweet, be it never so sower. The new Order of the Land, & the Lands new Order.

To secure men their Lives, Liberties and Estates By arbitrary Power, as it pleaseth the Fates To take away Taxes, by imposing great Rates, And to make us a Playster by breaking our Pates▪ The new Order of the Land, & the Lands new Order.

To sit and consult for ever and a day, To counterfeit Treason by a Parliamentary way, To quiet the Land by a tumultuous sway, New Plots to devise, then them to betray. The new Order, &c.

To leave all Votes free by using of Force. That one make Petitions for Countie•• by course, To make Pym as great as his Mothers great Horse, Which William left Agnus, though his meaning was worse. The new Order, &c.

To encourage good Souldiers by cashiering the Band, To hearten brave Spirits by expelling the Land,

To quit Digby and Deering, whom they can't un∣derstand To frame not new Laws, but new Words, if well scan'd. The new Order, &c.

To put by brave Doctors, because th'are not taught, To set for Preachers men, very well wrought, Who all the day fish, but nothing ere caught; This, Bretheren, were good, if not very naught. The new Order, &c.

To send them their Zealots to Heaven in a string, Who else to Confusion Religion will bring, Who say the Lords Prayer is a Popish thing, Who pray for themselves, but leave out their King. The new Order of the Land, and the Lands new Order.

A Song.

To the Tune of Cuckolds all a-row.

KNow this my Brethren Heaven is clear, And all the clowds are gone, The righteous men shall flourish now Good dayes are comming on; Come then my Brethren and be glad, And eke rejoyce with me, Lawn sleeves and Roc••ets shall go down, And hey then up go we.

Wee'l break the Windows which the Whore Of Babylon hath painted, And when the Popish Saints are down, Then Burges shall be Sainted; There's neither Crosse nor Crucifix shall stand for men to see, Romes trash and trumpery shall go down, And hey then up go we.

What ere the Popish hands have built, Our Hammers shall undoe, Wee'l break their Pipes, and burn their Copes, And pull down Churches too: Wee'l exercise within the Groves, And teach beneath a Tree, Wee'l make a Pulpit of a Cask, And hey then up go we.

Wee'l down with all the Versities, Where Learning is profest, Because they practice and maintain The language of the Beast; Wee'l drive the Doctors out of doors, And parts what ere they be; Wee'l cry all Arts and Learning down And hey then up go we.

Wee'l down with Deans and Prebends too, And I rejoyce to tell ye How that we will eat Pigs our fill, And Capon by the belly; Wee'l burn the Fathers Learned Books, And make the School-men flee; Wee'l down with all that smells of wit, And hey then up go we.

If once the Antichristian crew Be crush'd and overthrown, Wee'l teach the Nobles how to stoop, And keep the Gentry down: Good manners have an ill report, And turns to pride we see, Wee'l therefore cry good manners down, And hey then up go we.

The name of Lords shall be abhorr'd, for every man's a Brother, No reason why in Church and State One man should rule another. But when the Change of Government Shall set our fingers free. Wee'l make the wanton Sisters stoop, And hey then up go we.

What though the King and Parliament Do not accord together, We have more cause to be content, This is our Sun-shine weather; For if that reason should take place, And they should once agree, Who would be in a Round-heads case? And hey then up go we.

What should we do then in this case, Let's put it to a venture, If that we hold out seven years space, Wee'l sue out our indenture. A time may come to make us rue, And time may set us free, Except the Gallows claim his due, And hey then up go we.

The Humble Petition of the House of Commons.

IF Charles thou wilt but be so kind To give us leave to take our mind, Of all thy store. When we thy Loyal Subjects, find Th'ast nothing left to give behind, Wee'l ask no more:

First, for Religion, it is meet We make it go upon new feet, 'Twas lame before: One from Geneva would be sweet, Let Warwick fetch't home with his Fleet, Wee'll ask no more.

Let us a Consultation call Of Honest men, but Round-heads all, God knows wherefore; Allow them but a place to baul 'Gainst Bishops Courts Canonical, Wee'll ask no more.

Let him be hang'd a Surplice wears, And Tippet on his shoulders bears, Raggs of the Whore; Secure us from our needlesse fears, Let — and Burton have their ears, Wee'll ask no more.

Reform each University, And in them let no Learning be, A great Eye-sore; From hence make Romes Arminians flee, That none may have free-will but wee, Wee'll ask no more.

Lest the Elect should go astray, Let Coblers teach you the right way To Heavens door; And lest their soles should wear away, Let them their Sisters underlay, Wee'll ask no more.

Next from the Bishops Hierarchy, Oh the word sounds but scurvily, Let's hear't no more; It ne're was taught the Apostles by, Lay-Elders may the place supply, Wee'll ask no more.

Next, for the State, we think it fit That Mr. Pym should govern it, He's very poor: The money that's for Ireland writ, Faith let them have the Devil a bit, Wee'll ask no more.

For ordering the Militia, Let us ordain a new new way, Ne're heard before; Let the Great Council bear the sway, If you will give us leave you may, Wee'll ask no more.

In this we will not be deny'd, Because in you wee'll not confide, We know wherefore The Citizens their Plate provide, Do you but send in yours beside, Wee'll ask no more.

Now if that you'll make Hull your own, There's one thing more we must set down Forgot before; Sir John shall then give up the Town, If you will but resign your Crown, Wee'll ask no more.

The Answer to the Petition, &c.

I Charles the King will be so kind, To give you leave to take your mind, Of all my store, When I you Loyal Subjects find, And you those Members have resign'd, I askt before.

And when Religion's all your cares, Or London have such heed of theirs, They had before: When Warwick from Geneva dares, Now Printed, bring the Common-Prayers, And read them o're.

When all your Consultations tend, To pay what you have made men lend, None knows wherefore; When you no more shall say you'll send, And bring me fairly to mine end, You'll ask no more.

When your Smectymnuus Surplice wears, Or Tippet on his shoulders bears, Raggs of the Whore; When Burton, — and Bastwick dares, With your good leaves, but shew their Eares, They'll ask no more.

When what I borrowed I shall see, Y'have paid each Universitie, Of th' City store: And Doctors, Chaplains, Fellows, be Free-willers of pluralitie, They'll ask no more.

When the elect shall make such hast, By th' Bretheren to be embrac't In Tubs on floore; When Coblers they shall preach their last At Conventicles on a Fast, They'll ask no more.

When Bishops all the House adorns, And Round-heads for their absence mourns, A great Eye-sore; When ev'ry Citizen lesse scorns Lord Wentworth's head, then Essex horns, You'll ask no more.

When you no more shall dare hereafter, A needlesse thing which gains much laughter, Granted before; When Pym is sent to Ireland slaughter, And ne're more hopes to marry my Daughter, You'll ask no more.

When you have found a clearer way For ordering the Militia, Then heard before; When Atkins on the Training day, Sha'nt dare his Office to bewray, Hee'll ask no more.

When naught to me shall be deny'd, And you shall all in me confide, Good cause therefore; When Denmark shall for me provide, And now Lord Digby's on my side, Ask me no more.

Last, when I shall make Hull my own, This one thing more I must set down, Forgot before, When I have got into the Town, I'le make ten more besides that Clown, Kneele and implore.

To the five Principal Members of the Ho∣nourable House of Commons.

The Humble Petition of the POETS.

AFter so many Concurring Petitions From all Ages and Sexes, and all conditions, We come in the Rear to present our Follies To Pym, Stroude, Haslerig, Hampden and — And we hope for our labour we shall not be shent, For this comes from Christendom, & not from Kent; Though set form of Prayers be an Abomination, Set forms of Petitions find great Approbation: Therfore, as others from th' bottom of their souls, So wee from the depth and bottom of our Bowles, According unto the blessed form taught us, We thank you first for the Ills you have brought us, For the Good we receive we thank him that gave it, And you for the Confidence only to crave it. Next in course, we Complain of the great violation Of Privilege (like the rest of our Nation) But 'tis none of yours of which we have spoken Which never had being, untill they were broken: But ours is a Privilege Antient and Native, Hangs not on Ordinance, or power Legislative. And first, 'tis to speak whatever we please Without fear of a Prison, or Pursuivants fees. Next, that we only may lye by Authority, But in that also you have got the Priority. Next, an old Custom, our Fathers did name it Po••tical license, and alwayes did claim it.

By this we have power to change Age in Youth, Turn Non-sence into Sence, and Falshood to Truth; In brief, to make good whatsoever is faulty, This art some Poet, or the Devil has taught ye; And this our Property you have invaded, And a Privilege of both Houses have made it: But that trust above all in Poets reposed, That Kings by them only are made and Deposed, This though you cannot do, yet you are willing; But when we undertake Deposing or Killing, They're Tyrants and Monsters, and yet then the Poet Takes full Revenge on the Villains that do it, And when we resume a Scepter or a Crown, We are Modest, and seek not to make it our own. But is't not presumption to write Verses to you, Who make the better Poems of the two, For all those pretty Knacks you do compose, Alas, what are they but Poems in prose, And between those and ours there's no difference, But that yours want the rhime, the wit and the sense: But for lying (the most Noble part of a Poet) You have it abundantly, and your selves know it, And though you are Modest, and seem to abhor it, 'T has done you good service, and thank He'ven for it: Although the old Maxime remains still in force, That a Sanctified Cause, must have a Sanctified Course: If poverty be a part of our Trade, So far the whole Kingdome Poets you have made, Nay even so far as undoing will do it, You have made King Charles in manner a Poet, But provoke not his Muse, for all the world knows, Already you have had too much of his Prose.

The Parliaments Pedigree.

NO Pedigrees nor Projects Of after-times I tell, Nor what strange things the Parliament In former times befell, Nor how an Emperour got a King, Nor how a King a Prince, But you shall hear what Progenies Have been begotten since.

The Devil he a Monster got, Which was both strong and stout, This many-headed Monster Did strait beget a Rout: This Rout begat a Parliament, As Charles he well remembers, The Parliament got Monsters too, The which begot Five Members.

The Members Five did then beget Most of the House of Peers, The Peers mis-understandings got All Jealousies and Fears; The Jealousies got Horse and Men, Lest Warrs should have abounded, And I dare say this Horse got Pym, And he begot a Round-head.

The Round-head got a Citizen, That great Tax-bearing Mule, The Mule begot a Parliament Asse, And he begot a Fool:

Some say the Fool got Warwick, And Rich gave him his whole Land, In zeal Lord Rich got God knows who, And God knows who got H—

This H— Surplices got down, And those Church Rites that were, He hath Petitions enough each day, No need of the Lords Prayer: But it's no wonder that's cry'd down, And that indeed the rather, Cause Pym and he two Bastards are, And dare not say, Our Father.

Now since this is the chiefest thing, Hath got this great division, Which London for to reconcile, Hath got this great Munition: The City hath now been refin'd, From all her Drosse and Pelf, They're now about for to new mold, And Coyn the Common-wealth.

To those who desire no Peace.

SHould all those various Gales, whose titles are layn Enrol'd within the Pilots Register, Break from their drowsie Dens, where they have Bound up in slumbers, and invade the Main, They could not raise a storm like that which they Raise in the Common-wealth, who would betray

Our Peace to Civil War, in which the State Must bleed it self to death, and have the fate, After its stock of life is spent, to lye Buried i'th Rubbish of an Anarchy. Should Ravens, Bats, and the shrill Owl conspire To twist their Notes into a General Quire, And chuse the Mandrake for the Chaunter, they Could not shrill forth such an ill-boding lay, Or strains so Jarring, as do those whose throats Warble the clamorous and untunefull Notes Of Blood and Death, some whirle-wind, Sirs, has ta'en Its Lodging up in the Fanatick brain Of these bold sons of tumult, I dare say They moulded were of some distemper'd Clay, Which from its Centre was by Earth-quake torn, A Tempest shook the world when they were born; Sure from its Sphere the Element of Fire Is dropt, and does their bosomes now inspire, The flame lockt up in bold Ravillacks urne, Is snatcht from thence, and in their hearts does burn. Night, open thy black wombe, and let out all Thy dreadfull furies, yet these furies shall Not chill my heart with any fear, since day Has furies shewn, blacker by far then they. Let Vaux now sleep untill the day of Doom, Open his eyes, forgotten in his Tomb, Let none revile his dust, his Name shall be Extirpated from every History, To yield a room for others, for 'tis fit Their Names in place of his should now be writ, Who think that no Religion can be good, Unlesse't be writ in Characters of Blood, No marvail if the Rubrick then must be Blotted from out the Sacred Liturgie,

And those red Letters now no more be known, They'le have no other Rubrick but their own. But shall they thus impetuously roule on, And meet not any Malediction? Yes sure, may sleep, that milde and gentle balme, Which all unkind distempers does becalme, Be unto them a torture, may their Dreams Be all of Murders, Rapes, and such like Theams; And when they're spent, may Wolves approach and howle, To break their slumbers; may the Bat and Owle, Before their Gates, to usher in the dayes Unwellcome light, stretch out their direfull layes; 'Mongst their disordered humors, may there be A deadly Feud, and fatal mutiny; May sudden flames their houses melt away, And Feavers burn their houses too of Clay; May all their faculties and sences be Astonisht by some drousie Lethargie, That there may be allow'd them only sence Enough to feel the pangs of Conscience, Griping their souls, that they who thought it sin To have peace without, may have no peace within

The French Report.

ME have of late been in England Vere me have seen much sport, De raising of de Parliament, Have quite pull'd down de Court,

De King and Queen dey seperate, And rule in Ignorance, Pray judge ye Gentlemen, if dis Be a la mode de France:

A vise man dere is like a Ship Dat strikes upon de shelves, Dey Prison all, Behead and Whip All viser den demselves, Dey send out men to fetch deyr King, Who may come home perchance, Oh fye, fye, fye, it is be Gar Not a la mode de France.

Dey raise deyr Valiant Prentices, To guard deyr Cause with Clubs, Dey root deyr Bishops out of doors, And Presh demselves in Tubs, De Cobler and de Tinker too, Dey will in time advance, Pox take dem all, it is (Mort Dieu) Not a la mode de France.

Instead of bowing to deyr King, Dey vex him with Epistles, Dey furnish all deyr Souldiers out With Bodkins, Spoons, and Whistles, Dey bring deyr Gold and Silver in, De Brownists to advance, But if dey be cheat of it all, 'Tiz a la mode de France.

But if when all deyr wealth is gone, Dey turn unto deyr King,

Dey will make all amends again, Den merrily we will sing, VIVE LE ROY, VIVE LE ROY, Vee'le Sing, Carouse and Dance, De English men have done fort Bon, And a la mode de France.

A Loyal Subjects Oath.

THis is my Oath, for ever to despise, With heart and soul and all my Faculties The Kings proud foes, and with my life subdue All that to his Sacred Majesty are not true, To execute his Precepts with my Blood, So far as Conscience dictates it is good; To make my body a Bullwark 'gainst his foes, And to maintain his red and whitest Rose, Venture Life and Living, Sword and Muse, Still to uphold the Glorious Flower-de-luce: To be the same to Prince, and Duke of York, Or for a cursed Jew that eats no Pork, Let me be Cursed, and receive the Curse Hangs over Pym, and Hotham, and a worse I cannot wish, he that denyes this Oath, Let these, and my Curse, light upon them both.

Short and Sweet.

WIse men suffer, good men grieve, Knaves devise, and Fools believe, Help, O Lord, send ayd unto us, Else Knaves and Fools will quite undoe us.

To the City of London.

TEll me Cittz. what ye lack, That the Knaves of the Pack Ye do not see forth comming, Love ye Treason so well, That ye neither buy nor sell, But keep a noise with your Drumming.

What is't that you guard, With your double watch and ward, Your own wares, or your wises things, If down come the Blades, Then down go the Trades, They'll not leave a dead or a live thing.

What doth your profit say, When shall we see the day, That money shall be paid in, Great Strafford he is dead, Ye have cut off his bead, And the Bishops all are laid in.

And yet you grow poor, As any Common whore, That hath been long a fading; There's no man will buy, Ye may leave to swear and lie, As ye use to do in your trading.

There's something Behind That lies in the winde And brings you thus to nothing, What doth then remain? O the Parliament must raign, And you'll have A King and no King.

But though their power can From a VVoman turn a Man, If they please so to declare him; Yet let them take heed, The King is King indeed, And the Souldiers cannot spare him▪

Is't nothing ye think 24. in a Link Kings that make his succession: Besides for our Good, Three Princes of the Brood, And three Kingdoms in Possession.

And all his Vertues too Should be something to you, If they could ought amend you; But 'cause Hee's Chaste and Just, You'd have Cruelty and Lust, Another King Harry God send you.

But if you mean to thrive, And keep your trades alive, And bring to your City treasure, Give the King his full Rate, As well as to the State, And let Him have London measure.

The Players Petition to the Parliament.

HEroick Sirs, you glorious nine or ten, That can depose the King, and the Kings men, Who by your Sublime Rhetorick agree, That prisons are the Subjects libertie: And though we sent in silver at great rates, You plunder, to secure us our Estates. Your serious subtilty is grown so grave, We dare not tell you how much power you have, At least you dare not hear us; how you frown If we but say, King Pym wears Charles his Crown, Such a word's Treason, and you dare not hear it, Treason to speak it, and yet not to wear it. O wise mysterious Synod, what shall we Do for such men as you e're forty three Be half expir'd, and an unlucky season Shall set a period to Triennial Treason, When the fields pitcht, and some, for all their skill, Shall fight a Bloody Battel on Tower-Hill; Where Master Pym, your wise judicious Schollar, Ascends his Throne, and takes his Crown in Coller; When Canterbury coming forth shall wonder You have so long secur'd him from the Thunder

Of King-hunting Prentices, and the Mayor Shall jussel zealous Isaack from his Chair. Fore-seeing Brookes, thou drewst a happy lot, 'Twas a wise Bolt, although 'twas quickly shot; But whilst you live, our loude Petition craves, That we the true Subjects, and the true Slaves, May in our Comick mirth and Tragick rage, Set up the Theatre, and shew the Stage, The shop of truth and fancy, and we Vow Not to Act any thing you disallow: We will not dare at your strange Votes to Jea••, Not personate King Pym with his State-flear; Aspiring Cataline shall be forgot, Bloody Se••anus, or who e're would Plot Confusion to a State; the Warrs betwixt The Parliament, and just Henry the sixt, Shall have no thought or mention, cause their power, Not only plac'd, but left him in the Tower; No•• yet the Grave advice of learned Pym, Make a Malignant, and then Plunder him. All these and such like actions as may ma•• Your soaring Plots, and shew you what you are, We will omit, lest that your mention shake 'um, Why should the men be wiser then you make 'um. Methinks there should not such a difference be 'Twixt our profession and your quality, You meet, plot, talk, consult, with minds immense, The like with us, but only we speak sense Inferiour unto you; we can tell how To depose Kings, there we are more then you, Although not more then what you would; the•• we Likewise in our vast Privilege agree, Only yours are the longer; and controules, Not only Lives and fortunes, but mens Souls;

For you declare by Aenigmatick sense, A Privilege over mens Conscience, As if the Trinity would not consent To save a Soul without the Parliament. Wee make the People laugh at some vain shew, And as they laugh at us, they doe at you; But then i'th Contrary we disagree, For you can make them cry faster then wee: Your Tragedies more really are exprest, You murder men in Earnest, wee in Jest. There we come short: But if you follow't thus, Some wise men fear you will come short of us. Now humbly, as we did begin, Wee pray, Dear School-masters, you'd give us leave to play Quickly before the King come, for we wou'd Be glad to say y'ave done a little good Since you have sate, your Play is almost done, As well as ours, would it had ne'er begun; For we shall see e're the last Act be spent, Enter the King, Exeunt the Parliament. And hey then up go we, who by the frown Of guilty Consciences have been kept down: So may you still remain, and sit and Vote, And through your own beam see your brothers mote, Until a legal trial do shew how You us'd the King▪ and hey then up goe you: So pray your humble Slaves with all their powers, That they may have their due, and you have yours.

A Madrigall on Justice, alluding to the PARLIAMENT.

JUstice is here made up of Might, With two left hands, but ne're a right, And men that are well-sighted, find This Justice sits with both eyes blind: Yet though the Matron cannot see, She holds that edg'd Sword, Cruelty, Which that it may not rust, she whets In cutting off the Islands Teats, Who long since did Anathemize Englands too too much seeing eyes, Because they have been found to be Guilty of Wit and Piety: All this and more they rudely vent, By Privilege of Parliament.

All former Laws fall head-long down, And are themselves now lawless grown; Equity hath been lately try'd, And Right it self been rectin'd; The rules that shew a Christian how To live, must all be ruled now; The Lesson here to learn, is brought, And Ethicks better manners taught; Religion, and the Churches wealth, Of late deprived of their health, Were brought to th' House, that they might be Cured of their Integrity; We found a seam for this great rent, By Privilege of Parliament.

Most men do now the Buttocks lick Of their great body Politick; For not the head, but breech, is it By which the Kingdom now doth sit; The world is chang'd, and we have Choyces, Not by most Reasons, but most Voyces, The Lion's trod on by the Mouse, The lower is the upper House: As once from Chaos order came, So do their orders Chaos frame, And smoothly work the Lands delusion, By a Methodical Confusion; These are the things that lately went By Privilege of Parliament.

They would not have the kingdom fall By an Ignoble Funeral; But piously prefer the Nation To a renowned Decollation, The feet, and lower parts, 'tis sed, Would trample on, and off the head, What ere they say, this is the thing, They love the Charles, but hate the King; To make an even Grove, one stroke Should lift the Shrubb unto the Oake; Anew-found musick they would make, A Gamut, but no Ela take. This is the pious good intent Of Privilege of Parliament.

In all humilitie they crave Their Soveraign, to be their Slave; Desiring him, that he would be Betray'd to them most loyally:

For it were Meeknesse sure in him To be a Vice-Roy unto Pym; And if he would a while lay down His Scepter, Majestie, and Crown, He should be made for time to come The greatest Prince in Christendom. Charles at this time not having need, Thank'd them as much as if he did. This is the happy wish'd event Of Privilege of Parliament.

Pym, that ador'd Publicola, Who play'd the base — Who got a Lust to sacrifice The Heroē to the Peoples Eyes, Whose back-from-Hell-fetch'd-knaverie By some is nick-nam'd policie, Would be a Lyon with a pox, When at the best hee's but a Fox; And just like him that set on fire The hallowed Ephesian Spire, Hath purchas'd to be largely known, In that he is an Addage grown: All this to honest John is lent, By Privilege of Parliament.

The Valiant House was not afeard, To pull our Aaron by the Beard; To hide dark deeds from Gazers sights, Strove to blow out the Churches Lights, That squares might run round as their head, They long to have the Rochet sped: They Vote down Universities, Lest men from thence become too wise,

And their benighted deeds display, Whose works of darknesse hate the day; Hence they prefer in every Town, The Petticoat before the Gown; These blessings to the Land are sent By Privilege of Parliament.

They put forth Orders, Declarations, Unacted Laws, and Protestations, O•• which all can be said, is this, The whole is one Parenthesis, Because the sence (without all doubt) Were ne're the lesse, were all left out. Petitions none must be presented, But what are by themselves invented, Else they not heal, but Cicatrize, And from the cure a Scar doth rise, Though Holy Cut, the fault commit, Yet ••ong tail must be paid for it; Unto this wound was laid a Tent, By Privilege of Parliament.

They paid the Scottish debt, and thus, To be more honest, they rob'd us; They feed the poor, with what think ye, Why sure with large Calamity, And once a month they think it fitting To fast from sin, because from sitting, They would have winde and storms supprest, To drive the Hallcyon from her Nest: Charles is a Picture, they make bold To use the Scepter he should hold: They'd pull down one, but give as good A Golden Crown, made up of Wood,

And thus is Justice justly rent, By Privilege of Parliament.

The Call.

Hoe Yes, IF there be any Traytor, Viper, or Wigeon, That will fight against God for the true Religi∣on, That to maintain the Parliaments Votes, Of all true Subjects will cut the throats, That for the King and his Countries good, Will consume all the Land with Fire and Blood. I say, If any such Traytor, Viper, Mutineer, be born, Let him repair to the Lord with the double gilt Horn.

Englands Woe.

I Mean to speak of Englands sad fate, To help in mean time the King, and his Mate, That's ruled by an Antipodian State, Which no body can deny.

But had these seditious times been when We had the life of wise Poet Ben, Parsons had never been Parliament men, Which no body can deny.

Had Statesmen read the Bible throughout, And not gone by the Bible so round about, They would have ruled themselves without doubt, Which no body can deny.

But Puritans now bear all the sway, They'll have no Bishops as most men say, But God send them better another day, Which no body can deny.

Zealous P — has threatned a great downfall, To cut off long locks that is bushy and small, But I hope he will not take ears and all, Which no body can deny.

P— Burton, sayes women that's lewd and loose, Shall wear no stallion locks for a bush, They'll only have private boyes for their use, Which no body can deny.

They'll not allow what pride it brings, Nor favours in hats, nor no such things, They'll convert all ribbands to Bible strings, Which no body can deny.

God blesse our King and Parliament, And send he may make such K — repent, That breed our Land such discontent, Which no body can deny.

And blesse our Queen and Prince also, And all true Subjects both high and low, The Brownings can pray for themselves you know, Which no body can deny.

Upon Ambition.

Occasioned by the Accusation of the Earl of STRAFFORD, in the year 1640.

HOw uncertain is the State Of that greatnesse we adore, When Ambitiously we sore, And have ta'en the glorious height, 'Tis but Ruine gilded o're, To enslave us to our fate, Whose false Delight is easier got, then kept, Content ne'er on its gaudy Pillow slept.

Then how fondly do we try, With such superstitious care, To build Fabricks in the Ayr? Or seek safety in that sky, Where no Stars but Meteors are, That portend a ruine nigh? And having reacht the object of our ayme, We find it but a Pyramid of flame.

The Argument.

WHen the unfetter'd Subjects of the Seas, The Rivers, found their silver feet at ease, No sooner summon'd, but they swi••tly went To meet the Ocean, at a Parliament:

Did not the petty Fountains say their King, The Ocean, was no Ocean, but a Spring? As now some do the Power of Kings dispute, And think it lesse, 'cause more is added to't.

Pale Ignorance, can the excesse of store Make him seem poorer then he was before? The Stars, the Heavens, inferiour Courtiers, may Govern Nights Darknesse, but not rule the Day; Where the Sun Lords it, should they all Combine With Lucia in her brightest dresse, to shine, Their light's but faint: Nor can he be subdu'd, Although but one, and they a Multitude.

Say Subjects, are you Stars? be it allow'd, You justly of your numbers may be proud, But to the Sun inferiour; for know this, Your Light is borrow'd, not your Own, but His: And as all streams into the Ocean run▪ You ought to pay your Contribution; Then do not such Ingratitude oppresse, To make him low, that could have made you lesse

The Character of a Roundhead. 1641.

WHat Creature's this with his short hairs, His little band and huge long ears, That this new faith hath founded, The Puritans were never such, The Sanits themselves, had ne'er so much, Oh, such a knave's a Rounded.

What's he that doth the Bishops hate, And count their Calling reprobate, Cause by the Pope propounded, And saies a zealous Cobler's better, Then he that studieth every letter, Oh, such a knave's a Roundhead.

What's he that doth high Treason say, As often as his yea and nay, And wish the King confounded, And dare maintain that Master Pym, Is fitter for the Crown then him, Oh, such a rogue's a Roundhead.

What's he that if he chance to hear, A piece of London's Common-Prayer, Doth think his Conscience wounded. And goes five miles to preach and pray, And lyes with's Sister by the way, Oh, such a rogue's a Roundhead.

What's he that met a holy Sister, And in an Hay-cock gently kist her, Oh! then his zeal abounded, Close underneath a shady willow, Her Bible serv'd her for her pillow, And there they got a Roundhead.

A Curtain Lecture.

The Tune, Cannot keep her Lips together.

WILL you please to hear a Song, Though it want both rime and reason, It was pend to do no wrong, But for description at this season, Of he or she what ere they be, That wish Church-orders quite confounded, Yet makes a shew, where e're they go, Of Fervent zeal: I mean a Roundhead.

First hee'l have a smoothing tongue, Next hee'l learn for to dissemble, And when he hears of willfull wrong, He'll sigh and look as he would tremble, The next of all then let him fall, To praise mens hearts in secret bravery, A speaking still against all ill, That is the Cloak to hide their Knavery.

Let Charity be used much, In words at length and not in action, It is the Common use of such, Not to do, but give direction, They'l be loath to swear an Oath, By yea and nay, you may believe them, But for their gains, they will take paines, To cheat and ly, and never grieve them.

The Common-Prayer they like it not, For they are wise and can make better,

And such a Teacher they have got, Confutes it all in word and letter; For he can rayle mens hearts to quaile With deep damnation for their sinnning, But to amend they ne're intend, And to transgress they're now beginning.

But here is a very worthy man, That undertakes more than he is able, That in a Tub sometimes will stand, In Hey-barn, Sheep-house, or a Stable, That all the Rout that comes about To hear his Doctrines, Saints he calls them, They vow and swear they nere did hear Such worthy things as he hath told them.

They will not hear of Wedding Rings For to be used in their Mariage, But say they are Superstitious things, And doth Religion much disp••rage, They are but vain, and things prophane, Wherefore now no Wit be-speaks them So to be ty'd unto the Bride, But do it as the Spirit moves them.

No Pater-Noster nor no Creed In their Petitions never mention, And hold there's nothing good indeed But what is done by their pretention, Prayers that are old in vain they hold, And can with God no favour merit, Therefore they will nothing say, But as they are moved by the Spirit.

The wisest Schools they count but Fools, Which do no more than they have taught them For Brownists they can preach and pray With Wits their Fathers never bought them; Then I perceive that wit they have They gather it by Inspiration, No Books they need to learn to read, If all be true of their relation.

Only the Horn-book I would have Them practice at their beginning, That you the better may perceive The Fruits that comes by fleshly sinning. Neverthelesse I would express All other Books that now are used, Least that the Ghost that lea••s you most By too m••ch Art to be abufed.

Their Hair close to their Heads they crop And yet not only for the fashion, But that the Eare it should not stop From hearing of some rare Relation; Therefore his Eares he will prepare To hearken to an Holy Brother. That in regard he may be heard From one side of the Barne to th' other.

They count their Fathers were but Fools, Which formerly became such Debters, To spend their Means upon the Schools, To teach their Sons a few fond Letters, The Christ Crosse-row's enough to know, For 'tis the Horn that must exalt 'em, Their Gen'ral Vows his Antler'd Brows Shall gore the Proudest dare assault 'em▪

At the last when they must part, Male and Female go together Joynd in hand, and joyn'd in heart, And joyn'd a little for their pleasure. First for a Kisse they will agree, And what comes next you may conjecture, So that the Wicked do not see, And so break up the Roundheads Lecture.

A Mad World My Masters.

WE have a King and yet no King, For he hath lost his Power, For 'gainst his Will his Subjects are Imprison'd in the Tower.

We had some Laws (but now no Laws) By which he held his Crown, And we had Estates and Liberties But now they they're voted down.

We had Religion; but of late That's beaten down with Clubs, Whilst that Prophanesse Authoriz'd Is belched forth in Tubs.

We were free Subjects born, but now We are by force made Slaves, By some whom we did count our Friends, But in the end prov'd Knaves.

And now to such a grievous height Are our Misfortunes grown, That our Estates are took away By tricks before ne're known.

For there are Agents sent abroad Most humbly for to crave Our Almes: but if they are deny'd, And of us nothing have.

Then by a Vote ex tempore We are to Prison sent, Mark'd with the Name of Enemy Of King and Parliament.

And during our Imprisonment, Their lawless Bulls do thunder A Licence to their Souldiers Our Houses for to plunder.

And if their Hounds do chance to smell A man whose Fortunes are Of some Account, whose Purse is full, Which now is somewhat rare.

A Monster now Delinquent term'd, He is declar'd to be, And that his Lands as well as Goods Sequestred ought to be.

And as if our Prisons were too good, He is to Yarmouth sent By vertue of a Warrant from The King and Parliament.

Thus is our Royal Soveraigns name And eke his Power infus'd, And by the vertue of the same He and all His abus'd.

For by this Means his Castles now Are in the power of those Who treacherously with Might and Maine Do strive him to depose.

Arise therefore brave British men, Fight for your King and State, Against those Trayterous men that strive This Realm to Ruinate.

'Tis Pym, 'tis Pym, and his Colleagues, That did our woe engender, Nought but their Lives can end our Woes, And us in safety render.

The Riddle.

S-Hall's have a Game at Put, to pass away the time, X-pect no foul-play; though I do play the Knave I- have a King at hand, yea that I have: C- Cards be ye true, then the Game is mine. R-ejoyce my Heart, to see thee then repine. A- that's lost, that's Cuckolds luck. T-rey comes like Quater, to pull down the Buck.

An Answer to a Love-Elegy (written from I. P. one of the Five Members, to his Delightfull Friend) in Latin.

WHat Latin Sir? why there is no man That e're thought you an English-Roman. Your Father Horse could teach you none, Nor was it e're your Mother tongue, Your Education too assures Me, that your Poem is not yours: Besides, I thought you did detest The Language of the Latin Beast, But now your Impudence I see Did hereby shew its Modesty; Each syllable would blush you thought, If it had bin plain English taught, And that your foul debauched stuff Might do its Errand fast enough, Forsooth your Wisedom thought it meet That Words might run to give 'em feet, Pardon me, Sir, I'me none of those That love Love-verse, give me your Prose, I wish each Verse to make delay, Had turn'd lame Scazon by the way, I read a Hell in every line Of your Polluted Fescennine; Your Verses stunk; to keep 'em sweet You should have put Socks on their Feet. And that the Answer which I shall Now write, may be Methodicall,

I'le briefly make ('tis not amiss) An Anacephalaeosis. And first I look'd for Nestor; when Mere Cupid trickl'd from your Pen, Who was your Father, you make proof By your Colt's tooth, though not your hoof, She that was great with you, you hold Did not lye in, but was with fole'd. I wonder one so old, so grave Should yet such Youth, such Lightnesse have; Of the Five Members you alone Shall be esteem'd the Privy One, Who (like the Gnosticks) preach your Text, Increase and Multiply, and next Convincing Doctrines you deduce, Put out the Lights, and make Use. You say I am a Maid exceeding Apt to be taught by you good breeding. But where there's breeding, it is said There's none, unlesse a broken Maid Turn Papist, (Stallion) they'le dispence With Whoredom, by an Indulgence, Turn Fryer, that thou mayst be free At once with a whole Nunnery, There 'twill be vertue to ride on The Purple Whore of Babylon. Thou mayst as soon turn Turk, as King, And that, O that's the tempting thing That thou mayst glut thy Appetite With a Seraglio of Delight. I am no Proserpine, that thus I should desire an Incubus: But you must vote (if Me you'le win) No Fornication to be Sin,

You say the House takes it not well The King 'gainst Rebells should Rebell; And that's the reason why you stand To be Dictator of the Land, Which mov'd me to a mighty toyle Of getting Vardygrease and Oyle. 'Cause such Itch-Med'cine is a thing That's fittest to anoint you King. You say youl'd undertake and do Wonders, would I undergo you, For my sake you would Cobler play, Your Trade should be to underlay, For Me you'd your chiefest blood, Pray spend it on the Sisterhood, You wish to dye in those great Fights Of Venus, where each Wound delights, And should I once to Heaven take wing, Youl'd follow me, though in a string; Thank you (good Sir) it is our Will You your last Promise doe fulfill; There's nothing spoke that pleaseth us Like your (In funes Cedulus) Next come those idle Twittle-twats, Which calls me many God-knows-whats, As hallowed, beautifull, and faire, Supple and kind, and Debonaire. You talk of Women that did wooe, When I am mad I'le do so too; Then that my Father may not spye The coupling of you and I, He shall be guiltlesly detected, As a true Subject ill-affected, And so the Protestant shall lye In Goal for fear of Popery.

(From hence it is that every Town, Almost is now a Prison grown, Where Loyalty lies fetter'd, then You do commit more sins then men.) But those your words I have thought best, Should punisht be by being prest; And that this Body Politick May then be well, which now lyes sick, May the Greek Π, that fatal Tree, This Spring bear all such fruit as thee.

The Penitent Traytor. The Humble Petition of a Devonshire Gentleman who was Condemned for TREASON, and Executed for the same, An. 1641.

To the Tune of Fortune my Foe, &c.

ATtend good Christian People to my story, A sadder yet was never brought before ye; Let each man learn here like a good Disciple, To shun foul Treason, and the tree that's Triple.

Long time I liv'd in the Country next to Cornwall, And there my Children were both breed and born all, Great was my Credit, as my debts did speak, And now I'le shew you why my neck must break.

There being a Parliament called in September, I was for th' Commons an Elected Member, And though there were besides above four hun∣dred Yet I at last was for the fifth part numbred.

For first, I joyn'd with some whom Piety Made Knaves, lest such their Fathers prov'd should be; Their Ignorance to sin enjoyned many Voyces, Which made bad Speeches, but Excellent Noyses.

Thus by my faction the whole House was sway'd, All sorts of people flockt to me for Ayd; They brought me Gold and Plate in Huggar Mug∣gar, Besides eight hundred pounds worth in Loaf-sugar.

What e're the Grievance was, I did advise They should Petitions bring in Humble wise, Which I did frame my self, & thus did rook them, They paid me when I gave, and when I took them.

By this I gained, and by the Money-Pole, Which paid my debts, 10000 pounds i'th whole, My Childrens Portions too, with much content, I paid in State, by Acts of Parliament.

Thus though I make all Jesuits fly the Nation, My self did practise much Equivocation, For oft I Vow'd the Common-wealth as honey Was sweet to me, but I, by wealth, meant money.

And lest my Plots should after be unmasked, And how I got such Wealth, chance to be asked, I cast about how I might gain such power, As might from Justice safely me secure.

Then first I labour'd to divest the Crown, Of all Prerogatives, and bring them down; First, to both Houses, and then but one should have them, Five Members next, and last my self would have them

Because I knew the State would not admit Such Change, unlesse the Church did Usher it, I left the old Religion for advantage, Endeavouring to set up one that did want age.

Which when all Learned Levites did withstand, (Regarding Gods Word more then my command) I such supprest, and made (for which I woe am) The basest people Priests, like Jeroboam.

Then each profession sent out Teachers, moe Then both the Universities could doe, To handle a Text the Good-wifes fingers itches, And vows she'll preach with her Husband for the Breeches.

By this new Godly lives but few did gain, The rest for want of Trading they complain, I told them 'twas a wicked Counsellors plot, And till his head went off, their wares would not:

This Great mans guilt was Loyalty and Wisdom, Which made me cast about to work his Doom; The Sword of Justice was too short to do't, 2000. Clubs must therefore jerk it out.

He being knockt down, some others for the like Crime, Were sent to Prison, some escapt in time;

Thus Law and Equity in awe was kept here, And Clubs were taught how to controul the Scep∣ter,

We took from th' Upper-house Votes five times five, And they aym'd all the Kings Voyce Negative, Which to effect we did an Order make, That what he would not give, our selves would take.

Then we petition'd that the Forts and Towers, And all the strength o'th Kingdom might be ours, And thus to save the King from Soveraign dangers, As if he had better Fall by Us than Strangers.

Whilst he denyes they Legally are stay'd on By a ••aw call'd, Resolv'd upon the Question, But still his Chief strength was above our Arts, His righteous Cause, and loyal Subjects hearts.

Being Arm'd with these, by Heaven he was so blest, That he soon honour Got, and all the rest, Bringing all such to punishment endignant, As were of my Contrived part, Malignant.

O Tyburn, Tyburn; O thou sad Tryangle, A vyler weight on thee nee'r yet did dangle, See here I am at last with Hemp to mew, To give thee what was long before thy due.

How could I bless thee, could'st thee take away My Life and Infamy both in one day; But this in Ballads will survive I know, Sung to that preaching tune, Fortune my Foe.

Then mark good Christian people, and take heed, Use not Religion for an upper weed, Serve God sincerely, touch not his Anointed, And then your Necks shall never be disjoynted.

God bless the King, the Queen, and all the Chil∣dren, (And pardon me all, that I 'gainst them have ill done) May one of that brave Race still rule this Nation, And now I pray you sing the Lamentation.

The Passage of a Coach travelling to Dover.

THe Foundation of the Coach, a Guilty Con∣science. The Axeltree, Ambition and Cruelty. The Wheels, Fears and Jealousies. The Reins, too much liberty and licentiousness. The six Horses, five Members and K — The Postillion, Captain Venne. The Coach-man, Isaac Pennington Lord Maior:

In the two ends of the Coach sate Essex and B— In the Boots sate Say and Seal, and the silent Speaker. On the hinder part of the Coach was written this Anagram.

Robert Devereux General. Never duller Oxe greater Rebel.

After the Coach follows Straffords Ghost, cry∣ing, Drive on, drive on, Revenge, revenge.

As this Coach was going through the City it was staid by a Court of Guard, who cry'd, Where's our Mony? where's our Plate? the Speaker said, Ye have the Publick Faith for't. Whereupon they passed towards Gravesend, where they stayed at the Sign of the Hope, where was the Earl of War∣wick, with a Ship called the Carry-Knave.

The Five Members Thanks to the Parliament.

NOw tend your ear a while To a tale that I shall tell, Of a lusty lively Parliament That goes on passing well.

Which makes our Gratious King, a King Of so much worth and glory, His like is not to be seen or found In any Humane Story.

Win him who knows how many Crowns, With losse of two or three, Within so short a time as this, As Wonder is to see,

The Country eas'd, the City pleas'd, O what a World is this! When upright men did stand at Helme, How can we fail or miss?

And yet beyond all this, the King Doth in abundance swim, Gramercy K — and Stroud say I, Haslerigge, H— Hampden, Pym.

And when as our Church Government Was fallen into Disorders, As that upon Grosse Popery It seemed somewhat to border.

So sweet a Course is taken now, As no man need to fear, For Bishops learn'd, and Learned men Have nothing to do here:

But every one shall teach and preach, As best beseems his Sense: And so we'll banish Popery, And send it packing hence:

Now for that happy Church and State, Drest up so fine and trym: Gramercy K— and Stroud say I, Haslerigg, H— Hampden, Pym.

For Arbitrary Government, Star-Chamber, High Commission, They will themselves do all that Work, By their good Kings permission.

If any else presume to do't, They weigh it not a straw: They'll club such sawcy Fellows down, As Beasts debarr'd of Law.

And let no Wights henceforth presume To hold it Rime or Reason, That Judges shall determine what Is Felony or Treason:

But what the Worthies say is so, Is Treason to award, Albeit in Councel only spoke, And at the Councel-board.

I'le shew you yet another thing, Which you'll rejoyce to see, The Prince and People know that these Men cannot Traytors be.

Then let our King, our Church and State Acknowledge as is due, The Benefits they do receive From this right Divine crue.

And for this Sea of Liberty, Wherein we yet do swim, Gramercy K — and Stroud say I, Haslerigg, H— Hampden, Pym.

Upon the Parliament Fart.

DOwn came Grave Antient Sir John Crooke, And read his Messuage in a Book; Very well quoth Will. Norris, it is so, But Mr. Pym's Tayle cry'd No. Fye quoth Alderman Atkins I like not this passage, To have a Fart inter voluntary in the midst of a Message. Then upstarts one fuller of Devotion Than Eloquence, and said, a very ill Motion. Not so neither quoth Sir Henry Jenking, The Motion was good but for the stinking. Quoth Sir Henry Poole 'twas an audacious trick To fart in the face of the Body Politick. Sir Jerome in Folio swore by the Mass This Fart was enough to have blown a Glass: Quoth then Sir Jerome the Lesser, such an Abuse Was never offer'd in Poland nor Pruce. Quoth Sir Richard Houghton, a Justice i'th Quorum Would tak't in snuff to have a Fart let before him. If it would bear an Action quoth Sir Thomas Hole∣craft I would make of this Fart a Bolt or a Shaft. Then qd. Sir John Moor to his great Commendation I will speak to this House in my wonted fashion. Now surely sayes he, For as much as, How be it, This Fart to the Serjeant we must commit. No quoth the Serjeant, low bending his Knees, Farts oft will break Prisons, but never pay Fees. Besides, this Motion with small reason stands, To charge me with that I can't keep in my hands. Quoth Sir Walter Cope 'twas so readily let, I would it were sweet enough for my Cabinet.

Why then Sir Walter (quoth Sir William Fleetwood) Speak no more of it, but bury it with Sweetwood; Grave Senate, quoth Duncombe, upon my salvation, This Fart stands in need of some great Reformation; Quoth Mr. Cartwright, upon my Conscience It would be reformed with a little Frankencense; Quoth Sir Roger Aston it would much mend the matter, If this Fart were shaven, and washt in Rosewater; Per verbum Principis, how dare I tell it, A Fart by hear-say, and not see it, nor smell it. I am glad qd. Sam: Lewknor we have found a thing, That no Tale-bearer can carry it the King, Such a Fart as this was never seen Quoth the learned Council of the Queen, Yes quoth Sir Hugh Breston the like hath been Let in a dance before the Queen, Then said Mr. Peak I have a President in store His Father Farted last Sessions before, A Bill must be drawn then, quoth Sir John Bennet, Or a selected Committee quickly to pen it, Why quoth Dr. Crompton no man can draw This Fart within Compass of the Civil-Law, Quoth Mr. Jones by the Law't may be done Being a Fart intayld from Father to Sonne, In truth quoth Mr. Brooke, this Speech was no lye This Fart was one of your Post-Nati Quoth Sir William Paddy a dare-assuram Though twere contra modestum: 'tis not prater natu∣ram, Besides by the Aphorismes of my art Had he not been deliver'd, h'ad been sick of a Fart; Then quoth the Recorder, the mouth of the City, To have smother'd that Fart had been great pity,

It is much certain quoth Sir Humphrey Bentwizle, That a Round-fart is better then a stinking fiezle: Have patience Gentlemen, quoth Sir Francis Bacon There's none of us all but may be mistaken; Why right, quoth the great Attorney I confesse, The Eccho of ones — is remedilesse.

The old Earle of Bristol's Verses on an Accommodation.

THe Parliament cryes Arme, the King sayes No, The New Lieutenants cry Come on, let's go; The Citizens and Roundheads cryes So, so; The People all amaz'd cryes Where's the Foe; The Scots that stand behind the Door cryes Boe, Peace, Stay awhile and you shall know: The King stands still faster than they can go. If that the King by force of Armes prevail, He is invited to a Tyranny; If that by power of Parliament he fail, We heap continual Warre on our Posterity. Then he that is not for Accommodation, Loves neither God, nor Church, nor King, nor Na∣tion.

The Rump's Hypocricy

WE fasted first, then pray'd that War might cease, When Praying would not serve, we paid for Peace; And glad we had it so, and gave God thanks, Which made the Irish play the Scotish Pranks. Is there no God? let's put it to a Vote; Is there no Church? some Fools say so by rote; Is there no King, but Pym, for to assent What shall be done by Act of Parliament? No God, no Church, no King, then all were well, If they could but Enact there were no Hell.

The Parliaments Hymnes.

O Lord preserve the Parliament, And send them long to reign, From three years end, to three years end, And so to three again.

Let neither King nor Bishops, Lord, Whilst they shall be alive, Have power to rebuke thy Saints, Nor hurt the Members five.

For they be good and godly men, No sinfull path they tread;

They now are putting Bishops down, And setting up Round-head.

From Holdsworth, Bromrigge, and old Shute, Those able learned Scholars, Good Lord deliver us with speed, And all our zealous Followers.

From Fielding and from Vavasour, Both ill affected men; From Lunsford eke deliver us, That eateth up Children.

Thy holy Burton, Bastwick, — Lord keep them in thy Bosome; Eke him that hath kept out the King, Worshipfull Sir John Hotham.

Put down the King and Hartford, Lord, And keep them down for aye; Thy chosen Pym set up on high, And eke the good Lord Say.

For Warwick wee beseech thee Lord, Be thou his strong defence, Holland, Brooks, and S — shield, And eke his Oxcellence.

For B — and K — to That are both wise and stout, Who have rebuk'd the King of late, And his ungodly Rout.

Once more we pray for Parliament, That they may sit secure,

And may their Consultations, From Age to Age endure.

Let all the Godly say Amen, And let them Praises sing To God and to the Parliament, And all that hate the King.

The Round-heads Race.

I Will not say for the Worlds store, The World's now drunk, (for did I) The Faction which now reigns would roare, But I will swear 'tis giddy.

And all are prone to this same Fit, That it their Object make, For every thing runs Round in it, And no form else will take.

To the Round-Nose Peculiar is The Ruby and the Rose; The Round-lip gets away the Kisse, And that by Favour goes.

The Round-beard for Talke of State, Carry it at the Club; The Round-Robin by a like fate Is Victor in the Tubb.

Hanworths Round-block speak pollicy, The Round-hose Riches draw.

The Round-heads for the Gospell bee The Round Copes for the Law.

Tom his Round Garbe so rules all o're, The pox take him for mee That e're lookes for square dealing more, And hears an health to thee.

On the Queens Departure.

UP, up wrong'd Charls his friends, what can you be Thus Mantled In a stupid Lethargie, When all the world's in Arms? and can there be Armies of Fears abroad and none with thee? Breath out your souls in sighs, melt into tears, And let your griefs be equal to your fears; The Sphaeres are all a jarring, and their jarres Seems counter-like to Calculate the Starres; The Inferior Orbes aspire, and do disdain To move at all, unlesse they may attain The highest Room, our Occedentall Sunne Eclips'd by Starres, forsakes his Horizon, Bright Cinthia too (they say) hath hid her face As 'twere Impatient of her Sol's disgrace; And our fears tell us, that unlesse the Sunne Lend us his beams again, the World will run Into another Chaos, where will be Nought but the cursed Fruits of Anarchie; Sedition, Murder, Rapine, and what's worse None to Implore for Aid; Oh, here's the Curse, But stay ye Starres, what will ye wish to bee? More Sunns then one will prove a Prodigie:

To afright the Amazed World, will ye be-night That glorious Lamp, that Fountain of all light, Will none but Sol's own Chaire, please your desire? Take heed bold Stars you'le set the world on fire.

Pyms Anarchy.

ASk me no more, why there appears Dayly such troopes of Dragooners? Since it is requisite, you know; They rob cum privilegio.

Ask me no more, why th' Gaole confines Our Hierarchy of best divines? Since some in Parliament agree Tis for the Subjects Liberty.

Ask me no more, why from Blackwall Great tumults come into Whitehall? Since it's allow'd, by free consent, The Priviledge of Parliament.

Ask me not, why to London comes So many Musquets, Pikes and Drums? Although you fear they'll never cease; 'Tis to protect the Kingdoms peace.

Ask me no more, why little Finch From Parliament began to winch? Since such as dare to hawk at Kings Can easie clip a Finches wings.

Ask me no more, why Strafford's dead, And why they aim'd so at his head? Faith, all the reason I can give, 'Tis thought he was too wise to live.

Ask me no more, where's all the Plate, Brought in at such an easie rate? They will it back to th' Owners bring In case it fall not to the King.

Ask me not why the House delights Not in our two wise Kentish Knights? There Counsell never was thought good, Because it was not understood.

Ask me no more, why Lesley goes To seize all rich men as his foes? Whilst Country Farmers sigh and sob, Yeomen may beg when Kings do rob.

Ask me no more, by what strange sight Londons Lord Maior was made a Knight? Since there's a strength, not very far, Hath as much power to make as mar.

Ask me no more, why in this Age I fing so sharp without a Cage? My answer is, I need not fear Since England doth the burden bear.

Ask me no more, for I grow dull, Why Hotham kept the Town of Hull? This answer I in brief do sing, All things were thus when Pym was K—

To my Lord B. of S. he being at York.

My Lord,

WHen you were last at London 'twas our fear, Lest the same Rout which threatned Majesty, Might strike at you: 'tis but the same Career To aime at Crowns, and at the Miter fly. For still the Scepter and the Crosier staffe Together fall, 'cause they're together safe:

Yet while the sence of Tumults deepest grow, And presse in us, no doubts in you arise; There still dwelt calm and quiet in your Brow, As our Distractions were your Exercise: And taught us, all assaults, all Il••s to beare, Is not to fly from Danger, but from Fear.

That Courage waits you still, some merely rode From Tumults and the Peoples frantick Rage, Counting their safety by their far abode, And so grew safer still at the next Stage: But 'tis not space that shelters you, the rest Secure themselves by Miles, you by your Breast.

And now my Lord, since you have London left, Where Merchants wives dine cheap, & as cheap sup, Where Fools themselves have of their Plate bereft, And sigh and drink in the course Pewter cup. Where's not a Silver Spoon left, not that giv'n than When the first Cockney was made Christian.

No not a Bodkin, Pincase, all they send Or carry all, what ever they can happe on, Ev'n to the pretty Pick Tooth, whose each end Oft purg'd the Relicks of continual Capon. Nothing must stay behind, nothing must tarry, No not the Ring by which dear Joan took Harry.

But now no City-Villain, though he were Free of a Trade and Treason, dares intrude, No sawcy Prentises assault you there, Engag'd by their Indentures to be rude: Whom for the two first years their Masters use Onely to cry down Bishops, and cleanse Shooes.

There as in silent Orbes you may ride on, And as in Charles his Wain move without jarres, Your Coach will seem your Constellation, Not drawn about by Horses, but by Stars. Till seated near the Northern Pole, wee thence Judge your seat Sphear, you its Intelligence.

An Elegie on the Most Reverend Father in God William, Lord Archbishop of CANTERBURY.

Attached the 18. of December, 1640. Beheaded the 10. of January, 1644.

Most Reverend Martyr,

THou, since thy thick Afflictions first begun, Mak'st Dioclesian's dayes all Calme, and Sun,

And when thy Tragick Annals are compil'd, Old Persecution shall be Pity styl'd, The Stake and Faggot shall be Temp'rate names, And Mercy wear the Character of Flames: Men knew not then Thrift in the Martyrs breath, Nor weav'd their Lives into a four years Death, Few antient Tyrants do our Stories Taxe, That flew first by Delayes, then by the Axe, But these (Tiberius like) alone do cry, 'Tis to be Reconcil'd to let Thee dy. Observe we then a while into what Maze, Compasse, and Circle they contrive Delayes, What Turnes and wilde Perplexities they chuse, Ere they can forge their Slander, and Accuse: The Sun hath now brought his warm Chariot back, And rode his Progress round the Zodiack, When yet no Crime appears, when none can tell, Where thy Guilt sleeps, nor when 'twill break the shell. Why is His Shame defer'd? what's in't that brings Your Justice back, spoyles Vengeance of her Wings? Hath Mercy seiz'd you? will you rage no more? Are Windes grown tame? have Seas forgot to roar? No, a wilde fiercenesse hath your minds possest, Which time and sins must cherish and digest: You durst not now let His clear Blood be spilt, You were not yet grown up to such a guilt; You try if Age, if Seaventy years can Kill: Then y'have your Ends, and you are harmlesse still, But when this fail'd, you do your Paths enlarge, But would not yet whole Innocence discharge; You'll not be Devil All, you fain would prove Good at a Distance, within some Remove,

"Virtue hath sweets which are good Mens due gaine, "Which Vice could not Deserve, yet would Retaine. This was the Cause, why once it was your Care, That Storms and Tempests in your Sin might share, You did engage the Waves, and strongly stood To make the Water guilty of his Blood. Boats are dispatcht in haste, and 'tis his doome, Not to his Charge, but to his Shipwrack come; Fond men, your cruel Project cannot doe, Tempests and storms must learn to kill from you; When this comes short, he must Walk•• Pilgrimage, No Coach nor Mule, that may sustein his Age, Must trace the City (now a Desert rude) And combate salvage Beasts the Multitude. But when his Guardian Innocence can fling, Awe round about, and save him by that King. When the Just cause can fright the Beasts away, And make the Tyger tremble at her prey. When nether Waves dare seize him, nor the Rout; The storm with Reason, nor the storm without: Lost in their streights when Plots have vanquisht bin, And Sin perplext hath no Relief, but Sin. Agents and Instruments now on you fall, You must be Judges, People, Waves, and All. Yet 'cause the Rout will have't perform'd by you, And long to see done what they dare not Doe. You put the Crime to use, it swells your Heap; Your Sin's your own, nor are you Guilty cheap, You Husband All; there's no Appearance lost, Nor comes he once to th' Bar but at your cost; A constant Rate well Taxt, and Levyed right, And a Just value set upon each sight.

At last they find the Dayes by their own Purse, Lesse known from him than what they do disburse: But when it now strikes high for him t'appear, And Chapmen see the Bargain is grown dear; They Muster hands, and their hot suits enlarge, Not to persue the Man, but save the Charge; Then least you loose their Custome, (a just fear) Selling your Sinnes and others Blood too dear. You grant their Suits, the Manner, and the Time, And he must Dye for what no Law calls Crime. Th' Afflicted Martyrs, when their pains began. Their Trajan had, or Dioclesian. Their Tortures were some Colours, and proceed; Though from no Guilt, yet 'cause they disagreed: What league, what friendship's there? They could not joyn, And fix the Ark and Dagon in one Shrine. Faith, combats Faith; and how agree can they, That still go on, but still a several way? Zeal, Martyrs Zeal, and Heat 'gainst Heat conspires. As Theban Brothers fight though in their Fires. Yet as two diff'rent Stars unite their Beams, And Rivers mingles Waves and mix their Streams; And though they challenge each a several Name, Conspire because their moysture is the same. So Parties knit, though they be diverse known, The Men are many but the Christian, one. Trajan, no Trajan was to his own Heard, And Tygers are not by the Tygers fear'd. What strange excesse then? what's that menstruous Power, When Flames do Flames, and Streams do Streams devour? Where the same Faith 'gainst the same Faith doth knock, And Sheep are Wolves to Sheep of the same Flock?

Where Protestant the Protestant defies, Where both Assent, yet one for Dissent dyes? Let these that doubt this, through his Actions Wade, Where some must needs Convince, All may per∣swade. Was he Apostate, who your Champion stood, Bath'd in his Inke before, as now in Blood? He that unwinds the subtle Jesuite, That Feels the Serpents Teeth, and is not bit? Unites the Snake finds each Mysterious knot, And turns the Poyson into Antidot. Doth Nicety with Nicety undoe? And makes the Labyrinth the Labyrinth's clew? That sleight by sleight subdues, and clearly proves, Truth hath her Serpents too, as well as Doves. Now, you that blast his Innocence, Survey, And view the Triumph of this Glorious day; Could you (if that might be) if you should come To seal God's cause with your own Martyrdom, (Could all the blood whose Tydes move in their veins, Which then perhaps were Blood, but now in stains) (Yield it that Force and strength, which it hath took Should we except his Bloud) from this his Book, Your Flame or Axe would lesse evince to Men, Your Block and Stake would prop lesse than his Pea; Is he Apostate, whom the Baites of Rome Cannot seduce, though all her Glories come? Whom all her specious Honours cannot hold, Who hates the snare although the Hook be Gold? Who Prostituted Titles can despise, And from despised Titles, greater Rise?

Whom Names cannot Amuse, but seats withall The Protestant above the Cardinall? Who sure to his own Soul, doth scorn to find A Crimson cap the Purchase of his Minde? "Who is not Great, may blame his Fate's Of∣fence, "Who would not be, is Great in's Conscience. Next these His Sweat and Care how to advance The Church but to Her Just Inheritance, How to gain back her Own, yet none Beguile, And make her Wealth her Purchase, nor her spoyle: Then, shape Gods worship to a joynt consent; 'Till when the seamlesse Coat must still be Rent: Then, to repair the Shrines, as Breaches sprung, Which we should hear, could we lend Pauls a Tongue, Speak, Speak great Monument! while thou yet art such, And Rear him 'bove their Scandals and their Touch; Had he surviv'd thou mighst in Time Declare, Vast things may comely be, and Greatest Fair. And though thy Limbs spread high, and Bulk exceed, Thou'dst prov'd that Gyants are no monstrous breed: Then 'bove Extent thy Lustre would prevaile, And 'gainst Dimension Feature turn the Scale; But now, like Pyrrah's half adopted birth. Where th'issue part was Woman, Part was Earth, Where Female some, and some to stone was Bent, And the one half was t'others Monument, Thou must imperfect lye, and learn to Groan, Now for his Ruine, straightway for thine own: But this and Thousand such Abortives are; By Bloody Rebels Ravisht from his care; But yet though some miscarried in their Wombe, And Deeds Still-born have hastned to the Tombe,

God (that Rewards him now) forbad his store, Should all lye hid, and he but give ith' Ore. Many are Stampt, and shapt, and do still shine, Approv'd at Mint, a firm, and Perfect Coyne. Witness that Mart of Books that yonder stands. Bestow'd by him, though by anothers Hands: Those Attick Manuscripts, so rare a Piece, They tell the Turk, he hath not conquer'd Greece, Next these, a second beautuous Heap is thrown, Of Eastern Authors, who were all his own. Who in so Various Languages appear, Babel, would scarce be their Interpreter. To These, we may that Fair-built Colledge bring, Which proves that Learning's no such Rustick thing; Whose structure well contriv'd doth not relate To Antick fineness, but strong lasting state: Beauty well mixt with strength, that it complyes Most with the Gazer's use, much with his Eyes, On Marble Columns thus the Arts have stood, As wise Seth's Pillars sa••'d 'em in the Flood. But did he leave here Walls, and only Own A Glorious Heap, and make us rich in Stone? Then had our Chanc'lour seem'd to fail, and here Much honour due to the Artificer: But this our Prudent Patron long fore-saw, When he Refin'd rude Statutes into Law; Our Arts and Manners to his Building falls, And he erects the Men, as well as Walls: "Thus Solons Laws his Athens did Renown, "And turn'd that throng of Building to a Town. Yet neither Law nor Statute can be known So strickt, as to Himself he made his own,

Which in his Actions Inventory lyes, Which Hell or — can never scandalize: Where every Act his rigid eye surveyes, And Night is Barre and Judge to all his Dayes; Where all his secret Thoughts he doth comprize, And every Dream summon'd to an Assize; VVhere he Arraigns each Circumstance of care, VVhich never parts dismiss'd without a Prayer; See! how he sifts and searches every part, And ransacks all the Closets of his heart; He puts the hours upon the Rack and Wheel, And all his minutes must confess or feel: If they reveal one Act which forth did come. VVhen Humane frailty crept into the Loome, If one Thread stain, or sully, break, or faint, So that the Man does Inteerrupt the Saint, He hunts it to its Death, nor quits his feares, Till't be Embalm'd in Prayers, or drown'd in Teares. The Sun in all his journeys ne're did see One more devout, nor one more strict than He. Since his Religion then's Ʋnmixt and Fine, And Works do warrant Faith, as Ore the Mine: VVhat can his Crime be then? Now you must lay The Kingdoms Laws subverted in his way: See! no such Crime doth o're his Conscience grow, (VVithout which Witness ne're can make it so;) A clear Transparent White, bedecks his mind, VVhere nought but Innocence can shelter find, Witnesse that Breath which did your stain and blot Wipe freely out, (though Heaven I fear will not) Witnesse that Calme and Quiet in His Breast, Prologue and Preface to his Place of Rest; When with the VVorld He could undaunted part, And see in Death nor meagre Looks; nor Dart:

When to the Fatal Block His Gray Age goes With the same Ease, as when he took Repose. "He like old Enoch to His Blisse is gone, "Tis not his Death, but his Translation.

A Mock Remonstrance referring to the Porters Petition.

To Pym King of the Parliamented, The Grievances are here presented Of Porters, Butchers, Broom-men, Tanners, That fain would fight under your Banners; Weavers, Dyers, Tinkers, Coblers, And many other such like Joblers, As Water-men, and those call'd Dray-men, That have a long time sung Solamen, &c.

WHereas, Imprimis, first, that is, the Porters, The heavy burthens laid on their four Quarters Is not complain'd of here; nor of Us, any, Although We have good Causes, and full many, As yet unknown; but there's a day will come Shall pay for all, We say no more but Mum. It is well said by some, You are about To give the Church and Government a Rout, Let it be so cry VVe, for it is known, To do't, you will want more hands than your own. And since you are * 1.1 necessitated to Raise war, 'ifaith (Sirrevence) do, do, do; 'Tis fit that Old things should grow out of date, Like Hampden's Sister, or that Beldame Kate.

Old things in course do commonly decay, When New perhaps may last full many a day; Old Frocks, old Shirts, old Brooms, old Boots, old Skins Are much addicted to the Venial sins Of wearing out; and why not then the Church, That has left many a simple man ith' lurch. Beside, the Porters so the Surplice hate, Their very Frocks they have casheer'd of late; And rather than endure 'em, you may see, They wear the Rope, the Hang-mans Livery. The Butchers too, inspired are at least, And know the very Intrails of the Beast That wears those * 1.2 Smocks, and though they love a Whore, A Babilonish one they do abhor. In fine, in this great work of Reformation, Which you intend shall stigmatize the Nation, We pray to be Fellow-labourers, and That you our Vertues right may understand, Know that the Porters shall for Eighteen-pence Carry the Dreggs of Rome in Bottles hence To any Foreign part you'l think upon, And bring the Juyce of the Turks Alcaron In lieu of it; the Butcher kill'd in Slaughter Shall send Gods, and the Laws Disciples after: There shall not a Religious Relique be Left in the Church, or in the Library, But shall be swept away by the Nice hand Oth' Broom-mens Art, who nothing understand More than Kent-street; If any them deride, The Tanners come, and then beware their Hide; And for the Weavers, they can preach, or pray, As is well known to the Lords, Brooks and Say. The Dyers they delight you know in Scarlet, And care no more for Blood, than any Varlet;

Like Archers good they will come on so powring, That who escapes them will escape a scowring. The Tinkers they can both make Holes, and mend 'em In Church or State; if you will but befriend 'em With Mettle; They care not for God or Divell; A Pack of sturdy Rogues inur'd to Evill. The Cobler vows, and that you'l say is News, To venture All, what over Boots, o're Shooes? And likewise undertakes at a Cheap rate The Government, though Crabbed, to Translate. The Water-men more flye than any Otters, Knowing 'tis good fishing in troubl'd Waters, If any do Oppose them, though their Betters, They will betake themselves unto their Stret∣chers, And so belabour 'em in Church and Cloysters, Their Bones shall rattle, like a Sacke of Oysters, In their thin Skins. The Dray-men likewise shall With Crusted Fists, fling 'um and fling 'um all. Thus in Our several Functions We can serve ye, Men fit for your Employment, pray observe ye; And therefore list Us, where your best defence is, In th' Yealow Regiment of's Oxcellencies: So taking leave, resting at your Commands, We do subscribe either Our Horns, or Hands,

The Caution. A SONG.

To the Tune of Oh Women, Monstrous Women.

YOu Sep'ratists that Sequister Your selves from Laws are good, Your Courses so irregular Shall now be understood; Your fond Expounding corrupts the Bibble, Yet you'l maintain it with your Twibble. Oh Roundheads, Roundheads, damnable Roundheads, What do you mean to do?

He that does swear, though to a Truth, You count him far worse than a Lyer, Yet you will firk your Sister Ruth, So it may edifie her; You, like the Devil, abhor a Crosse, But I'le have as good Reason from Pyms Stone∣horse. Oh Roundheads, Roundheads, damnable Roundheads, What do you mean to do?

Our Churches Hierarchy you hold Within a foul Suspition; And say the Prelates Sleeves are old Reliques of Superstition; The very Ragges of Rome they are Such as the Whores of Babilon wear. Oh Roundheads, Roundheads, damnable Roundheads, What do you mean to do?

Therefore in Zeal and Piety, You'l dy their Lawn in blood, And root out their Society, A work you think is good; The Malice is, some of your Eares Were cropt far shorter than your hairs. Oh Roundheads, Roundheads, damnable Roundheads, What do you mean to do?

When you the Miter have pull'd down, You'l be hang'd before contented, Your next Pluck must be at the Crown, A Plot long since invented: But Grigge swears Tyburn shall have her due, Hee'l be hang'd himself, if he hang not you. Oh Roundheads, Roundheads, damnable Roundheads, What do you mean to do?

The Coblers were astonished, The Porters eke, also; To hear the Noyse that ecchoed From your vast Tubb below: But let him be hang'd will never mend, The Cobler thinks upon his end. But you to whom my Lines do tend Have a care of what you do.

Lilly contemn'd. A SONG.

WHy art thou sad? Our Glasses flow Like little Rivers to the Mayne;

And ne're a Man here has a Shrew, What need'st thou then complain? Then Boys mind your Glass, And let all News pass That treats not of this our Canary, Let Lawyers fear their Fate, In the turn of the State, We suffer if this do miscarry, Chor. 'Tis this will preserve us 'gainst Lillies predi∣ctions, And make us contemn our Fate and his Ficti∣ons.

'Tis this that setts the City Ruff; And lyne•• the Aldermen with Fur; It makes the Watchmen stiff and tuff To call, where go you Sir? 'Tis this doth advance The Cap of Maintenance, And keeps the Sword sleeping or waking; It Courage doth raise In such Men now adaies, That hereto••ore cry'd at Head-aching, Chor. 'Tis this doth infuse in a Miser some pity, And is the Genius, and Soul of the City.

Then why should we dispair, or think The Enemy approacheth near? Let such as never us'd to drink Sack, be enslav'd to Fear. Then to get Honor, And that waits on her, Strange Titles, Illustrious and Mighty. Wee'l have a smart Bout Shall speak us Men and stout, And I'le be the first that shall fight ye.

Chor. He that stifly can stand to't, and hath the best Braine; Shall be styl'd Son of Mars, and God of the Mayne.

A Monster to be seen at VVestminster. 1642.

WIthin this House is to be seen Such a Monster as hath not been At any time in England, nay In Europe, Africk, Asia. 'Tis a Round body, without a Head Almost three years, yet not dead. 'Tis like that Beast I once did see, Whose Tayle stood where his Head should be; And, which was never seen before, Though't want a Head, 'thas Horns good store, It has very little hair, and yet You'l say it has more hair than wit, 'Thas many Eyes and many Eares, 'Thas many Jealousies and ••ears, 'Thas many Mouths, and many Hands, 'Tis full of Questions and Commands. 'Tis arm'd with Muskets, Pikes, it fears Naught in the World but Cavaliers; 'Twas born in England, but begot Betwixt the English and the Scot. Though some are of Opinion Father That the Devil was its Father, And the City, which is worse, Was its Mother, and its Nurse.

Some say (though perhaps in scorn) That it was a Cretan born, And not unlike, for't has the fashion Just as may be of that Nation; For 'tis a Lyer, none oth' least; A slow Belly, an Evil beast; Of what Religion none can tell, It much resembles that in Hell. Some say it is a Jew disguis'd, And why, because 'tis circumcis'd; For 'twas deprived long ago Of many a Member wee well know. In some points 'tis a Jesuited Priest, In some it is a Calvinist: For 'tis not Justify'd, it saith By Good works, but by Publick Faith. Some call't an Anabaptist: Some Think now that Antichrist is come. A Creature of an uncouth kind, Both for its Body, and its mind: Make hast and see't, else 'twill be gon, For now 'tis sick, and drawing on.

London sad London. AN ECCHO.

WHat wants thee, that thou art in this sad taking? A King What made him first remove hence his residing? syding.

Did any here deny him satisfaction? Faction. Tell me whereon this strength of Faction lyes? On lyes. What didst thou do when the King left Parlia∣ment? Lament. What terms would'st give to gain his Company? Any. But how wouldst serve him, with thy best endea∣vour? Ever. What wouldst thou do if here thou couldst be∣hold him? Hold him. But if he comes not what becomes of London? Ʋndone.

Upon bringing in the Plate.

ALL you that would no longer To a Monarch be subjected, Come away to Guildhall, and be there liberall, Your Wish shall be there effected. Come come away, bring your Gold, bring your Jewells, Your silver Shap't, or Molten, If the King you'l have down, and advance to the Crown Five Members and K—

Regard no Proclamations, They're Subjects fit to Jest on, Henry Elsing's far better than C. R. Resolv'd upon the Question. Come come away, &c.

You Aldermen first send in Your Chaines upon these Summons, To buy Ropes ends, for all the Kings Friends, They're Traytors to the Commons▪ Come, come away, &c.

Your Basons large, and Ewers, Unto this use alot them, If ere you mean your hands to clean From th'Sins by which you got them. Come, come away, &c.

Bring in your Cannes and Gobletts, You Citizens confiding, And think it no scorn, to drink in a Horn Of your own Wives providing. Come, come away, &c.

Ye Bretheren strong and lusty, The Sisters Exercise yee, Get Babes of Grace, and Spoons apace, Both Houses do advise yee. Come, come away, &c.

Let the Religious Sempstress Her silver Thimble bring here, 'Twill be a fine thing in deposing a King, To say you had a Finger. Come, come away, &c.

Your Childe's redeemed Whistle May here obtain Admittance, Nor shall that Cost, be utterly lost, They'le give you an Acquittance. Come, come away, &c.

The Gold and Silver Bodkin, The Parliament woo'd ha both, Which oft doth make, the House to take A Journey on the Sabboth. Come, come away, &c.

You that have store of Mony Bring't hither, and be thrifty, If th' Parliament thrive, they'le so contrive You shall have back Four for Fifty. Come, come away, &c.

If when the Councell's ended, Your Plate you will recover, Be sure you may the chief Head that day On the Bridge or Tower discover. Come, come away, &c.

The Prentices Petition to the Close Com∣mittee.

TO you close Members, wee the Young men come (If Justice in this house has any Room?) With a Petition, but it is for peace; If you are vext, pray let all Quarrells cease; First, for Religion.) If't be no offence, Nor hinder things of greater Consequence) We hope you do suppose there's some such thing, 'Cause 'thas bin often mention'd by the King. Wee'ld hav't establisht, and do hold it fit That no Lay-Levites ought to meddle with't.

Next, that in spight of Treason, we may have A happy peace, but that we need not crave, For when our bodkins cease 'twil be your pleasure That arms may cease, not wanting wil, but treasure; Else you'le but put the King to farther trouble, To beat you to't, and make you Subjects double. We know y'are powerfull, and can wonders do Both by your Votes and Ordinances too; In case all those Murther'd Innocent men May by your Votes be made alive again, Then your admiring Spirits shall perswade us That neither War nor Famine can invade us: Till then you'le give us leave to trust our Eyes, And from our sad Experience, now grow wise: Let not the Collonell's gaping son o'th' City Be made the Mouth unto this close Committe; Whose gaudy Troope, because they're boyes, he boasts They are the Children of the Lord of Hosts; And knows no reason, (for indeed tis' scant) Why States are not like Churches Militant. Next, that Truth, Wisedome, Justice, Loyalty, And Law, five Members of our Faculty (Who not by the King; but you, have been so long By Votes Expell'd from your Rebellious throng) May be restored; and in spight of Pym Be heard to speak their mind as well as him. Which if not granted, we do tell you this, Your Lord (whose head's in a Parenthesis) Shall not secure you, but we shall unty That twisted Rabble of the Hierachy, Clubs are good payments, and'mongst other things Know we are as many Thousands as you Kings. In the Interim pray tell your fore-horse Pym, Just as he loves the King, so we love him.

Londons Farewell to the Parliament.

FArewell to the Parliament, with hey, with hey, Farewell to the Parliament, with hoe, Your dear delight the City, Our wants have made us witty, And a — for the Close Committee, With a hey trolly, lolly, loe.

Farewell the Lord of Essex, with hey, with hey, Farewell the Lord of Essex, with hoe, He sleeps till eleven, And leaves the Cause at six and seven, But 'tis no matter, their hope's in Heaven, With hey trolly, lolly, loe.

Farewell the Lord Wharton, with hey, with hey, Farewell the Lord Wharton, with hoe, The Saw-pit did hide him, Whilst Hastings did out-ride him, Then came Brooks and he out-ly'd him, With hey trolly, lolly, loe.

Farewell Billy Stroud, with hey, with hey, Farewell Billy Stroud, with hoe, He swore all Whartons lyes were true, And it concern'd him so to do, For he was in the Saw-pit too, With hey trolly, lolly, loe.

Farewell the Lord Brooks, with hey, with hey, Farewell the Lord Brooks, with hoe,

He said (but first he had got a Rattle) That but one hundred fell in the Battle, Besides Dogs, Whores, and such Parliament Cattle, With hey trolly, lolly, loe.

Farewell Say and Seale, with hey, with hey, Farewell Say and Seale, with hoe, May these Valiant Sons of Ammon, All be Hang'd as high as Haman, With the old Anabaptist they came on, With hey trolly, lolly, loe.

Farewell K — with hey, with hey, Farewell K — with hoe, Thy Father writ a Godly Book, Yet all was fish that came to the hook, Sure he is damn'd though but for his look. With hey trolly, lolly, loe.

Farewell K — with hey, with hey, Farewell K — with hoe, Thy House had been confounded, In vain he had compounded, If he had not got a Round-head, With hey trolly, lolly, loe.

Farewell D— H— with hey, with hey, Farewell D— H — with hoe Twas his Ambition, or his need, Not his Religion did the deed, But his Widow hath tam'd him of the speed. With hey trolly, lolly, loe.

Farewell John Hampden, with hey, with hey, Farewell John Hampden with hoe, Hee's a sly and subtile Fox, Well read in Buchanan and Knox, And hees gone down to goad the Oxe, With hey trolly, lolly, loe.

Farewell John Pym, with hey, with hey, Farewell John Pym with hoe, He would have had a place in Court, And he ventur'd all his partie for't, But bribing proves his best support. VVith hey trolly, lolly, loe.

Farewell John Pym with hey, with hey, Farewell John Pym with hoe, For all the feign'd disaster Of the Taylor and the Plaster, Thou shalt not be our Master, VVith hey trolly, lolly, loe,

Farewell Major Skippon, with hey, with hey Farewell Major Skippon with hoe, Ye have ordered him to kill and slay, To rescue him and run away, Provide you vote fair weather, and pay, VVith hey trolly, lolly, loe.

Farewell our VVorthies all, with hey, with hey, Farewell our VVorthies all with hoe, For they instead of dying, Maintain the truth by lying, And get victories by flying, VVith hey trolly, lolly, loe.

Farewell our Scotch Brethren, with hey, with hey, Farewell our Scotch Brethren, with hoe. They March but to the border, But will be brought no farther, For neither Ordinance nor Order, With hey trolly, lolly, loe.

Farewell my little Levites, with hey, with hey, Farewell my little Levites, with hoe, Though you seem to fear him, Yet you can scarce forbear him, And when you thank him, you but jeer him, With hey trolly, lolly, loe.

Farewell fears and jealousies, with hey, with hey, Farewell fears and jealousies, with hoe, Which, with lying Declarations, Tumults, traytors, and protestations, Have been the ruine of two Nations, With hey trolly, lolly, loe.

Farewell little Isaack, with hey, with hey, Farewell little Isaack, with hoe, Thou hast made us all, like Asses, Part with our Plate, and drink in Glasses, Whilst thou growst rich with 2 s. Passes, With hey trolly, lolly, loe.

Farewell Plate and Money, with hey, with hey, Farewell Plate and Money, with hoe, 'Tis going down by water, Or something near the matter, And a Publique Faith's going after, With hey trolly, lolly, loe.

Farewell Members five, with hey, with hey, Farewell Members five, with hoe, Next Petition we deliver, Sends you packing down the River, And the Devil be your driver, With hey trolly, lolly, loe.

A SONG.

NEw-England is preparing a-pace, To entertain King Pym, with his Grace, And Isaack before shall carry the Mace, For Round-heads Old Nick stand up now.

No Surplisse nor no Organs there, Shall ever offend the Eye, or the Ear, But a Spiritual Preach, with a 3. hours Prayer, For Round-heads, &c.

All things in Zeal shall there be carried, Without any Porredge read over the buried, No Crossing of Infants, nor Rings for the Married, For Round-heads, &c.

The Swearer there shall punisht be still, But Drunkennesse private be counted no ill, Yet both kind of lying as much as you will, For Round-heads, &c.

Blow winds, Hoyse sailes, and let us be gone, But be sure we take all our Plunder a long, That Charles may find little when as he doth come, For Round-heads Old Nick stand up now.

Sir John Hotham's Alarm.

COme Traytors, March on, to the Leader Sir John, Though King Charles his Friends disaffect you, Do not obey him, but obey Devil Pym, And the Parliament will protect you.

Let us plead that we Fight, for the King and his Right, But if he desire for to enter, Let us Armed appear, and let us all sweare Our lives for his sake we will venter.

But if he give Command, to disarm out of hand, As we our Allegiance do tender, Let us presently Sweare, that Commanded we are By the Parliament not to surrender.

If he desire for to see, what Command that may be, We then will resolve him no further, But intreat him to stay, while we send Post away, He shall have a Copy of the Order.

But if he Proclaime, me a Traytor by Name, And all you that adhere to my Faction, What an Honour it will be, when my Country see me, Second Pym in a Trayterous Action.

But when the King sends, to require an amends Of the Parliament for such denyal; Whether Treason or no, the Law shall ne're know, I must be put to your Vote for a Tryal.

And to put it to the Voice, or the Parliaments choice, The House being now so empty; If there be such a thing, as God or a King, We'll carry it by five in the twenty.

If so please the Fates, as to change our Estates, That the King his own Rights doth recover, We will turn to their way, and the Town will betray, Though a Ladder for our pains we turn over.

The Publique Faith.

SOme tell of Africk Monsters, which of old, Vain Superstition did for God-heads hold, How the Aegyptians, who first knowledge spread, Ador'd their Apis with the white Bulls head; Apis still fed with Serpents that do hiss, Hamon, Osiris, Monster Anubis. But Sun-burnt Africk never had, nor hath A Monster like our English Publique Faith; Those fed on Snakes, and satisfi'd, did rest, This, like the Curtain Gulf, will have the best Thing in the City, to appease its still Encreasing hunger, Glutting its lewd will With Families, whose substance it devours, Perverting Justice and the Higher Powers; Contemning without fear of any Law, Preying on all to fill its ravenous Maw; Whose Estrich stomack, which no steele can sate, Has swallowed down Indies of Gold and Plate:

This is the Publique Faith, which being led By th' Cities wealth, has in this Kingdom bred Such various mischiefs with its viperous breath, Blasting its peace and happinesse to death; And yet this Idoll which our world adores, Has made men prostitute their truth like Whores, To its soul Lust, which surely may as well And soon be satisfi'd, as th' Grave, or Hell; This preys on Horses, yet that will not do, Unlesse it may devour the Riders too: This takes up all the Riches of the Land, Not by intreaty, but unjust Command, Borrowing extortively without any day But the Greek Calends, then it means to pay; This 'gainst the Law of Nations does surprise The Goods of Strangers, Kings, & in its wise Discretion, thinks (though its not worth their note) They're bound to take the Publique Faiths trim Vote For their security, when this Publique Faith Has broke more Merchants then e're Riot hath, And yet, good men o'th City, you are proud To have this Bankrupt Publique Faith allow'd More credit then your King, to this you'll lend More willingly then ever you did spend Money to buy your Wives and Children bread, By such a strange Inchantment being misled To your undoings; you who upon Bond, Nay scarcely upon Mortgage of that Land, Treble your Moneys value, would not p••rt With your lov'd Coine, vanquish'd by th' power∣full art Of this Magician Publique Faith, justly install Him Master of your Bags, the Devil and all That taught you get them by deceitfull wares, And sucking in (like Mornings draughts) young Heirs:

Well, certainly if this fine humour hold, Your Aldermen will have no other Gold But what's in Thumb-rings, for their ponderous Chains, They'le be the Publique Faiths just lawfull gains, And have the Honour afterwards to be Hang'd in them for its Publique Treachery. What will become of you then, Grave and Witty Inhabitants of this Inchanted City? Who is't shall those vast Sums to you re-pay, When Master Publique Faith is run away? O•• who shall those prodigious heaps renew, Which were prodigally decreas'd by you? Whom the whole world imagin'd men of thrift, What will your Orphans do? How will they shift, Whose whole Estates in th' City Chamber, hath Been given a spoyle to ruin'd Publique Faith? Perhaps you'le pawn your Charter to supply The worthy wants of your Necessity. Who is 't will take't, when all (but men misled Like you) know 'tis already forfeited? Who is't will then into New Coine translate Such monstrous Cupboards of huge antick Plate? To Publique Faiths vast Treasury bring in, From the Gilt Goblet, to the Silver Pin, All that was Coinable, and what to do? Even to create you Knaves, and Traytors too. Faith if you chance to come off with your Lives, Your way will be to live upon your Wives, Their Trading will be good, when Fortune wears Your Colours in the Caps of th' Cavaliers, Whose Cuckolds you'll be then, & on your brow, Wear their Horns, as you Publique Faith's do now; Then, then you'll howle, when you shall clearly see That Publique Faith, was Publique Treachery:

Then you'll confess your selves to 've been undone By Publique Faith's man, Isaack Pennington; Then you'll repent that ever you did fling Such monstrous Sums away against your King; When he in Triumph, with his War-like Train, Shall to your terrour view your Town again; Unlesse his Mercy mittigate his wrath, Justly conceiv'd 'gainst you and Publique Faith; That Reverent Alderman which did defile His Breeches at the Mustering ere while. Shall then again those Velvet Slops bewray, Cause Publique Faith did make him go astray: Pauls shall be opened then, and you conspire No more against the Organs in the Quire, Nor threat the Saints ith' Windows, nor repair In Troops to kill the Book of Common-Prayer; Nor drunk with Zeal, endeavour to engrosse To your own use, the stones of Cheap-side Crosse: Then, then you'll bow your heads, your horns and all, That so exalted were to save from thrall Your ruin'd Liberties, and humbly pray For Mercy, more then upon each Fast-day; When your Seditious Preachers to the throng, Make Prayers Ex Tempore of five hours long; Lest you by early penitence prevent Your certain danger, if not punishment, Which you by no means may so safely do, As quitting Publique Faith, and Treason too: Then, then, though late, you to your grief will find, That you have walkt (as Moles ith' Earth do.) Of your fair reason, and obedient light, Involv'd in Mists of black Rebellious Night: blind If these Instructions will not make you see Your Errour, may you perish in't for me,

And to your Ruine walk in deathfull path, That leads to'th Gallows with the Publique Faith.

The Sence of the House, or the Reason why those Members who are the Remnant of the two Families of Parliament cannot consent to Peace, or an Acccommodation.

To the Tune of The New-England Psalm, Huggle Duggle, ho ho ho the Devil he laught aloud.

COme come beloved Londoners, fy fy you shame us all, Your rising up for Peace, will make the close Com∣mitte fall; I wonder you dare ask for that, which they must needs deny, There's 30. swears they'l have no Peace, and bid me tell you why.

First I'le no Peace quoth Essex, my Chaplain sayes 'tis Sin To loose 100 l. a day, just when my Wife lyes in; They cry God blesse your Excellence, but if I loose my Place They'l call me Rebel, Popular Asse, and Cuckold to my face.

You Citizen Fools, quoth W— d' ye talk to to me of Peace, Who not only stole his Majesties Ships, but rob'd him of his Seas, No no I'le keep the Water still, and have my Ships well man'd, For I have lost and stole so much, I know not where to land.

Do Brother do, sayes H— for Peace breeds us no quiet, Besides my Places to have lost, with sixteen Dish∣es dyet, I play'd the Judas with the King, which makes the World detest me, Nay should his Majesty pardon me, 500. would arest me.

K — said, these Londoners deserve to loose their Eares. For now they'l all obey the King, like Citizen Cavaliers; Let's vote this Peace a desperate Plot, and send them a denyal, For if they save the Kingdom, they'le give us a Legal tryal.

The Welsh-men rage quoth S — and call me villanous Goat For plundering Hereford's Aldermens Gownes to make my Besse a Coat, 'Tis true the Town did feed me well, for which I took good Fleeces, But if Peace come they'le tear me and all my Whores in piece.

Fight fight quoth Say, now now hold up these Jealousies and Fears, The work will shew I laid the Plot above these 17. years; 'Tis I that am your Engineer', but if for Peace you vote, Oh then they'le make me go to Church, or else they'le cut my Throate.

My Father Goodwin quoth W— calls me a silly Lad, And wonders theyl'e ask Peace of me who have been lately mad; You chuse me Irish General, and I chuse to stay here, For should we fight among the Boggs, there's ne∣ver a Sawpit near.

Those Heathen Prentices quoth Brooks, that made my Coach-man stay, Bid me be bare, although I spoke but 13. Bulls that day, But if Peace lop off my learned Skull, then all my House you'le see The Sword of Guy, the Dun-cows rib, the Asses tooth, and me.

I made a Speech quoth R — when his Excel∣lence first began, For which he swore by a Pottle of Sack to make me a Gentleman: But if the King get to Whitehall then all my hopes are past, My Father was first Lord of the House, and I shall be the last.

Keep Silence, quoth Mr. Speaker, but do not hold your peace, Let's sit, and vote, and hold them too't, for I'le do what you please; I have had but poor 6000 l. besides some Spoons and Bowles, Nay, grant a Peace, and how shall I be Master of the Rolles?

Then spake 5. Members all at once; who for an Army cry'd, Last year, quoth they, you rescu'd us else we had all been try'd: What though you be almost undone, you must contribute still, Or wee'le convey, our Trunks away, and then do what you will.

My Venome swells, quoth H— that his Majesty full well knows, And I, quoth Hampden, fetcht the Scots, from whence this Mischief flows. I am an Asse quoth Haslerigg, but yet I'me deep ith' Plott, And I, quoth Stroud, can lye as fast, as Mr. Pym can trott.

But I, quoth Pym, your Hackney am, and all your drudgery do, Have made good Speeches for my self, and Pri∣viledges for you: I can sit down and look on men, whilst others bleed and fight, I eat their Lordships meat by day, and giv't their Wives by night.

Then Vane grew black ith' face, and swore there's none so deep as I, The Staff and Signet slipt my hand, my Son can tell you why, The name of Peace they say 'tis sweet, but oh it makes me shrink, Straffords Ghost doth haunt me so, I cannot sleep a wink.

Were Strafford living, Mildmay said, he would do me no ill, I hid my selfith' Privy, when the House did pass his Bill: But all my Gold and Silver thread Gregory calls his own, Though in a Ship I made my will, I was not born to drown.

You found me, quoth Sir R— P— I had been long a Knave; You promis'd I should be so still, if you my Vote might have. And I, quoth Laurence Whittaker, agreed to doe so too, But if you serve old Courtiers thus, they'le do as much for you.

This Peace, quoth Michael Oldsworth, will bring me never a Fee, Although my Lord have sworn for Peace, and will not follow me. Down, down with Bishops, Wheeler said, for I have rob'd the Church▪ Oh base, will you conclude a Peace, and leave me in the lurch.

Who speaks of Peace quoth Ludlow, hath neither Sence nor Reason, For I ne're spoke ith' House but once, and then I spoke High Treason, Your meaning was as bad as mine, you must de∣fend my Speech, Or else you make my mouth as foul as was my Fathers breech.

I'le plunder Him, quoth Baynton, that mentions Peace to Me, The Bishop would not grant my Lease, but now I'le have his Fee. A Gunpowder Monopoly quoth Evelyn rais'd my Father, But if you let this War go down, they'le call me Powder Traytor.

Oh Jove, quoth Sir John Hotham, is this a time to treat? When Newcastle and Cumberland me to the Walls have beat? You base-obedient Citizens d' ye think to save your Lives? My Sonne and I will serve you all as I have serv'd Five Wives.

Indeed, quoth Sir Hugh Cholmley, Sir John you speak most true, For I have sold, and morgaged, most of my Land to you; My Brother would have serv'd the King, but was forbid to stay; The King fore saw at Keynton-field, Sir Harry would run away.

I went down, quoth Sir Ralph Stapleton, with Mus∣quet, Pike and Drum, To fetch Sir Francis Wortley up, but truly hee'd not come. Oh Lord, Sir Robert Harlow said, how do our Foes increase? I wonder who the Devil it was that first invented Peace.

Treason, Treason, Treason, Sir Walter Earle cryes out, Worse than blowing up the Thames, the Dagger, or the Clout. Hang me, quoth Miles Corbet then, for we are all confounded, And Cavaliers will Cuckold me, as well as did the Roundhead.

Quoth Sir John Wray, Mr. Speaker? I'le end this matter streit, For this which is my Ninth Speech, I'me sure is none of my Eight; I try'd it at my Tables end, my Neighbours know 'tis right, But Peace will make me speak lesse wit, and then farewell your Knight.

A-vengeance, quoth Harry Martin then, I'le ha no Accommodation, For it was I, that bravely tore his Majesties Pro∣clamation; Ith' House I spoke High Treason, I have sold both Land and Lease; I shall not then keep but 3. Whores, Apox upon your Peace.

You see beloved Londoners, your Peace is out of sea∣son, For which you have the sence of the House, and every Members reason: Oh doe not stand for Peace then, for trust me if you doe, Each County in the Kingdome will rise and doe soe too.

Essex Petition to the Best of Princes.

Sir,

THat All-Majesty (from whom you take Your Heaven-Anointed Scepter) for whose sake You drink the Dregs of Bitternesse, which turns Your Crown of Glory, to a Crown of Thornes; View'd sinfull Sodom, Sodom that offended Even him, as we do you, that vilely blended His gracious Promises, did wrest his Powers, And violate his Laws, as we do yours; Yet urg'd by him whose Zeal brookt no denyal, Would have sav'd all, if ten were found but loyal. Great Prince, to whom the Breath of Heaven hath read The Principles of Mercy, in whose stead You sit as God to punish, or to spare, Whose equal Hand can ruine, or repair Our staggering Fortunes▪ Pity, and behold Rebellious Essex! People now grown old In Dis-obedience, who deserv'dly stand Like Calves, expecting Death from your Just hand.

'Twas we that bleated first Rebellion out, Who being Pulpit-led, not apt to doubt Our Lecturing Zealots, and but green in reason, Were made too wise, and frighted into Treason: We are a Cock-brain'd Multitude, a Rabble Of all Religions, and we daily squabble About vain shades, and let the substance passe, Hating good Manners as we hate the Masse; Our new discretions every day convince, Our old Rebellions, 'gainst so mild a Prince Were scarcely fixt, but a fresh Ordinance comes, And damns our Conscience into deeper Sums; Breaks ope our Houses, Rifles all our Stuff, Nay more, as if we had not yet enough, Plunders our very wits; nay if we do Shew but a sorry shrug, Malignants too; That in so much our people now obeys As many Tyrants as the Year hath dayes: But we have ten, ten, ten times multiply'd, And thousands more to that, which have deny'd To bend their knees to Baal, whereof some lye Cloystered in Grates, where they unpittied, cry For Superannuated Crusts, and there remain, Even taking Gods and Charles his Name in vain: Some scorning to be aw'd by Subjects, fled From their dear Wives and Children; led Like Theeves to Gaols, saluted with the Curse Of every Dunghill scurfe, with durt and worse, Where they are sadly, but yet dearly fed, Some ag'd, some weak, some dying, and some dead: For their dear sake (great Charles) they undertake Deaths willing Martyrdome, for Charles his sake; Be gracious to their County, let her know That she, a miserable Land, doth owe

Her sweet Redemption to their Congruous merit, And least they'le abjure what now they scarce in∣herit, Let that accustom'd Sun-shine of your Eye Enrich her soyle, that she may still out-vye Her Neighbouring Shires, & let that brand which now She wears, be set on th' Epidemick brow; And let the Loyal Gentry still be known By this firm Mark from the perfidious Clown; Let them, like treacherous slaves, be alwaies bound To pay Rack-rents, and only Till the ground; Let neither them nor their base off-spring dare To be so rich as buy a Purchase there.

Dread Soveraign, Forgive, Forget, Remember, and Relent, Resemble him you so much represent, And when pleas'd Heavens shall set thy Scepter free, Triumph in him, and wee'll triumph in thee.

The Cryer.

O Yes, if any Man or Woman, Of what degree soever, Lord, Knight, Esquire, Gentleman, or Yeoman, Felt-maker, Button-Maker, or Weaver, Coach-man, Cobler, or Brick-layer, Sheriff, Alderman, or Mayor, In City, Town, or Country, hath Lost his Religion, or his Faith, Let him forth with repair to th' Cryer Of Westminster, where let him bring

The Mark of what he doth require, And he shall hear on't, if God blesse the King.

O Yes, if any Man or Woman, Of what degree soever, From the Marquis, to the Yeoman, From the Straw-hat to the Beaver, From the Land-lord, to the Dray-man, Whether the Clergy, or the Layman, Hath l••st a War-Horse-Armes, or Dragoones, That were the Treasure of Buffoones; Jewells▪ Money, Pearle, or Plate, Cups for Service, or for State; Come to the Cryer, and you then Shall find them he knows where, but God knows when.

The Cavaliers Prayer.

GOd blesse the King and Queen, the Prince also, And all his Loyal Subjects both high and low, For Roundheads can pray for themselves we know; Which no body can deny.

The Devil take Pym and all his Peers, God blesse Prince Rupert and his Cavaliers, For if they come hither Pym will stink with fears; Which no body can deny.

God blesse Rupert and Maurice withall, That gave the Roundheads a great downfall, And knockt their Noddles 'gainst Worcester wall; Which no body can deny.

Lawn sleeves and Surplices must go down, For why, King Pym doth sway the Crown; But all are Bishops that wears a Black Gown; Which no body can deny.

Let the Canons roar, and the Bullets flye, King Pym doth swear he'll not come nigh, He sayes, its a pittyfull thing to dye; Which no body can deny.

The Horners they are brave Blades, I do not know, but it is said The stout Earl of Essex is free of that trade; Which no body can deny.

The Baker over Burton cannot domineer, For it is most firmly reported here, He's as free of the Pillory as ever they were; Which no body can deny.

There is Isaack Pennington both wise and old, I do not know, but 'tis for truth told That he is turned poor Sexton of Pauls. Which no body can deny.

There is a Lord W— both wise and round, He will meet Prince Rupert upon any ground, And if that his hands behind him be bound; Which few people will deny.

To whom it concerns.

COme, come, ye Cock-brain'd Crew, that can suppose No truth, but that which travells through the Nose; That looks on Gods Anointed with those Eyes, You view your Prentices; ye that can prize A Stable with a Church; that can Impeach A Grave Devine, and hear an Hostler preach: Are ye all mad? has your Fanatick zeal Stifl'd your stock of Sences at a Meal? Have ye none left to look upon these Times? With Grief, which you and the unpunisht Crimes Have brought upon this miserable Land? Are ye all Bruits? not apt to understand The neighbouring stroke of Ruine, till't be past? And you become the Sacrifice at last? What would you have? can Reformation border On Sacriledge? or Truth upon Disorder? Can Rifleing, and Religion dwell together? Can the way hence be said the next way thither? Go, ply your Trades, Mechanicks, and begin To deal uprightly, and Reform within; Correct your prick-ear'd Servants; and perswade Your long lov'd Arm-fulls; if you can thus trade In Pigges and Poultry: let them cease to smooth Your Rumpled Follies, and forbear to sooth Your pious Treasons, thus to kick and fling, Against the Lords Anointed, and your King.

By the Author.

That neither loves for Fashion nor for Fear, As far from Roundhead, as from Cavalier.

To the City.

DRaw near you factious Citizens; prepare To hear from me what hideous Fools you are; What lumps of sordid Earth; in which we find Not any least Resemblance of a Mind; Unlesse to Baseness and Rebellion bent Against the King, to ayde the Paliament; That Parliament, whose Insolence will undoe Your Cities Wealth, your Lives, and Safety too: Are you so stupid, dull, you cannot see How your best Vertues now are Treachery? Apparent Treason, Murder, and the like: How with unhallowed hands your strive to strike Him, whom you should your Loyalty afford, (Great Charles) the blest Anointed of the Lord? How you do daily contribute, and pay Mony, your Truths and Honours to betray? Bigg with Phanatique thoughts, and wilde de∣sire: 'Tis you, that blew up the increasing Fire Of foul Rebellion, you that only bring Armies into the Field against your King; For were't not for supportment from your Baggs, That Great and Highest Court that only braggs

Of your vain folly, long ere this had bin Punish'd for their bold Sacrilegious sin, Of Actual Treason, there had never come Upon this Kingdom such a Martyrdom. Armes hang'd up as uselesse, and the State Retain'd his freedom; had you kept your Plate, No Keinton-Battails had with Mothers curse, Made Childless there the Treason of your Purse; The Publick Purse o'th City; which must be Esteem'd the Cause of Publick Misery; No Drums had frighted silken Peace from out The Neighbouring Countries, nor need you about Your City with your guilded Musquets goe Trayning, not for good Service, but for Shew; That the whole Town may see your Feathers spread Over your Hatts, as th' Hornes doe o're your Head; The Humble Parliament had never dar'd To have prescrib'd Laws to their King, but spar'd Their Zeal in bringing Innovations, and Distractions o're the beautious face oth Land, They would not then have so Supreamly brought Their Votes, to bring the Kingdomes Peace to nought; Nor with so sleight a value lookt on Him, King Charles, and only doted on King Pym; Nor for Authentick doctrine, have allow'd As Law, the Precepts of Ingenuous Stroud; Hampden nor Martyn had not then lookt bigge Upon their King, nor Arthur Haslerigge; Nor yet K — on whom we now confer The style of Trayterous Earle of M— Secur'd by you, the Patrons of the Cause, Condemn'd his Loyalty, and the Kingdoms Laws;

Nor mis-led Essex▪ had not you been, nere had acted on this Kingdoms Theater So many Tragedie••; nor Warwick sought T'ingrosse the Naval Honours, no nor thought On any Action so unjust, unmeet, As keeping from his Majesty his Fleet; Tis you have done all this, y'ave been the Head. The very Spring from whence this River spread The streams of foul Rebellion; which we know At last will drown'd you with its over-flow; You the Arch-Traytors are, you, those that slew The Kingdoms happinesse, and th' Allegiance due Unto his Sacred Majesty; you, you that have Betray'd this Nations Honour to the Grave of lasting Obloquy; you that have destroy'd The smiling wealth of th' City, and made void The good Opinion, which the King before Had of your Loyalties, and th' Faith you bore To th' Royal Stem; which still has to your great Advantage made this City their Chief Seat. Fond and seditious Fools, d'ye think, yee Are wiser than Times numerous Progeny? That have Ador'd your City, when did They Your harmlesse Ancestors, strive to give away Their Wealth, and Duty from their Sovereigne Lord, To make themselves Traytors upon Record? When did they their Plate and Coine bring in? To be the Cause of their own Ruyning? They never us'd to fright their King, nor draw Tumults together, to affront the Law. No, nor good Houses, their Corslets slept, and all The Armes they us'd hung up in each mans Hall.

They did not then enamel'd Musquets carry To Train in Moor-fields, and in Finsbury: But did in Comely Archery excell, Like honest grave Children of Adam Bell, And Climme oth' Clough, now each of you will be More than a furious Wi••liam Cloudeslee; And trace the Streets with terror, as if Ven, With Fulk and Mannwaring, were the only Men Whom you did owe Allegiance to; as if They Could give you priviledge to disobey The Royal Mandate, which does them proclaim Guilty of Treason, and you of the same; As deeply stand Impeacht, and will at last Pay dearly for't, when your vain hopes are past. All succours, which you credit for your Merit, Will be afforded you, by the help oth' Spirit, That is the Devil; sure the Heavenly Powers, Will never Patronize such Acts as yours. Poor baffl'd City! baffled by a Crue Of Men, which are as arrant Fools as you; Surely your Brains can never be so dull As not conceive this, which each empty Skull Must needs resent; how that their only Ayme Is, to create your City all one Flame, And as the Smoak and Sparks do up aspire, They'le sit and laugh (like Nero) at the Fire Themselves have made; unlesse your Heads be all Horns and no Flesh, you needs must see the Fall That threatens you, like Lightning: To eschew Which Ruine, 'twould be Wisedome to renue Your lost Allegiance, and Repentance bring, As a fresh Victim, to appease your King; For be assur'd, Who to the King's untrue, Must in their Nature needs be false to you.

The MONSTER.

PEace, Vipers peace, let Crying blood nere cease To haunt your bloody Souls, that love not Peace. And curst be that Religion, that shall cry, A Reformation with Phlebotomye; Your Impious Firebrands, whom the very Tears Of Growning England, buried in their Fears, Cannot extinguish; whom the bleeding Veins Of desperate Ireland, which even now remains A very Golgotha, cannot asswage Those Stripes, the earnest of Another Age Taste of your salvage Piety, and ly The Lamb-less Martyrs of your Cruelty; Whilst you lye softly emb'red, to encrease The flames of Christendome, and cry no Peace, Let Sampsons coupled Messengers convey Those Firebrands hence, and let them make their way To their own Houses, consume and devaste, Burn down their Barnes, and lay their Graynards waste, Demolish all within doors, and without, Make havock there, destroy both Branch and Root. Let all their Servants flee amaz'd; and cry, Fire, Fire, and let no helping hand be nigh; Let their Wiv••s live, but only live t' appear Thornes in their Sides, and Thunder in their Ears; May all their Sons run mad into the Street, And seeking Refuge there, there may they meet Th' encountering Sword, and whom it spares to kill, May they be Slaves, and labour at the Mill: Let all their Daughters beg, and beg in vain; Let them be ravisht first, and then be slain;

Let all their Kindred wander up and down, Like Vagabond▪ be lasht, from Town, to Town: Let basenesse be Entituled on their Names, Too firm for all recoveries: O let Shames, Reproach, and Lasting Infamy, remain In deeper Characters than that of Cain; Let Caitiff P— and that Bloody Plot, Be Sanctified now, or at least forgot; And let those Vipers vindicate their Crimes In every Almanack to after times; Where may there Treason live among their sences, More firm then Reigns of either Kings or Princes. Thus may these Firebands thrive, and if this Curse Succeed not, let it yield unto a worse. For them, let them burn still, till Heaven thinks good, To Quench them in their Generations Blood; So that the World may hear them hisse and cry, Who lov'd not Peace, in Peace shall never dye.

The Earl of Essex his Speech to the Parlia∣ment after Keinton Battle.

HAil to my Brother Round-heads, you that sit At home, and study Treason, 'bove my Wit Or Valour to maintain; it's you whose hearts And brains are stufft with all Devillish darts Of Rapine, and Rebellion; you whose dark Religious Villanies, hates the least spark Of Justice or Obedience to the King; To you, and none but you, true News I bring,

With all my Fellow Rebells that survive, 'Mongst whom in faith my self scapt scarce alive: For when the Cavaliers, and Popish Schollers Charg'd us so hot, my Coach full of Rex-dollers I could have given to have been ten miles off; And though the Zealots of our Party scoff, And taunt the King's well-wishers, take't from me, Happy were all the Round-heads that did flee; They scapt a scowering, which through very fear Took me and all my Regiment in th' Rear, At the first Charge; for that when we should fight, We sneakt away▪ and had more mind to — For had I dard, to venture my dear life, I should have rought once for the Whore my Wife; Yet I dare swear that we had won the day, Had not so many fallen and run away: And yet for all this Blood that hath been spilt, My Sword is guiltlesse, for fast by the hilt I held it in my Scabbard, and still cry'd, Well done, Fight on, unto the Fools that dy'd; Whilst I stole towards Warwick, to avoyd The Field, with the sad Spectacle quite cloyd: I lost my Coach, and (which doth make me fret) I lost ••lake's Letter in my Cabinet, That reveal'd all our Treason, he good man Suffer'd at Oxford, and unlesse I can Repent, 'tis said, that I must dye like him, Be Hang'd and Quarter'd, and you Mr. Pym: We must be cautious, for the Cavaliers Have desperate souls, concerning those base fears That brought mee back again; besides, the King Has a Just Cause you know, and though we bring

The silly Multitude into the Noose, Our own hearts tell us we are like to loose Our heads, if Charles prevail; which we must do If he proceeds thus, to kill ten for two, You must provide new Armour, and more Armes, And a new Generall, that dares hear Alarms Of Drums and Trumpets; one that may have sence And valour to excell my Excellence. The Peev••sh Women as I pass'd the Strand, Blesse me knee deep, and would have kiss'd my hand, As King, whilst I most curteously vayl'd My Hat, and Feather to them, others rayl'd; And them as wisht, or knew I had the worst, For one that pray'd for me, dovoutly curst. The truest News of all I hope to tell ye, Is that I have more mind to fill my belly, Then fight again, for that same Dutchland Devil, Rupert, the Prince of mischief, and all evil, My Victuals took away, and burst my Waggons, Whilst the Kings Forces fought with fiery Dragoons, And beat me out o'th' Field; although we blind The Multitude, and say w' had sea and wind, Yet I protest the Elements themselves Conspir'd to ruine us, Rebellious Elves: And to conclude, some Jeering Cavalier, Has put upon us, in a Song, this Jeer, Rather than they should have the better a, That you and I were drawn and hang'd, &c.

A Dialogue between two ZEALOTS upon the &c. in the Oath.

SIr Roger from a zealous piece of Freeze, Rais'd to a Vicar of the Children threes; Whose yearly Audit may, by strict account, To twenty Nobles, and his vails Amount; Fed on the common of the female charity, Untill the Scots can bring about their parity, So shotten, that his Soul like to himself, Walks but in Querpo: this same Clergy Elf, Encountring with a Brother of the Cloth, Fell presently to Cudgels with the O th: The Quarel was, a strange mis-shapen Monster &c. (God blesse us!) which they conster The brand upon the buttock of the Beast, The Dragons tayle ty'd on a knot, a neast Of young Apocraphas, the fashion Of a new mental Reservation. While Roger thus divides the text, the other Winks and expounds, saying, My pious Brother, Hearken with reverence; for the point is nice, I never read on't, but I fasted twice; And so by revelation know it better, Than all the Idolaters o' the Letter. With that he swell'd, and fell upon the Theam, Like great Goliah with his Weavers beam: I say to thee, &c. thou ly'st, Thou art the curled lock of Antichrist: Rubbish of Babel, for who will not say, ••ongues were confounded in &c?

Who swears &c. swears more Oaths at once Than Cerberus out of his triple Sconce: Who views it well, with the same eye beholds The old half Serpent in his numerous folds. Accurst &c. thou, for now I scent, What lately the prodigious Oysters meant. Oh Booker, Booker, how cam'st thou to lack this Sign in thy prophetick Almanack? It's the dark Vault wherein th' infernal plot Of Powder 'gainst the State was first begot. Peruse the Oath, and you shall soon descry it, By all the Father Garnets that stand by it; 'Gainst whom the Church, whereof I am a Mem∣ber, Shall keep another fifth day of November: Yet here's not all, I cannot halfe untrusse &c. it's so abominous. The Trojan Nag was not so fully lin'd! Unrip &c. and you shall find Og the great Commissary, and which is worse, Th' Apparatour upon his skew-ball'd horse. Then (finally my Babe of Grace) forbear, &c. will be too far to swear; For 'tis (to speak in a familiar style) A York-shire wea-bit, longer, than a mile. Then Roger was inspir'd, and by Gods-diggers, Hee'l swear in words at large, and not in Fi∣gures. Now by this drink, which he takes off as loath To leave &c. in his liquid Oath. His Brother pledg'd him, and that bloody wine, He swears shall seal the Synods Cataline. So they drunk on, not offering to part Till they had quite sworn out th' eleventh quart:

While all that saw and heard them, joyntly pray, They and their tribe were all, &c.

The Publique Faith.

STand off my Masters: 'Tis your pence a peece, Jason, Medea, and the Golden Fleece; What side the line good Sir? Tigris, or Po? Lybia? Japan? Whisk? or Tradinktido? St. Kits? St. Omer? or St. Margaret's Bay? Presto begon? or come aloft? what way? Doublets? or Knap? the Cog? low Dice? or high? By all the hard names in the Letany, Bell, Book and Candle, and the Pope's great toe I conjure thy account: Devil say no. Nay, since I must untruss, Gallants look to't, Keep your prodigious distance forty foot, This is that Beast of eyes in th' Revelations, The Basilisk has twisted up three Nations. Ponteus Hixius doxius, full of tricks, The Lottery of the vulgar lunaticks. The Knapsack of the State, the thing you wish, Magog and Gog stew'd in a Chaffendish. A bag of Spoons and Whistles, wherein men May whistle when they see their Plate agen. Thus far his Infancy: his riper age Requires a more mysterious Folio page. Now that time speaks him perfect, and 'tis pity To dandle him longer in a close Committee, The Elf dares peep abroad, the pretty Fool Can wag without a truckling standing-stool;

Revenge his Mother's infamy, and swear Hee's the fair Off-spring of one half-score year; The Heir of the House and hopes, the cry And wonder of the Peoples misery. 'Tis true, while as a Puppy it could play For Thimbles, any thing to passe the day; But now the Cub can count, arithmetize, ••link Masenello with the Duke of Guise; Sign for an Irish purchase, and traduce The Synod from their Doctrine to their Use; Give its Dam suck, and a hidden way Drink up arrears a tergo mantica. An everlasting Bale, Hell in Trunk-hose, Uncased, the Divel's Don Quixot in prose. The Beast and the false Prophet twin'd together, The squint-eyed emblem of all sorts of weather. The refuse of that Chaos of the earth, Able to give the World a second birth. Affrick avaunt! Thy trifling Monsters glance But Sheeps-eyed to this Penal Ignorance. That all the Prodigies brought ••orth before Are but Dame Natures blush left on the score. This strings the Baker's dozen, christens all The cross-leg'd hours of time since Adam's fall. The Publick Faith? why 'tis a word of kin, A Nephew that dare•• Cozen any fin. A Term of Art, great Bohemoth's younger Brother, Old Machiavel, and half a thousand other. Which when subscrib'd writes Legion, names on truss, Abaddon, Belzebub, and Incu••us, All the Vice-Royes of darkness, every spell And Fiend wrap'd in a short Tri••••illable. But I fore-stall the Show. Enter and see, Salute the Door, your Exit shall be free.

In brief 'tis call'd Religions ease, or loss; For no one's suffer'd here to bear his crosse.

A Committee.

CAst Knaves my Masters, fortune guide the chance, No packing I beseech you, no by-glance To mingle pairs, but fairly shake the bag, Cheats in their spheres like subtile spirits wag. Or if you please the Cards run as they will, There is no choyce in sin and doing ill. Then happy man by's dole, luck makes the ods, He acts most high that best out-dares the gods. These are that Raw-bon'd Herd of Pharaoh's Kine, Which eat up all your Fatlings, yet look lean. These are the after-claps of bloudy showres, Which, like the Scots, come for your guide and yours. The Gleaners of the Fielde, where, if a man Escape the sword, that milder frying-pan; He leaps into the fire, cramping the claws of such can speak no English but the Cause. Under that foggy term, that Inquisition, Y' are wrackt at all adventures On suspition: No matter what's the crime, a good estate's Delinquency enough to ground their hate. Nor shall calm innocence so scape, as not To be made guilty, or at least so thought. And if the spirit once inform, beware, The flesh and world but renegadoes are.

Thus once concluded, out the Teazers run, And in full cry and speed till Wat's undone. So that a poor Delinquent fleec'd and torn Seems like a man that's creeping through a horn, Finds a smooth entrance, wide, and fit, but when Hee's squeez'd and forc'd up through the smaller end, He looks as gaunt and pin'd, as he that spent A tedious twelve years in an eager Lent; Or bodies at the Resurrection are On wing, just rarifying into aire. The Emblem of a man, the pitied Case And shape of some sad being once that was. The Type of flesh and blood, the Skeleton And superfices of a thing that's gone. The winter quarter of a life, the tinder And body of a corps squeez'd to a cinder; When no more tortures can be thought upon, Mercy shall flow into oblivion. Mercifull Hell! thy Judges are but three, Ours multiform, and in plurality! Thy calmer censures flow without recall, And in one doom souls see their finall All. We travel with expectance: Suffrings here Are but the earnests of a second fear. Thy plagues and pains are infinite; 'tis true; Ours are not only infinite, but new. So that the dread of what's to come, exceeds The anguish of that part already bleeds. This only difference swells 'twixt us, and you, Hell has the kinder Devils of the two.

The Model of the New Religion.

WHoop! Mr. Vicar in your flying frock? What news at Babel now? how stands the Cock! When wags the floud? no Ephimerides? Nought but confounding of the languages? No more of th' Saints arival? or the chance Of three pipes two pence and an ordinance? How many Queer-religions? clear your throat, May a man have a peny-worth? four a groat? Or do the Junsto leap at truss-a-fayle? Three Tenents clap while five hang on the tayle? No Querpo model? never a knack or wile? To preach for Spoons and Whistles? cross or pile? No hints of truth on foot? no sparks of grace? No late sprung light? to dance the wilde-goose chase? No Spiritual Dragoones that take their flames From th' inspiration of the City Dames? No crums of comfort to relieve your cry? No new dealt mince-meat of Divinity? Come lets's project: by the great late Eclipse We justly fear a famine of the lips. for Sprats are rose an Omer for a sowse, Which gripes the conclave of the lower House. Let's therefore vote a close humiliation For opening the seal'd eyes of this blind Nation, That they may see confessingly, and swear They have not seen at all this fourteen year. And for the splints and s••avins too, tis said All the joynts have the Riffcage, since the head

Swell'd so prodigious, and exciz'd the parts From all Allegiance, but in tears and hearts. But zealous Sir, what say to a touch at Prayer? How Quops the spirit? In what garb or ayre? With Souse erect, or pendent, winks, or haws? Sniveling? or the extention of the jaws? Devotion has its mode: Dear Sir, hold forth, Learning's a venture of the second worth. For since the peoples rise and its sad fall, We are inspir'd from much, to none at all. Brother adieu! I see y'are closely girt, A costive Dover gives the Saints the squirt. Hence (Reader) all our flying news contracts Like the States Fleet, from the Seas into Acts: But where's the Model all this while, you'll say 'Tis like the Reformation, run away.

To a Fair Lady weeping for her Husband Committed to Prison by the Parliament. 1643.

TUsh, let them keep him if they can, He's not in hold while you are free, Come, sigh no more, but pledge the man, What though in Fetters, yet can he Be Prisoner unto none but thee; Then dry your Eyes, for every tear Makes them like drowned worlds appear.

Post through the Aire, my fancy went, With wings disguis'd, and there stood by When he was brought to th' Parliament, And streight to th' Bar, to th' Bar, they cry, The smiling Captain asked, Why? With that they soon drew up his Charge, Which Lady you shall hear at large.

Imprimis, he was married late With a Gold Ring, unto a Dame, Would make the best of us a Mate; Witty, Pretty, Young, and Quaint, And fairer then our selves can Paint: Her lips do set mens teeth on edge, Sure 'tis a Breach of Priviledge.

And her Malignant beauty, can Provoke our Members up to rise, Nay make our General prove a man; And the Star-Chamber of her Eyes, Robs Subjects of their Liberties: And then her voice keeps Eares in awe, Even like the High-Commission Law.

Nay more, the fair Delinquent hath A pair of Organs in her throat, Which when she doth inspire with breath, She can command in every noat, More then both our Houses Vote Her very Hair, put in Array, Can fetter our Militia.

Her Cheeks still Natures Pattent have, Not yet call'd in, for only 〈◊〉〈◊〉

In them ingrossed all that's brave, And other Ladies Hucksters be, Her Beauty's the Monopolie; When theirs is spent, to her they come, And chaffer with her face for some.

She keeps an Alter on her brow, Her Eyes two Tapers on each side, There Superstitious Lovers bow; Her Name is Mary too beside, Who owns a Faith that's sanctifi'd; Let's clap up him till further leisure, And send for her to wait our pleasure.

Then go fair Lady, follow him, Fear no Trumpet, fear no Drum, Fair Women may prevail with Pym, And one sweet smile when there you come, Will quickly strike the Speaker dumb: If not, then let one tear be spent, And 'twill dissolve the Parliament.

Mr. Fullers Complaint.

ENgland once Europes joy, Now her scorn; Ambitious to be forlorn, Self, by self torn; Stand amaz'd? Thy woes are blaz'd, By silence best, And wanting words, even wonder out the rest.

Help Gracious King, The source and spring Of all our bliss, Alas the fault's not his; Good Prince how is he griev'd, That he's mistook? Or what's a Curse, Far worse, he is not believ'd.

Help long-wisht for Parliament, If so good by your intent; And will, And skill, Why ill is your successe? Alas Malignant humors lurk, And cause the Physick not to work, To give our woes redresse.

Help in the Law, ye Learned Sages, Studied well in former ages: But our Rents Are above all Presidents; In fight, what's might, That's right: For Statutes are by Lawyers awed, And Common-law by Canon-law out-lawed.

Help ye Divines our souls to plaister, Settle the Legacy which your Master Bequeath'd to his own at his decease, Even Peace: Alas alas in Gilead, Where is no balm for to be had;

O Cruell, They that should holy water bring, bring fiery fuell.

No help, no help, Why then 'tis vain For to complain; And why men sin with all their heart, Sorrow only but in part; And still they cry That all is ill, And love to make't and keep't so still.

Since then our wounds Are grown so wide, And all means try'd, And all deny'd; Good God help us at last, Before all help be past, For this is sure, Men made the wounds, but God alone can help the cure.

Upon wearing the Kings Colours.

ALas, what take ye pepper in the Nose To see King Charles his Colours worne in Pose? 'Twas but an Ornament to grace the Hat, And must we have an Ordinance for that? O serious worthies! how can you dispence With so much time to draw a Grievance thence? But you do very well to make it known, When others Liberties surmounts your own;

You can and will suppresse it, well, you may Do even what you please, we must obey; I hope you'll take in hand the Taylors Trade, And teach us how our Apparell must be made, That women in a Vote shall plainly see How wide their Smocks and Petticoats shall be: If this continue, faith turn Barbars too, And cut our hair of the same length you do; And let it be no less a Crime then Treason, To wear, do, or speak any thing that's reason: As for the King, you'll say he's King, 'tis true, But he can rule himself, and order you: What, can he so? he's mightily too blame, And faln into displeasure for the same; He will not grant that you're his Friends, 'tis true, Should you rule two Kingdoms as a third does you, Lest from a Ribbin then, should spring a Faction, 'Twas wisely done to stop its growth i'th' Action; Yet in despight of you, that this controule, I'le wear my Soveraigns Colours in my Soul.

A Western Wonder.

DO you not know, not a fortnight agoe, How they brag'd of a Western wonder? When a hundred and ten, slew five thousand men, With the help of Lightning and Thunder.

There Hopton was slain, again and again, Or else my Author did lye; With a new Thanksgiving, for who are living, To God, and his Servant Ch••dleigh.

But now on which side, was this Miracle try'd, I hope we at last are even; For Sir Ralph and his Knaves, are risen from their Graves, And Cudgel'd the Clowns of Devon.

And now St— came, for his Honour was lame Of the Gout three months together; But it prov'd when they fought, but a running Gout, For his heels were lighter then ever.

For now he out-runs, his Armes and his Guns, And leaves all his money behind him; But they follow after, unlesse he take water At Plymouth again, they will find him.

What Reading hath cost and St— hath lost, Goes deep in the Sequestration; These wounds will not heal, with your new Great Seal, Nor Jepsons Declarations.

Now Peters, and Case, in their Prayer and Grace, Remember their new Thanksgiving; Isaack and his Wife, now dig for their life, And shortly must do't for their living.

A SONG.

THe world is now turn'd upside-down, 'Tis thought K. Charles will keep his Crown, The Roundheads now shall all be put down, And alas poor Parliament now, now, now.

Prince Rupert made fair work t'other day, He kild all the Troopers that durst to stay, The rest he kild, their Horses running away: And alas poor Parliament now, now, now.

And Essex his hornes hung so in his light, Alas poor Cuckold, he could not see to fight, And both Houses they were all ready to — And alas poor Parliament now, now, now.

Then send for W— and give him good pay, He'le hoise up his Sayles and carry you away, In hopes you'le stand his Friend another day: And alas poor Parliament now, now, now.

Upon Alderman Atkins bewraying his Slops on the great Training day.

I Sing the strange adventures and sad Fate, That did befall a Collonel of late, A portly Squire; a Warlike hardy wight, And pity 'tis, we cannot call him Knight, A stout man at Custard, and Son of Mars, But oh the soul disaster of his.— Before the Worthies, and the rest beside. Who saw how he his Courser did bestride, Weilding his Truncheon, like a Weavers beam, And yet — his hose in every seam; I cannot tell how fair he was i'th' Cradle, But sure I am he was foul enough i'th' Saddle:

For feats of Armes none could come near him then, He smelt so strong, and when eight thousand men Discharg'd their Musquets, he discharged too, But what? his Office and his Guts? what though He made a House of Office of his Hose? Stand further off, if it offend your Nose: Belike he meant to hansell his New Satten, Or, like fat Oxen, in his dung to batten; But when in triumph he from Finsbury Came home to Leaden-hall, he call'd to see His Hellena, his Sultanesse, when she At's first approach smelt out his Knavery; And lest by the hot skirmish of the day, Her Paris might miscarry in the way, Or mett with some wounds, sends for in all haste Shambrook the skilfull Chirurgion, who begins at th' waste T'untruss, and as he fumbling downwards tends, He had the businesse at his fingers ends; Foh, quoth the Chirurgion, call the Kitchin Quean With clout in hand to make his Worship clean; Then about the Master all the Servants shuffl'd, He, like old Lockwood in the Counter, scuffl'd, Shew'd two broad mighty Hanches all bew ray'd, Nay then, quoth Shambrook, how shall I be paid; The Devil a wound I see, is this the prime Of six City Colonels in good time? They say that shitten luck is good, and I Will put it to the Vote of Chivalry, Whether all be not likely well to jump In th' New Militia, when a — is trump.

The Downfall of Cheapside-Crosse, May 2, 3, 4. 1643.

WHat hast thou done poor Crosse, that this hard doome Is laid upon thee? what is now become Of all thy gilded Images? for behold, That now is Stone and Brick, which once seem'd Gold, The City-Rulers, in their Graver wit, And late got Power, have now thought it fit, That thou shouldst be demolisht, and pluckt down By th' warrant of Lord Isaack Pennington; London's chief (ut vis) who thinks store of good He doth, in prisoning, hanging, shedding blood, In robbing, plundering each that's good to's King, Because no Plate , nor Mony, they will bring Into Guildhall: nay then it is no wonder, If by his Order thou art pluckt asunder, When first the top of thee with many a knock They did beat down, (Lord) how the silly flock Of Round-heads shouted, looking up to th' Skies, Giving God thanks for the great Victories They had got 'gainst thee, whilst the Drums did beat, And Trumpets sounding; truly it was meet: They threw their Hatts up, and their Muskets shot, They shook their Heads, and clapt their Hands, what not?

And thus when any Picture, Legge, or Arme Was thrown to th' Ground, the Roundheads all did swarme, And sundry heaps tumbling one on another, Striving who first should see it, then a Brother A long Prayer made for thanks, that now they might, Doe what they list, be it nor Just, nor Right; For now they keep the whole City in awe, With wrong-expounded, and misconstrued Law, Doing what they think fit, what's good i'th eyes Of them, being led even as their Spirits rise. But for their Misdemeanours let this Curse Light upon them, or a ten-times far worse: May they no Silver have, nor yet no Gold, Because there's Crosses in't: and, to be bold, May they lead Lives so crost with grief and care, That, at the last, may bring them to despair, May they no good thing quietly enjoy, May they even perish as they walk, and dye, And may they still crost be, and crost again, May Crosses mixt with Losses be their pain, Nay, because Crosses they desire none, May they have ever Crosses two for one, May all their Noses rot, that we may know Them, may their Eares as long as Asses grow, May their Hair nere be long, and may their hands Even pine away, may they stink as they stand: And to conclude, may they all lead crosse Lives, Nay, which is worse, be troubled with crosse Wives.

A Vindication of Cheapside-Crosse against the Roundheads.

MUst I then down? is an eternal doome Past out against me? must I needs to Rome? And why? it is contrary to the Laws, To judge th' offendor e're they hear the Cause. Why come you arm'd against me? what may be The cause of difference 'twixt you and me? Have I transgrest the Law? or did I ever Our gracious Soveraign from his People sever? Did I to a factious Covenant subscribe, Or turn a Jack-on-both-sides for a bribe? Rebells have long our wisht for blisse defer'd, All rose in armes, but yet I never stir'd. When such a Prick-ear troop upou me gaz'd, Crying (no Crosse) good faith I stood amaz'd: I was struck dumb with wonder, and which worse, Because I'de gold about me, fear'd my Purse. This zealous rabble came not to adore me, Yet (thanks to th' Butchers) some fell down before me, Others ran quite away, the rest disputed, Mis-using Scripture phrases, but confuted. Wisedome they call'd Apocriphal, threw di••t on All Fathers faces, but Saint P— and Burton. Was God ith' middle of this Congregation? Or were they led by instinct, or revelation? Kings do••t their Crowns, and Cardinals their Copes, All must be bare unto a crew of Crops.

But do's Religion such a hatred bring, To hate the very picture of a King? Brethren what would you have? or what d'ye fear? I draw no sword, nor do I wear long hair. I'le do no wrong (though arm'd with Pikes about) Would you know why? 'twas to keep Round∣heads out, Who have not sworn, but tane a Protestation To leave no golden Crosse to blesse our Nation. They will divide my Coat, my Flesh, my Bones, Theyl'e share the Gold, and give their Wives the Stones. They say they'le pluck the Tower of Babel down, All things go right when there's no Crosse it'h Town. But who can live without them? Crosses are The good mans blessings, and his certain share. He that would win an everlasting Crown, Must elevate his Crosse, not throw it down. They'le have no Common Prayer, but do abhor All that is common, but a common W— Will you ••ear reason? that's not common to ye, Will Prayers prevail? He pray ex tempore. You think 'tis justice that your factious crew Are crosse to me 'cause I am Crosse to you: You will have flesh for flesh, It's very dear That Peters nose should pay for Malchas ear. If he should snuffle now, that were a jest, That very thing would make him full blest: You'l run to hear him, and cry's doctrine strong, Though non-sense, in regard he stands so long. Put out his eyes next time, and you may may find A second like the first, and doctrine blind.

Some call me Popish, and report they see Divers adore me, what's all that to me? Because they worship me shall I fall down Unto such Calves, Mechanicks of the Town. 'Tis Popery, let them kneel that list, Ile stand? Before Ile bow, Ile fly to some new Land. Be sorry Brethren, I am pleas'd to think 'Twas from too little wit, or too much drink. Ile be a Roundhead spiritually sent To pardon your affronts, if youl repent. I am a foe to Rome, for you shall find When I am gone, there's the more room behind.

A Song in defence of Christmass.

NOw Christmass is come, let us beat up the Drum, And call our good Neighbours together, And when they appear, let us make them good chear, That will keep out the wind and the weather, To feast at this season, I think 'tis no treason, I could give you a reason why, Though some are so pure, that they cannot endure to see a Nativity Pye.

I cannot but wonder, that the Souldiers should plunder, For keeping our Saviours birth, For all Christians then, or I cannot tell when, Should shew forth their joy and their mirth.

But our Saints now adayes, despise good old wayes, 'Gainst which they both preach and pray, But to give them their dues, they're no better than Jewes, That speak against Christmass day.

These like the good chear, all times oth' year, 'Tis the birth day that doth them annoy, Plumb-porrage and brawn, and the Doe and the Fawne, With the Creature, they love to enjoy, They often have meetings, and then there's such greetings, Such traceing of Sisters about, They preach and they pray, but I must not now say What they do when their Candles are out.

Yet I cannot forbear, to tell in your ear What befell at a breaking of bread, How a Virgin full neat, went thither to eat, But it cost her, her Maiden-head; These men of high merit, though much for the spirit, Are yet for the Flesh now and than, For a new Babe of Grace, was got near the Place, By a Congregational man.

The Dippers and Ranters, and our Scotch Co∣venanters, That bragge of their Faith and their Zeale, These abound in their fainings, but I'le make no complainings, Nor will I their Secrets reveale,

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The poor Cavaliers, that still lives in fears Of Prisons, and Sequestration, Though they keep Christmasse day, are more ho∣nest than they, But Honesty's quite out of fashion.

If you view our great Cities, and our Countrie Committees, You will not find overmuch there, Our Divines, though they preach it, themselves do scarce reach it; And our Lawyers have little to spare. I could tell of some more, that have no great store, Of our Gentry, both Old and New, But I think it is best, with edge tooles not to jest, Nor to speak all we know to be true.

But the poor Cavalier, as to mirthe and good cheere, But now bid Christmass adieu, If the Taxes hold on, their Money will be gone, They will want both to bake and to brew, Their Healths are put down, who adher'd to the Crown, 'Tis they that must fast and pray, For to any mans thinking, both their eating and drinking, Is like to be taken away.

The Bishop of Ossery on the Rebells.

LEt proud Babilon cease to boast Of her Pyramid's stately spires, This Rebellion is more strange, Surmounting all Infernal fires. No Age the like hath ever bread, Nor shall when these Rebells be dead.

A Bill on St. Paul's Church Door.

THis House is to be let, It is both wide, and fair; If you would know the price of it, Pray ask of Mr. Maior.

Isaack Pennington.

A SONG.

WHat though the Zealots, pull down the Prelates, Push at the Pulpit, and kick at the Crown, Shall we not ever, strive to endeavour Once more to purchase our Royal Renown? Shall not the Roundhead first be confounded? Sa, sa, sa, sa boyes, ha, ha, ha, ha boyes,

Then wee'le return home, with Triumph and Joy, Then weel'e be merry, drink Sack and Sherry, And we will sing Boys, God blesse the King Boys, Cast up our Caps, and cry, Vive le Roy.

What though the wise, make Alderman Isaack, Put us into Prison, and steal our Estates; Though we are forced, to be un-horsed, And walk on foot, as it pleaseth the Fates, In the Kings Army, no man will harm ye; Then come along Boyes, valiant and strong Boys, Fight for your Goods, which the Roundheads enjoyes; And when you venter, London to enter, And when you come Boys, with Phife and Drum Boyes, Isaack himself shall cry, Vive le Roy.

If not then, chuse him, 'twill not excuse him, Since honest Parliaments never made them Theeves; Charles ne're did furder, Theeves dipt in Mur∣der, Never by Pardon, long Lease, or Reprieves; For such Conditions, and Propositions Will not be granted, then be not daunted, We will our honest old Customes enjoy: Pauls now rejected, shall be respected, And in the Quire, Voyces sing hire, Thanks to Jehovah, then Vive le Roy.

On two Parliaments dissolved.

TWo Parliaments dissolv'd! then let my heart; As they in Faction, it in fraction part, And, like the Levite sad with rage, ascribe My piece-meal Portion to each broken Tribe, And say, that Bethlehem, Judahs love, hath been Wrong'd by the Fag-end crue of Benjamin. O Let such High presumption be accurst, When the last Tribe shall wrong the best, and first; While, like the Levite, our best Charles may say, The Ravenous Wolf hath seiz'd the Lions prey. Thus oft Inferiour Subjects are not shye, A love to mock at Sacred Majesty. What Faculty should not be injured, If that the Feet had Power to spurn the Head? And Kings Prerogative may soon fall down, When Subjects make a Footstool of a Crown: The Starrs, the Heavens Inferiour Courtiers, might Command the Darknesse, but not rule the Light, Nor him that made it; should they all combine With Luna at the fu••l, our Sun should shine Brighter than they, nor can he be subdu'd, Though he but one, and they a Multitude. Say, Subjects ye were Starrs, and 'twere allow'd, You justly of the Number might be proud; Yet to your Sun be humble, and know this, Your Light is borrowed, not your own, but His. When the unfettered Subjects of the Seas, The Fountains, felt their feet, and ease,

No sooner summon'd, but they nimbly went To meet the Ocean at a Parliament. Did then these petty Fountains say their King, The Ocean, was no Ocean, but a Spring? Let me alone, if fresh excess of store Can make me poorer than I was before. And shall we then the power of Kings dispute? And count it lesse, when more is added to't? No, let the Common body, i•• it can, Be not a River, but an Ocean, And swell into a Deluge, till it hide The top of Mountains in its teeming pride. Kings, like Noahs Ark, are nearer to the Skies, The more the Billows underneath them rise. You then, who if your hearts were first in love, Might sit in Counsell with the Gods Above: You, that do question your Kings Power Below, If you come there, will you use Heavens King so? Do not aspire, you must take up you rest More safe Below, than in the Eagles nest. Hath Clemency offended? will you harm, And pluck the Sun from Heaven that makes you warm? No King nor Bishops please? what, have we got An Outside English, and an Inside Scot? If Faction thus our Countries Peace distracts, You may have want of Parliaments, not Acts. Ill-ended Sessions, and yet well begun, Too much being spoke hath made too little done. So Faction thrives, Puritanism bears sway, None must do any thing but only Say. Stoop, stoop, you baren-headed Hills, confess You might be fruitfuller, if ye were lesse.

Tremble ye thred-bare Commons: are you vext That Lambs feed on ye? Lions will come next.

Collonel Vennes Encouragement to his Souldiers. A SONG.

Fight on brave Souldiers for the Cause, Fear not the Cavaliers, Their threatnings are, as sencelesse as Our jealousies and fears. 'Tis you must perfect this great Work, And all Malignants slay, You must bring back the King again The clean contrary way.

'Tis for Religion that you fight, And for the Kingdoms good, By robbing Churches, plundering them, And shedding Guiltlesse blood. Down with the Orthodoxal train, All Loyal Subjects slay, When these are gone, we shall be blest The clean contrary way.

When Charles we have made Banckrupt, Of Power and Crown bereft him, And all his Loyal Subjects slain, And none but Rebells left him.

When we have beggar'd all the Land, And sent our Trunks away, Wee'le make him then a Glorious Prince The clean contrary way.

'Tis to preserve his Majesty, That we against him fight, Nor ever are we beaten back, Because our Cause is right. If any make a scruple at Our Declarations, say Who fight for us, fight for the King The clean contrary way.

At Keinton, Brainsford, Plymouth, York, And divers Places more, What Victories we Saints obtain, The like nere seen before. How often we Prince Rupert kill'd, And bravely wonne the day, The wicked Cavaliers did run The clean contrary way.

The true Religion we maintain, The Kingdoms Peace and Plenty, The Priviledge of Parliament, Not known to One of twenty. The antient Fundamental Laws, And teach men to obey Their lawfull Soveraign; and all these The clean contrary way.

Wee, Subjects Liberties preserve By Imprisonment and Plunder,

And do enrich our selves and State, By keeping th' Wicked under. Wee must preserve Mechanicks now To Lectorize and pray, By them the Gospel is advanc't The clean contrary way.

And though the King be much misled By that Malignant Crew, Hee'le find us honest at the last, Give all of us our due. For we do wisely plot, and plot Rebellion to allay, He sees wee stand for Peace and Truth The clean contrary way.

The Publique-Faith shall save our Souls, And our good Works together, And Ships shall save our Lives that stay Only for Winde and Weather. But when our Faith and Workes fall down, And all our Hopes decay, Our Acts will bear us up to Heaven The clean contrary way.

A Second Western Wonder.

YOu heard of that wonder, of the Lightening and Thunder, Which made the lye so much the louder; Now li••t to another, that Miracles Brother, Which was done with a Firkin of Powder.

Oh what a damp, struck through the Camp, But as for Honest Sir Ralph, It blew him to the Vies, without beard, or eyes, But at least three heads and a half.

When out came the book, which the New-monger took From the preaching Ladies Letter, Where in the first place, stood the Conquerors face, VVhich made it shew so much the better.

But now without lying, you may paint him flying, At Bristoll they say you may finde Great William the Con, so fast he did run, That he left half his name behind.

And now came the Post, saves all that was lost. But alas, we are past deceiving, By a trick so stale, or else such a tayl Might mount for a new Thanks-giving.

This made Mr. Case, with a pittifull face, In the Pulpit to fall a weeping, Though his mouth utter'd lyes, truth fell from his eyes, VVhich kept our Lord Maior from sleeping.

Now shut up shops, and spend your last drops, For the Laws of your Cause, you that loath 'um, Lest Essex should start, and play the Second part, Of Worshipfull Sir John Hotham.

The Battel of Worcester.

ALl you that be true to the King & the State, Come listen, and Ile tell you what happen'd of late, In a large field near Worcesters gate. Which no body can deny.

Brave Sir John Byron, true to the Crown, VVith forces too few, tis very well known, VVent thither, 'tis said, to keep the Town, Which no body can deny.

But whether 'twas true, ye have learn'd to guess, As for my own part I think no lesse, To give you a taste of our Future successe, Which mo body can deny.

Thither came Fines with armes Complete, The Town to take, and Byron defeat, Provisions were made, but he staid not to eat, Which no body can deny.

But as soon as he heard our great Guns play, VVith a Flea in's ear, he ran quite away, Like the lawfull begotten Son of Lord Say, Which no body &c.

Nay had the old Crop-ear'd his Father dar'd To approach the walls, his design had bin marr'd, For Byron would not have proved a VVard. Which no body can deny.

Pox on him he keeps his Patent yet, But I hope next Term he shall not fit, 'Twas but quam diu se bene Gesserit, Which no body, &c.

But now behold, increased in force, Hee comes again with ten Troups of Horse, Oh bloudy-Man he had no remorse, Which no body, &c.

They marched up boldly, without any fear, Little thinking Prince Rupert was come so near, But alas poor souls it cost them dear, Which no body, &c.

The Prince like a Gallant man of his trade, Marcht out of the Town till this quarter was made, Sir, the Enemies are near at hand it is said: Which no body, &c.

Where, where are they? Prince Rupert cryes, And looking about with fiery eyes, Some thirty behind a hedge he spyes. Which no body, &c.

This Forlorn-hope he no sooner saw, But 4. or 5. more did towards them draw; He asked, who's there? one answer'd him, haw, Which no body, &c.

The man you'll say was rudely bred; The Prince shot a Bullet into his head, His haw had been better spared then said, Which no body, &c.

Prince Maurice then, to second his Brother, Discharg'd his Pistol, and down fell another, 'Twere pitty but news were sent to his Mother, Which no body, &c.

Lord Digby slew one to his great fame, So did Monsieur de Lisl••, and Sir Rich. Crane, And another French man, with a harder name, Which no body, &c.

Prince Rupert to his own Force retired, And bad them not shoot till their Doublets were fired, His Courage and Conduct were both admired, Which no body, &c.

He Charged but twice, yet made them shrink, 'Twere hard to get off now one would think, Yet both can do it as easie as drink. Which no body, &c.

Then have amongst ye, quoth Sir Lewes Dives, For a good Cause you know alwayes thrives, His heart in his shoulders cost many mens lives, Which no body, &c.

John Byron did as bravely fight; To the Prince of Wales his great delight, He came home in safety and was made a Knight. Which no body, &c.

My Friend David Walter in Doublet white, Without any Armes either rusty or bright, Charg'd through them twice like a little spright, Which no body, &c.

But oh Prince Maurice, where was he? Where one of us would be loath to be, Surrounded with Butchers three times three, Which no body, &c.

These men of East-cheap little said, But all their blows at his head they made, As if they had been at work at their Trade, Which no body, &c.

Then came a French-man fiery and keen, He broke the Ring and came in between, Ere a man let a — not a Butcher was seen. Which no body, &c.

Brave Lord Wilmot, by whose hands did fall Many a Rebell stout and tall, Came to him without any Armes at all, Which no body, &c.

Their Horses then close up they spur'd, The wounds they gave were all with the Sword, Their Pistols proved not worth a — Which no body, &c.

But the Parliament having quite forgot To Vote that Sandys should not be shot By the hand of a Mounsier he went to the pot. Which no body, &c.

Douglas a Scotch-man of great fame Was slain that day for want of the same; The Houses in this were much to blame, Which no body, &c.

Of all their chief Commanders that day, I hold it fit I should something say, His name was Brown, and he ran away, Which no body, &c.

If a few more o'em should shew such a freak, Both Houses surely would quickly break, And honester men would have leave to speak, Which no body, &c.

They fly, they fly, Prince Rupert cry'd, No sooner said, but away they hy'd; The force of his Armes they durst not abide, Which no body can deny.

Smectymnuus, or the Club-Divines.

SMectymnuus! the Goblin makes me start! I'th' Name of Rabbi Abraham, what art? Syriack? or Arabick? or Welch? what skilt? Ap all the Brick-layers that Babel built! Some Conjurer translate, and let me know it, Till then 'tis fit for a West-Saxon Poet. But do the Brother-hood then play their Prizes Like Mummers in Religion with disguises? Out-brave us with a name in Rank and File, A name▪ which if 'twere train'd, would spread a Mile;

The Saints monopolie, the zealous cluster, Which, like the Porcupine, presents a muster, And shoots his quills at Bishops and their Sees, A Devont litter of young Maccabees. Thus Jack of all trades hath devoutly shown The twelve Apostles on a cherry-stone, Thus fashion's Al-a-Mode in Treasons fashion; Now we have heresie by Complication. Like to Don Quixots Rosary of slaves Strung on a chain; a Murnival of Knaves Packt in a trick, like Gypsies when they ride, Or like Colleagues, which fit all on a side: So the vain Satyrists stand all a row, As hollow teeth upon a Lute-string show: Th' Italian Monster, pregnant with his Brother, Natures Diaeresis, half one another, He, with his little sides-man Lazarus, Must both give way unto Smectymnuus. Next Sturbridge Fair is Smecks, for lo his side Into a five-fold Lezar's multipli'd. Under each arm there's tuckt a double gyssard, Five faces lurk under one single vizard: The Whore of Babylon left these brats behind, Heirs of confusion by Gavelkind. I think Pythagoras's foul is rambl'd hither, With all the change of Rayment on together: Smec is her general Ward-robe, shee'l not dare To think of him as of a thorough fare; He stops the Gossiping Dame; alone he is The purlew of a Metempsichosis. Like a Scotch Mark, where the more modest sense Checks the loud phrase, and shrinks to 13. pence▪ Like to an Ignis fatuus, whose flame, Though sometimes tripartite, joynes in the same:

Like to nine Taylors, who if rightly spell'd, Into one man are Monosyllabel'd: Short-handed zeal in one hath cramped many, Like to the Decalogue in a single penny. See, see! how close the curs hunt under sheet, As if they spent in Quire, and scann'd their feet; One Cure, and five Incumbents leap a truss: The title sure must be litigious! The Sadduces would raise a question, Who must be Smec at th' Resurrection. Who coop'd them up together were to blame, Had they but wire-drawn, & spun out their name, 'Twould make another Prentices Petition Against the Bishops and their Superstition. Robson and French (that count from five to five, As far as nature fingers did contrive, She saw they would be sessors, that's the cause She cleft her hoof into so many claws,) May tire their Carret-bunch, yet ne're agree To rate Smectymnuus for Pole-money. Caligula, whose pride was mankinds bail, (As who disdain'd to murther by retail) Wishing the world had but one general neck, His glutton blade might have found game in Smec. No eccho can improve the Author more, Whose lungs pay use on use, to half a score: No Felon is more letter'd, though the brand Both superscribes his shoulder and his hand. Some Welsh-man was his Godfather, for he Wears in his name his Genealogy. The Banes are ask'd, would but the time give way, Beewixt Smectymnuus and Et caetera; The Guests invited by a friendly Summons, Should be the Convocation and the Commons;

The Priest to tye the Foxes tayles together, Mosely, or Sancta Clara, chuse you whether. See, what off-spring every one expects! What strange pluralities of men and sects? One sayes hee'l get a Vestery, another Is for a Synod: But upon the Mother: Faith! cry St. George, let them go to't, and stickle, Whether a Conclave or a Conventicle: Thus might Religions catterwaul, and spight, Which uses to divorce, might once unite. But their crosse Fortunes interdict their trade, The Groom is Rampant, but the Bride displaid. My task is done, all my Hee-Goats are milkt, So many Cards i'th' stock, and yet be bilkt? I could by Letters now untwist the Rabble, Whip Smec from Constable to Constable. But there I leave you to another dressing, Only kneel down and take your Fathers blessing, May the Queen Mother justifie your fears, And stretch her Patent to your leather ears.

A Lenten Letany. Composed for a confiding Brother, for the benefit and edification of the Faithfull Ones.

FRom Villany drest in the Doublet of Zeal, From three Kingdomes bak'd in one Com∣mon weal, From a gleek of Lord Keepers of one poor Seal, Libera nos, &c.

From a Chancery-writ, and a whip and a bell, From a Justice of Peace that never could spell, From Collonel P. and the Vicar of Hell. Libera nos, &c.

From Neat's feet without socks, and three-peny Pyes. From a new sprung Light that will put out ones eyes, From Goldsmiths-hall, the Devil, and Excise, Libera nos, &c.

From two hours talk without one word of sense, From Liberty still in the future tense, From a Parliament long-wasted Conscience, Libera nos, &c.

From a Coppid Crown-tenent prick'd up by a Brother, From damnable Members, and fits of the Mo∣ther. From Ears like Oysters that grin at each other, Libera nos, &c.

From a Preacher in buff, and a Quarter-staff-steeple▪ From th' unlimited Soveraigne Power of the People, From a Kingdom that crawles on its knees like a Creeple, Libera nos, &c.

From a vinegar Priest on a Crab-tree stock, From a foddering of Prayer four hours by the Clock.

From a holy Sister with a pittifull Smock, Libera nos, &c.

From a hunger-starv'd Sequestrators maw, From Revelations and Visions that never man saw, From Religion without either Gospel or Law, Libera nos, &c.

From the Nick and Froth of a Peny Pot-house, From the Fiddle and Crosse, and a great Scotch Louse, From Committees that chop up a Man like a Mouse, Libera nos, &c.

From broken shins, and the blood of a Martyr, From the Titles of Lords, and Knights of the Garter, From the teeth of mad-dogs, and a Country mans quarter, Libera nos, &c.

From the Publique Faith, and an Egg & Butter, From the Irish Purchasers, and all their clutter, From Omega's nose, when he fettles to sputter, Libera nos, &c:

From the zeal of Old Harry lock'd up with a Whore, From waiting with Plaints at the Parliament dore, From the death of a King without why or wherefore, Libera nos, &c.

From the French disease; and the Puritan fry, From such as nere swear, but devoutly can lye, From cutting of capers full three story high, Libera nos, &c.

From Painted glass, and Idolatrous cringes, From a Presbyter's Oath that turns upon hinges, From Westminster Jews with Levitical fringes, Libera nos, &c.

From all that is said, and a thousand times more, From a Saint, and his Charity to the Poor, From the Plagues that are kept for a Rebel in store. Libera nos, &c.

The Second Part.

THat if it please thee to assist Our Agitators, and their List, And Hemp them with a gentle twist, Quaesumus te, &c.

That it may please thee to suppose Our actions are as good as those That gull the People through the Nose, Quaesumus te, &c.

That it may please thee here to enter, And fix the rumbling of our center, For we live all at peradventure, Quaesumus te, &c.

That it may please thee to unite The flesh and bones unto the sprite, Else Faith and literature good night, Quaesumus te, &c.

That it may please thee O that wee May each man know his Pedigree, And save that plague of Heraldry, Quaesumus te, &c.

That it may please thee in each Shire Cities of refuge Lord to rear, That failing Brethren may know where, Quaesumus te, &c.

That it may please thee to abhor us, Of any such dear favour for us, That thus have wrought thy peoples sorrows, Quaesumus te, &c.

That it may please thee to embrace Our dayes of thanks and fasting face, For robbing of thy holy place, Quaesumus te, &c.

That it may please thee to adjourn The day of judgement, least we burn, For lo it is not for our turn, Quaesumus te, &c.

That it may please thee to admit A close Committee there to sit, No Devil to a Humane wit! Quaesumus te, &c.

That it may please to dispence A little for convenience, Or let us play upon the sense, Quaesumus te, &c.

That it may please thee to embalm The Saints in Robin Wisdom's Psalm, And make them musical and calm, Quaesumus te, &c.

That it may please thee, since 'tis doubt, Satan cannot throw Satan out, Unite us and the Highland rout. Quaesumus te, &c▪

AN ELEGIE On the Death of Sir B••vile Grenvile.

TO build upon the merit of thy Death, And raise thy Fame from thy expiring Breath, Were to s••eal Glories from thy Life, and tell The World, that Grenvil only did dye well. But all thy Dayes were fair, the same Sun rose, The Lustre of thy Dawning, and thy Close. Thus to her Urn th' Arabian wonder flyes, She lives in Perfumes, and in Perfumes dyes: E're stormes, and tumults (Names undread∣ed here) Could in their Bloome and In••ancy appeare;

He in the stock and treasure of his mind Had heaps of Courage, and just heat combin'd. Where, like the thrifty Ant, he kept in store Enough for Spring, but for a Winter more. In Peace he did direct his thoughts on Warrs, And learn't in silence how to combat Jarres. And though the Times look't smooth and would allow No track of Frown or Wrincle in their Brow: Yet his quick sight perceiv'd the Age would low'r, And, while the Day was faire, fore-saw the Show'r. At this the prudent Augur did provide Where to endure the storme, not where to hide, And sought to shun the Danger now drawn nigh, Not by Concealment but by Victory. As valiant Seamen, if the Vessel knock, Rather sayle o're it, than avoid the Rock. And thus Resolv'd, he saw on either hand, The Causes, and their bold Abettors stand. The Kingdoms Law is the pretence of each, Which these by Law preserve, these by its breach, The Subjects Liberty each side maintains, These say it consists in freedom, these in Chaines, These love the decent Church, but these not pass To dresse our Matron by the Geneva Glass? These still enshrine their God; but these adore Him most at some Ara••nah's Threshing-floor. Each part defends their King a several way, By true Subjection these, by Treasons they. But our Spectatour soon unmask't the sin, And saw all Serpent through that specious skin. And midst their best Pretext did still despair, In any dresse to see their Moor look fair.

And though the Number weigh'd ith' popular scale As light things float still with the tyde and gale, He with the solid mixt, and did conclude, Justice makes Parties great, not Multitude. And with this constant Principle possest, He did alone expose his single Breast, Against an Armies force, and bleeding lay, The great Restorer o'th' Declining Day. Thus slain thy Valiant Ancestor did lye, When his one Bark a Navy durst defie, When now encompass'd rounds he Victor stood, And bath'd his Pinnace in his conquering Blood. Till all his Purple current dry'd and spent, He fell, and left the Waves his Monument, Where shall next famous Grenvills Ashes stand? Thy Grandsire fills the Seas, and Thou the Land.

To my Lord Bishop of S. on New-years day.

THough with the course and motion of the year, Not only Starres and Sun Move where they first begun; But Things and Actions do Keep the same Circle too, Return'd to the same point in the same Sphear.

Griefs and their Causes still are where they stood, 'Tis the same Cloud and Night Shuts up our Joyes and Light: Warres as remote from Peace, And Bondage from Release, As when the Sun his last years Circuite rode.

Though Sword and Slaughter are not Parted hence, But we like years and times, Meet in unequal chimes, Now a Cloud and then a Sun, Ʋndoe and are undone, Let loose and stopt by th' Orbes intelligence.

Though Combates have so thick and frequent stood, That we at length may raise A Calendar of dayes, And style them foul or fair, By their success, not Aire: And sign our Festivals by Rebels blood.

Though the sad years are cloath'd in such a dress, That times to times give place, And seasons shift their grace, Not by our Cold or Heat, But Conquest or Defeat: And Losse makes Winter, Summer, happiness.

Nay though a greater Ruine yet await; Such as the Active curse,* 1.3 Sent to make worst times worse, Deaths keen and secret dart, The shame of Hearbs and Art Which proves at once our Wonder and our Fate.

Though these conspire to fully our request, And labour to destroy, And kill your New-years joy. Yet still your wonted Art Will keep our wish in heart. Proportion'd not toth' times but to your breast Thus in the Storm you Calme and Silence find, Nor Sword nor Sickness can approach your mind.

A SATYR, Occasioned by the Author's Survey of a Scandalous Pamphlet, intituled

The Kings Cabinet opened.

WHen Lawes and Princes are despis'd and cheap, When High patcht Mischiefs all are in the heap; Returns must still be had; Guilt must strive more Though not to' Enoble, yet to Enlarge her store. Poor cheap Design! the Rebell now must flie To Packet Warre, to Paper-Treacherie. The Basiliskes are turn'd to Closet-Spies, And to their Poys'nous adde Enquiring eyes: As Snakes and Serpents should they cast their sting, Still the same Hate, though not same Poyson fling; And their Vain teeth to the same point addresse, With the like Rancor, though unlike Successe:

So those that into undiscerning veines, Have thrown their Venom-deep, and their dark stains, By frail Advantages, still find it good, To keep th' Infection high ith' Peoples Blood. "For Active Treason must be doing still: "Lest she unlearn her Art of doing ill. Who now have waded through all Publick aw, Will break through Secrets and prophane their Law. Know you, that would their Act and Statute see, Nature kept Court, and made it her Decree. When Angells talke, all their Conceipts are brought From Minde to Minde, and they discourse by Thought. A Close Idea moves, and Silence flies To post the Message, and dispatch Replies, And though Ten Legions, in the Round are bent, They only hear to whom the Talk was meant. Now, though in Men a different Law controules, And Soules are not Embassadours to Soules: Nature gave Reason power to find a way, Which none but these could venture to betray. "Two close safe Pathes she did bequeath to men, "In Presence, Whisper; and at Distance, Penne. Publick Decrees and Thoughts were else the same, Nor went it to Converse, but to Proclaim. Conceipts were else but Records, but by this care Our Thoughts no Commons, but Inclosures are: What bold Intruders then are, who assail To cut their Prince's Hedge, and break his Pale? That so Ʋmanly gaze, and dare be seen Ev'n then, when He converses with his Queen?

Yet, as who breaks the tall Bank's rising Side, And all the Shore doth levy with the Tyde, Doth not confine the Waves to any Bound, But the whole Streame may gain upon the Ground; So these, streight Prospect scorn, and Private View, "The Crime is small that doth engage a Few. These print their Shame, they must compleat their Sinne: Not take some Waves, and shut the Sluce agen But, to the Raging of their Sea, they do Let in the Madnesse of the People too. But, 'cause their Crime must wear a Mask and Vail, And fain the Serpent would conceal his Tail. No sooner comes the Libell to our view, But see a stay'd demure, grave Preface too: Which seems to shew they would not thus in∣trude, Nor presse so far, but for the Publick good: But as some London Beggers use to stand, In Grecians Coats with Papers in their hand, Who are (as them indifferent Parts we meet) English at Home, but solemn Greeks ith' street. Of whom uncloath'd, and when the truth is heard, Constantinople only knows the Beard. So this sly Masker, lay its Tinsell by, Is only Painted Zeal, and Pageantry, We need not let our Satyr here compute, How it prophanes God in his Attribute.* 1.4 But for it••s Light it need no B••shell call, A Sempstresse Thimble will Eclypse it all. O! in what meeknesse it pretends to creep! How well the Tyger personates the Sheep! It not Returns ill Language to the King, Though the next Lines the Psalms against Him bring.

Then it to th' Business comes, and lets us know, Who reads it either is its Friend, or Foe. If Friend, the Scandals all must true appear: If Foe (alack the man is ne're the near.) Foe no Light moves, no Miracles like these, Hee'le say they're not the Kings too, if he please. And tell us pray? what, may'nt your last words stand? You counterfeit his Seal, why not his Hand? But to admit, We now deduce and bring, What after-notes clearly imply oth' King. First, They His Comfort from His Secrets wrest. They doe allow the King, but not the Breast, The Sacred Knot must have a Tye, and Force, To joyne their Hands, but yet their Thoughts Divorce: And, as the Ivye weddes her Consort-Tree, Though joyn'd, and close their chast Embraces be, Yet in those Twinnes and Circuits we can find No Traffique, no Commerce of mind with mind: So must the Sacred Laws of Marriage pierce; Here she may Sprout and Grow, but not Converse. And, like a Plant remov'd by Grafters toyle, She finds not Nuptials, but a change of Soyle. England to th' Queen transplanted thus must prove, No Forraigne Kingdom••, but a Forraigne Grove. But, least this groundlesse seem, they reasons vex, And tell the World Shee's of the Weaker Sex. In what wilde Braines this Madnesse first began! They're wondrous angry, 'cause the Queen's no Man.

Fond Sirs forbear, do not the world perplex: Reason and Judgement are not things of Sex. Souls and their Faculties were never heard To be confin'd to th' Doublet, and the Beard. Consult one Age from this, and you shall find A Queen the Glory of your Annals shin'd. But who to farre and distant Objects flies, Must say the Sun wants Lustre, or he Eyes. Our Present injur'd Queen returns that store, And doth again, what could be done before: By the King's Judgement, shews Her own is Right, And still she meets His Ray with her own Light. Thus the wise King to Shebah's Queen was known, Who knew Him wise by Wisedom of her own. But as all Publick Knowledge barr'd must be, So Houshold-Acts must have their Mysterie: No Circumstance can passe, no Servant made, But must be wrapt in silence and close shade. One Place in Court a Riddle must afford, Worthy a secret Sybi••s dark Record. As the Kings Acts must all their limits prove, So their Restraint and Reins must check his Love. Esteems of's Consort by their pitch must fly, Nor must He rate his Dear Queens Health too high. He must affect thus far, and then no more, His Tydes must be proportion'd to their shore; His Tenderness their Weights and Ballanc•• weare, By Graines and Scruples they Confine His Care, But (Savage) know, there can no ransome be Poys'd with the Health of such a Queen as She. She that at once such weighty Acts can do, That can be Queen and yet negotiate too: Send and be sent, and without more demurre, Be both the Queen and her Embassadour.

That gives dispatch for Ships, and when she please, Divides the Empire with the Queen o'th Seas: Who dares the threats of any danger stand, The stubborn Rock, or the Devouring Sand. And though the Sea swell like Her fate, and Grave, Look at Her Consort, and despise the Wave. The Captive Queen did (thus) the Tyrant tell, I am no Captive so my King be well.* 1.5 By these her worth and rate is faintly known, Past stories blush when she erects Her own. Search old gray Annals, you may find at length, Some Queen in Vigour, and her mid-day strength; Who in her injured Consorts cause, referres To Copies glancing at these Acts of Hers. But if Infirm and Sickly Queens we scanne, No story patterns her, None ever can Shew us a Queen fraught with such wide Affairs, Here private Weaknesse, there a Kingdom's cares, Perplext and tortur'd from her rest and ease, By a Rebellion here, there a Disease: Advice, and Medcines at one time we view, A Counsel-board, Board of Physicians too. Yet her Capacious Soul both these defeats, While this hand holds Instructions, that Receipts. These are our fam'd Queens Crimes, but yet one more Must be the main Ingredient of the store. Which seems to presse so deep, there's nought so bright, But this may sully all its lustre quite: 'Tis her Religions Care: She tryes Her Pow'rs To keep that still, do not we so for Ours? Why to one Face so diff'rent shapes have bin, What Virtue is in Ʋs, in Her is Sin. Our diff'rent Faiths did long together grow, And neither suffer'd, neither losse did know:

And like a stream, which 'twixt two fields doth flow, Which as it Moistens, so Divides them too: So did the Kingdoms Law throw Dew and growth, In Weight and just proportion unto both, And like a parting Current, slide along To keep them wide, that neither neither Wrong. Our Faiths were then but Two, but since a sp'rit So many Mushrome Sects rais'd in a Night: The Protestant (as she could Parties gain Who unconcern'd were in the Dregs and staine) Did recommend her Votaries, and bring Her Faith to its Defender, our Just King. Who with such Zeal hath kept her Rites entire, As well from Languishing, as from strange Fire: That still the Censer savours its true scent, Without Accession, yet no Perfume spent; The happy Martyrs find their Faith had stood In Him, as when they bath'd it in their blood. They joy to see, that He his God adores, Not at High-places, nor at Threshing-floores, But spight of Scandals, pays his Homage still In the Just Beauty of the Sion-Hill. The Other Sects, though as in Common-fields, Which Swine, and Horses, Mules and Oxen yields, Who though at Distance fed, Approaching clash, And disproportion'd shapes together dash▪ So they, though one Rebellion them sustain, Themselves Accuse, and are Accus'd again. Could they comply, then possibly might dwell Some faint Agreement, though no Peace in Hell: Now, these nice tasts no Forraign aids indure, (Their Rebell Scots are English Rebells sure,) No, nor the Papists: much it with them sticks, Lest these Mens Punniards should be Hereticks:

Their souls would be prophan'd, and clean undun, Should they be slain by an Idolatrous Gun. Go lay your Vizar by, your Masking stuff, The Devil is tyr'd, and Hell hath laugh'd enough: The world descryes the Cheat, 'tis quickly known They no Faith hate, who have Resolv'd on None. These may not fight: that is, the King you'd have Tamely forsake his Crown, and be your Slave. His Easier Subjects long agoe you gat, All who approv'd your Baite, and swallow'd that. Indeed, Discerning souls the snare forsook, And through the Wave did still descry the Hook: But yet so close designs were cast about, Your Race was half runne e're the King set out, Yet you complain, and guilty fears do gnaw, Lest you should scanted be for Space and Law: Conscious, though you your cause did forward meet, Its Guilt and Sin hangs Plummets at its feet. Are not the Jews, Walloones, the Turks, and all meet, Whom from as Diff'rent Gods as Lands you call, An Army strong to keep the cause in heart, But that the King must with His Subjects part? Can no Accession so much safety send, But you will Dread Him still before you end? Sometimes at Ebbes his God doth let Him stand, That so the Rescue may declare His hand. But, what (you hope) may make the King's side pause, Is what he writes about the Penall Laws. Poor shallow souls, I deem it one from hence To forfeit Loyalty, and forfeit Sence. Shall such as wast their Blood be quite debarr'd, And kept without the Pale from all Reward? Shall fame report, shall after Ages tell, So just a King regards not who do dwell?

But you pretend, this was a State-Decree, Nor without Pow'r which made may cancel'd be The King nev'r sayes it shall: but cannot doubt That when his God hath brought his work about, And shifted Jarres and Tumults into Ease, And set him 'midst his Counsell in High peace: Their joynt united suffrage will think fit To give this Act, or something Great as it. But see, His Pardon then to Ireland came, (Wild Rebells) offers he not you the same? He holds still out the same fresh chearfull Ray, You shut your Windows and exclude the Day: Embrace the shine, or else expect the stroak, The Flint the Sun ne're melts, at last is broke. But now the Flood-gates op••, and a free ••luce, ••ets in all sencelesse Doctrines, and wild use; And by Comparing what's said long agoe, Finds Disproportion in the King's Acts now. His past Resolves it up to Present brings, His Vowes to Vowes, and Things to combate Things. A Different face throughout, and a fresh Scene Succeed: and all his Acts seem shifted clean. Weak men! who are depriv'd by Guilt or chance, Of all the lights of Common Circumstance; That have unlearn't that Actions shift their Face, And da••e their worth from Persons, Time, and Place. And sundry such, from whose Negl••cts appear Acts as Sinnes there, which are Try'd Virtues here. For instance then, o••t as the King reflects His Oath's enjoyn, His People he protects. Which Oathes extent, and Circuit we may view Spread ore th' Five Execrable Members too. Yet (far as't them concerns) that Chain is broke, That Oath left Him, because they le••t His Yoake▪

Now of this Pitch, and Size, do still appear All Aiery Scruples which are started there. The King Declared, He thought you meant no ill, Say, would you have the King Declare so still? Allow but Different Circumstance, and we Find all your Scandalls will his Glories be. Now, as the worst things have some things of stead, And some T••ades treasure Jewells in their Head. So doth this Libels womb Girt, and contain. What though it compasse Round? it cann••t stain Lines of so cleare, yet ••o Majestick straine; A most Transparent, yet a close-wove Veine; Which when we reach its Sense, we may descry, We see more by its Light, then our own Eye. So Phoebus (when the Cloud and Night is done) Lends us his Light, to know he is the Sunne. Yet this expressive clearnesse is but barke, An Out-side Sunne which guards us from the dark. Here the Bright Language shuts in Brighter sense, Rich Diamonds sleep within a Crystall Fence. Gemmes of that rate, to Tully they'd appear Fit purchase for his Critick Senates Ear: And their whole Shine in a full Lustre tends To God, His Conscience, Consort, and his Friends.

THE CLOSE.

No winding Characters, no secret Maze, Could so perplex, but they have found their wayes. They thred the Labyrinth, and what to do? Whe'r tends the Guide? what purchase in this Clew? Rash Alexander forc't King Gordius Knot,* 1.6 And so in hand found he a Rope had got.

A New Diurnal of Passages more Exactly drawn up then heretofore. Printed and Published, 'tis order'd to be, By Henry Elsing the Clerk of the P.

1 June 1643.

Since many Diurnals (for which we are griev'd) Are come from both Houses, and are not be∣liev'd; The better to help them for running and flying, We have put them in Verse to Authorize their lying. For it has been debated, and found to be true, That lying's a Parliament Priviledge too: And that they may the sooner our Conquests re∣hearse, We are minded to put them in Galloping Verse; But so many Maim'd Souldiers from Reading there came, That in spight of the Surgeons, make our Verses go lame. We have ever us'd Fictions, and now it is known, Our Poverty has made us Poetical grown.

Munday.

On Munday both Houses fell into debate, And were likely to fall by the ears as they sate;

Yet would they not have the businesse decided, That they (as the Kingdom is) might be divided. They had an intention to Prayers to go, But Ex tempore Prayers are now Common too. To Voting they fall, and the key of the work, Was the raising of Money for the State and the Kirk▪ 'Tis only Free-loan, yet this Order they make, That what Men would not lend they should Plun∣der and take; Upon this, the word Plunder came into their minds, And all of them did labour a new one to find; They call'd it distraining: yet thought it no shame, To persist in the Act, which they blusht for to name. They Voted all Persons from Oxford that came, Should be apprehended: and after the same, With an Humble Petition, the King they request, He'd be pleas'd to return, and be serv'd like the rest. A Message from Oxford conducing to Peace, Came next to their hands, that Armes might cease: They Voted and Voted, and still they did vary, Till at last the whole sence of the House was con∣trary To reason; they knew by their Armes they might gain▪ What neither true reason, nor Law can maintain. Cessation was Voted a dangerous Plot, Because the King would have it, both Houses would not.

But when they resolv'd it, abroad must be blowne, (To baffle the World) that the King would have none. And carefully muzled the mouth of the Press, Least the truth should peep through their jugling dress. For they knew a Cessation would work them more harmes, Than Essex could do the Cavaliers with his Arms. While they keep the Ships and the Forts in their hand, They may be Traytors by Sea, as well as by Land. The Forts will preserve them as long as they stay, And the Ships carry them and their Plunder a∣way. They have therefore good reason to account War the better, For the Law will prove to them but a killing Letter.

Tuesday.

A Post from his Excellence came blowing his Horn, For Money to advance, and this spun out the Morn; And strait to the City some went for relief, The rest made an Ordinance to carry Powder-Beef. Thus up go the Roundheads, and Essex advances, But only to lead his Souldiers new dances.

To Reading he goes, for at Oxford (they say) His Wife has made him Bull-works to keep him away. Prince Rupert, for fear that the Name be con∣founded, Will saw off his Horns, and make him a Round∣head. The news was returned with General fame, That Reading was taken ere ever he came. Then away Rode our Captains, and Souldiers did run, To shew themselves valiant, when the Battail was done, Preparing to plunder; but as soon as they came, They quickly perceived it was but a flam: An Ordinance of Parliament Essex brought down, But that would not serve him to batter the Town. More Mony was rais'd, more Men and Ammu∣nition, Carts loaded with Turnips, and other Provision. His Excellence had Chines, and Rams-heads for a Present, And his Councel of Warre had Woodcock and Pheasant. But Ven had 5000. Calves-heads all in Carts, To nourish his Men, and to chear up their Hearts. This made them so valiant that that very day, They had taken the Town but for running away. 'Twas ordered this day, that thanksgiving be made, To the Roundheads in Sermons, for their Beef and their Bread.

Wednesday.

Two Members this day at a Conference sate, And one gives the other a knock on the Pate. This set them a voting, and the Upper House swore, 'Twas a breach of Priviledge he gave him no more. The lower the breaking their Members head vo∣ted A breach of their Priviledge; for it is to be noted, That Reason and Priviledge in it did grow, 'Twas a breach of his Crown and Dignity too. Then came in the Women with a long long Pe∣tition. To settle Militia, and damn the Commission. For if fighting continue, they say they did ••ear. That Men would be scarce, and Husbands be dear. So plainly the Speaker the Businesse unties, That presently all the Members did rise They had hardly the leisure all things to lay ope, But some felt in their Bellies if they had not a Pope. Some strictly stood to them, and others did fear, Each carried about them a fierce Cavalier. This Businesse was handled by the close Com∣mittee, That privately met at a Place in the City. So closely to voting the Members did fall, That the humble Sisters were overthrown all. But they and their Helpers came short at the last, Till at length the whole Work on Prince Griffith was cast.

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And he with his troup did handle the matter He pleased every Woman, as soon as he came at her. The Businesse had like to have gone on her side, Had not Pym perswaded them not to confide. For rather than Peace, to fill the Common-Wealth, He said hee'd do them every night himself.

Thursday.

This Day a great Fart in the House they did hear, Which made all the Members make Buttons for fear; And One makes nine Speeches while the Businesse was hot, And spake through the Nose that he smelt out the Plot. He takes it to task, and the Articles drawes, As a breach of their own Fundamental-laws. Now Letters were read, which did fully relate A Victory against Newcastle of late; That hundreds were slain, and hundreds did run, And all this was got ere the Battel begun. This they resolv'd to make the best on; And next they resolv'd upon the Question, That Bonfires and Prayse••, the Pulpit and Steeple, Must all be suborned to couzen the People. But the policy was more Mony to get, For the Conquest's dear bought, and far enough set; Such Victories in Ireland, although it be known They strive to make that Land as bad as our Own.

No sooner the Mony for this was brought hither, But a croud of true Letters came flocking to∣gether, How Hotham and's Army, and others were beaten, This made the blew Members to startle and threaten. And these by all means must be kept from the City, And only referred to the Privy Committee. And they presently with an Ex tempore Vote, Which they have used so long, that they learned by rote, They styl'd them Malignant, and to Lyes they did turn them, Then Corbet, in stead of the Hangman, must burn them. And he after that an Ordinance draws, That none should tell truth that disparag'd the Cause. Then Pym like a Pegasus trots up and down, And takes up an Angel to throw down a Crown. He stand like a Creature, and makes a long Speech, That came from his mouth, and part from his breech. He moves for more Horse, that the Army might be Part Mans flesh and Horse flesh, as well as he; And heel'l be a Colonel as well as another, But durst not ride a Horse, 'cause a Horse rid his Mother.

Friday.

Sir Hugh Cholmley for being no longer a Traytor, Was ac••us'd of Treason in the highest Nature; 'Cause he (as they bad him) his Souldiers did bring, To turn from Rebellion, and fight for the King. They voted him out, but, nor they nor their men Could vote him into the House agen. Sir Davids Remonstrance next to them was read, From the Cities Round-body, and Isaac's the Head. 'Twas approv'd; but one Cause produc'd a de∣nyal, That all Traytors be brought to a Legal tryal. For 'tis against Reason to vote, or to do Against Traytors, when They are no other but so. Because about nothing so long they sit still, They hold it convenient Diurnalls to fill. And therefore they gave their Chronographer charge To stuff it with Orders and Letters at large. The King by's Prerogative, nor by the Law, Can speak nor print nothing his People to draw, Yet Pennyles Pamphletters they do maintain, Whose only Religion is Stipendary gain. Yet Cum Privilegio, against King and the State. The Treason that's taught them (like Parrats) they prate. These Hackneys are licens't what ever they do, As if they had Parliament priviledge too.

Thus then they consult: so zealous they are, To settle the peace of the Kingdom by War. But against Civil-war their hatred is such, To prevent it they'le bring in the Scotch and the Dutch. They had rather the Land be destroy'd in a mi∣nute, Than abide any thing that has Loyalty in it; And yet their Rebellion so neatly they trim, They fight for the King, but they mean for King Pym These all to fight for, and maintain are sent The Laws of England; but New-England is meant. And though such disorders are broke in of late, They keep it the Anagram still of a State. For still they are plotting such riches to bring, To make Charles a rich and glorious King. And by this Rebellion this good they will doe him, They'l forfeit all their Estates unto him. No Clergy must meddle in Spiritual affairs, But Layton nere heard of it, losing his ears, For that he might be deaf to the Prisoners cries, To a spiritual Goalers place he must rise. The rest have good reason for what they shall do, For they are both Clergy and Laity too. Or else at the best when the Question is stated, They are but Mechanicks newly translated. They may be Committees to practice their baw∣ling, For stealing of Horse is Spiritual Calling. The reason why People our Martyrs ador'd, 'Cause their Ears being cut off their Fame sounds the more.

'Twas ordered the Goods of Malignants, and Lands, Shall be shar'd among them, and took into their hands. They have Spirits of more Malignants to come, That every one in the House may have some Then down to Guild-Hall they return their thanks, To the Fools whom the Lottery has cheated with Blanks.

Saturday.

This day there came news of the taking a Ship, (To see what strange wonders are wrought in the deep) That a troop of their Horse ran into the Sea, And pull'd out a Ship alive to the Key. And after much prating and fighting they say The Ropes serv'd for Traces to draw her away. Sure these were Sea-horses, or else by their lying They'le make them as famous for swimming as flying. The rest of the day they spent to bemoan Their Brother, the Roundhead that to Tyburn was gone. And could not but think it a barbarous thing, To hang him for killing a friend to the King. He was newly baptized, and held it was good To be washed, yet not in water, but blood. They ordered for his honour to cut off his ears, And make him a Martyr: but a Zealot appears,

And affirms him a Martyr, for although 'twas his fate To be hang'd, yet he dy'd for the good of the State Then all fell to plotting of m••t••ers so deep, That the silent Speaker fell down fast asleep. He recovers himself and rub•• up his eyes, Then motions his House that 'twas time to rise. So home they went all, and their businesse refer'd To the Close Committee by them to be heard; They took it upon them, but what they did do, Take notice that none but themselves must know.

Postscript.

Thus far we have gone in Rythme to disclose, What never was utter'd by any in Prose. If any be wanting, 'twas by a mishap, Because we forgot to weigh't by the map. For over the Kingdom their Orders were spread, They have made the whole Body as bad as the Head. And now made such work that they all do, Is but to read Letters and answers them too. We thought to make Finis the end of the story, But that we shall have more business for you. For (as their proceedings do) so shall our Pen, Run roundly from Munday to Munday agen. And since we have begun, our Muse doth intend, To have (like their Votes) no beginning nor end.

The holy Pedler.

FRom a Forraign shore I am come to store, Your Shops with rare devices: No drugs do I bring From the Indian King, No Peacocks, Apes, nor Spices. Such Wares I do show As in England do grow, And are for the good of the Nation, Let no body fear To deal in my Ware, For Sacriledge now's in fashion.

I the Pedlar am, That came from Amsterdam With a pack of new Religions, I did every one fit, According to's wit, From the Tub to Mahomets pigeons. Great Trading I found, For my spiritual ground, Wherein every man was a Medler; I made People decline, The learned Divine, And then they bought Heaven of the Pedler.

First Surplices I took, Next the Common-Prayer-book, And made all those Papists that us'd 'um; Then the Bishops and Deans, I stript of their means, And gave it to those that abus'd 'um.

The Clergy-men next, I withdrew from their Text, And set up the gifted Brother; Thus Religion I made, But a matter of trade, And I car'd nor for one or t'other.

Then Tythes I fell upon, And those I quickly won, 'Twas prophane in the Clergy to take 'um. But they serv'd for the Lay, Till I sold them away, And so did Religious make 'um; But now come away, To the Pedler, I pray, I scorn to rob or cozen; If Churches you lack, Come away to my Pack, Here's thirteen to the dozen.

Church Militants they be, For now we do see, They have fought so long with each other; The Rump's-Churches threw down, Those that stood for the Crown, And sold them to one another. Then come you factious Crue, Here's a Bargain now for you, With the spoyles of the Church you may revel; Now pull down the Bells, And then hang up your selves, And so give his due to the Devil.

The Hue and Cry after Sir John Presbyter.

WIth hair in Characters, and Lugs in text; With a splay mouth and a nose circum∣flext; With a set Ruffe of Musket-bore, that wears Like Cartrages, or linnen Bandileers, Exhausted of their sulphurous contents, In Pulpit fire-works, which that Bomball vents; The Negative and Covenanting Oath, Like two Mustachoes, issuing from his mouth; The bush upon his chin (like a carv'd story, In a box-knot) cut by the Directory; Madams Confession hanging at his ear, Wire-drawn through all the questions, How and Where Each circumstance so in the hearing felt, That when his ears are cropt he'll count them gelt; The weeping Cassock scar'd into a Jump, A sign the Presbyter's worn to the stump: The Presbyter though charm'd against mischance, With the Divine Right of an Ordinance. If you meet any that do thus attire 'em, Stop them, they are the tribe of Adoniram. What zealous frenzie did the Senate seize, To tare the Rochet to such rags as these? Episcopacy minc'd, reforming Tweed Hath sent us Runts, even of her Churches breed; Lay-interlining Clergy, a device That's nick-name to the stuff call'd Lops and Lice.

The Beast at wrong-end branded, you may trace The Devils foot-steps in his cloven face. A face of severall parishes and sorts, Like to a Sergeant shav'd at Innes of Courts. What mean these Elders else, those Kirk Dragoons Made up of Ears and Ruffs like Ducatoons? That Hierarchy of Handicrafts begun, Those new Exchange-men of Religion? Sure they'r the Antick ••eads, which plac'd without The Church, do gape and disembogue a sprout: Like them above the Commons house have been So long without, now both are gotten in; Then, what imperious in the Bishop sounds, The same the Scotch Executor rebounds. This stating Prelacy, the Classick rout, That spake it often, e're it spake it out; So by an Abbies Sceleton of late, I heard an Eccho supererogate Through imperfection, and the voice restore, As if she had the hiccop o're and o're. Since they our mixt Diocesans combine Thus to ride double in their Discipline, That Pauls shall to the Consistory call A Dean and Chapter out of Weavers-Hall? Each at the Ordinance for to assist, With the five thumbs of his groat-changing fist. Down Dagon Synod with thy motley ware, Whilst we do swagger for the Common-Prayer; That Dove-like Embassie, that wings our sence To Heavens gate in shape of innocence. Pray for the Miter'd Authors, and defie These Demicasters of Divinity. For where Sir John with Jack-of-all-trades joyns, His Finger's thicker than the Prelates Loyns.

The way to wooe a Zealous Lady.

I Came unto a Puritan to wooe, And ••oughly did salute her with a Kiss; She shov'd me from her when I came unto; Brother, by yea and nay I like not this: And as I her with amorous talk saluted, My Articles with Scripture she confuted.

She told me, that I was too much prophane, And not devout neither in speech nor gesture; And I could not one word answer again, Nor had not so much Grace to call her Sister; For ever something did offend her there, Either my broad beard, hat, or my long hair.

My Band was broad, my 'Parrel was not plain, My Points and Girdle made the greatest show; My Sword was odious, and my Belt was vain, My Spanish shooes was cut too broad at toe; My Stockings light, my Garters ty'd too long, My Gloves perfum'd, and had a scent too strong.

I left my pure Mistris for a space, And to a snip-snap Barber streight went I; I cut my Hair, and did my Corps uncase Of 'Parrels pride that did offend the eye; My high-crown'd Hat, my little Beard also, My pecked Band, my Shooes were sharp at toe.

Gone was my Sword, my Belt was laid aside, And I transformed both in looks and speech;

My 'Parrel plain, my Cloak was void of Pride, My little Skirts, my metamorphis'd Breech, My Stockings black, my Garters were ty'd shorter, My Gloves no scent; thus marcht I to her Porte••.

The Porter spide me, and did lead me in, Where his sweet Mistris reading was a Chapter: Peace to this house, and all that are therein, Which holy words with admiration wrapt her, And ever, as I came her something nigh, She, being divine, turn'd up the white o'th' eye.

Quoth I, dear Sister, and that lik'd her well, I kist her, and did passe to some delight, She, blushing, said, that long-tail'd men would tell, Quoth I, I'll be as silent as the night; And least the wicked now should have a sight Of what we do, faith, I'll put out the light.

O do not swear, quoth she, but put it out, Because that I would have you save your Oath, In truth, you shall but kisse me, without doubt; In troth, quoth I, here will we rest us both; Swear you, quoth she, in troth? had you not sworn I'd not have don't, but took it in foul scorn.

A Hue and Cry after the Reformation.

WHen Temples lye like batter'd Quarrs, Rich in their ruin'd Sepulchers, When Saints forsake their painted Glasse To meet their worship as they passe,

When Altars grow luxurious with the dye Of humane bloud, Is this the floud Of Christianity?

When Kings are cup-boarded like cheese, Sights to be seen for pence a piece, When Dyadems, like Brokers tire, Are custom'd reliques set to hire, When Soveraignty & Scepters loose their names, Stream'd into words, Carv'd out by swords Are these refining flames?

When Subjects and Religion stir Like Meteors in the Metaphor, When zealous hinting and the yawn Excize our M••niver and Lawn; When blue digressions fill the troubled ayr, And th' Pulpit's let To every Set That will usurp the Chair?

Call ye me this the night's farewell, When our noon day's as dark as Hell? How can we lesse than term such lights Ecclesiastick Heteroclites? Bold sons of Adam when in fire you crawl, Thus high to be, Perch'd on the tree, Remember but the fall.

Was it the glory of a King To make him great by suffering?

Was there no way to build God's House But rendring of it infamous? If this be then the merry ghostly trade? To work in gall? Pray take it all Good brother of the blade.

Call it no more the Reformation, According to the new translation: Why will you wrack the common brain With words of an unwonted strain? As Plunder? or a phrase in senses cleft? When things more nigh May well supply And call it down-right theft.

Here all the School-men and Divines Consent, and swear the naked lines Want no expounding or contest, Or Bellarmine to break a jest. Since then the Heroes of the pen with me Nere scrue the sense With difference, We all agreee agree.

The Times.

TO speak in wet-shod eyes, and drowned looks, Sad broken accents, and a vein that brooks No spirit, life, or vigour, were to own The crush and triumph of affliction;

And creeping with Themistocles to be The pale-fac'd Pensioners of our enemy. No 'tis the glory of the Soul to rise By falls, and at rebound to pierce the skies. Like a brave Courser standing on the sand Of some high-working Fretum, views a land Smiling with sweets upon the distant side, Garnish'd in all her gay embroydered pride, Larded with Springs, and fring'd with curled Woods, Impatient, bounces in the cap'ring flouds, Big with a nobler fury than that stream Of shallow violence he meets in them; Thence arm'd with scorn and courage ploughs a way Through the impostum'd billows of the Sea; And makes the grumbling Surges slaves to oar And waft him safely to the further shoar: Where landed, in a soveraign disdain He turns back, and surveys the foaming main, While the subjected waters flowing reel, Ambitious yet to wash the Victor's heel. In such a noble Equipage should we Embrace th' encounter of our misery. Not like a field o•• corn, that hangs the head For every tempest, every petty dread. Crosses were the best Christians arms: and we That hope a wished Canaan once to see, Must not expect a carpet-way alone Without a red-sea of affliction. Then cast the dice: Let's foord old Rubicon, Caesar 'tis thine, man is but once undone. Tread softly though, least Scyllah's ghost awake, And us i'th' roll of his Proscriptions take.

Rome is revived, and the Triumvirate In the black Island are once more a State; The City trembles: there's no third to shield, If once Augustus to Antonius yield, Law shall not shelter Cicero, the Robe The Senate: Proud successe admits no Probe Of Justice to correct, or quare the fate That bears down all as illegitimate; For whatsoere it lists to overthrow, It either finds it, or else makes it so. Thus Tyranny's a stately Palace, where Ambition sweats to climbe and nustle there; But when 'tis enter'd, what hopes then remain? The••e is no Salliport to come out again. For Mischief must rowle on, and gliding grow, Like little Rivulets that gently flow From their first bubbling springs, but still increase And swell their Chanel as they mend their pace; Till in a glorious tyde of villany They over-run the banks, and posting fly Like th' bellowing Wave•• in tumults, till they can Di••play themselves in a full Ocean. And if ••lind rage shall chance to miss its way, Bring stock enough alone to make a Sea. Thus trebble treason▪ are secur'd and drown'd By lowder cryes of deeper mouth and ••ound. And high attempts swallow a puny p••ot, A•• Cannons overwhelm the smaller ••hor Whiles the deaf senceless World inur'd a while (Like the Catadupi ••t the fall of Nile) To the fierce tumbling wonder, think it none, Thus Custom hallow•• ••rreligion! And stroaks the patient beast till he admit The now-grown-light and necessary Bit.

But whither do I ramble? Gauled times Cannot endure a smart hand ore their crimes Distracted age? What Dialect or fashion Shall I assume? to passe the approbation Of thy censorious Synod; which now sit High Areopagites to destroy all wit? I cannot say, I say, that I am one Of th' Church of Ely-hous••, or Abington, Nor of those precious Spirits that can deal The Pomegranates of grace at every meal. No zealous Hemp-dresser yet dipp'd me in The Laver of adoption from my sin. Put yet if inspiration or a tale Of a long-wasted six hours length prevail A smooth Certificate from the sister-hood, Or to be termed holy before good, Religious malice, or a faith 'thout works Other than may proclaim us Jews or Turks: If these, these hint at any thing? Then, then Whoop! my dispairing Hope come back agen: For since the inundation of grace, All honesty's under water, or in chase. But 'tis the old worlds dotage, thereupon We feed on dreams, imagination, Humours, and cross-grain'd passions which now reign In the decaying elements of the brain. 'Tis hard to coin new fancies, when there be So few that lanch out in discovery. Nay Arts are so far from being cherished, There's scarce a Colledge but has lost its Head, And almost all its Members: O sad wound! Where never an Artery could be judged sound! To what a height is Vice now towred? When we Dare not miscall it an Obliquitie?

So confident, and carrying such an awe, That it subscribes it self no lesse then Law? If this be Reformation then? The great Account pursued with so much bloud and sweat? In what black lines shall our sad story be Deliver'd over to posterity? With what a dash and scar shall we be read? How has Dame Nature in us suffered? Who of all Centuries the first age are That sunk the world for want of due repair? When first we issued out in cryes and tears, (Those salt presages of our future years) Head-long we dropt into a quiet calm; Times crown'd with rosie Garlands, spice and balm, Where first a glorious Church and mother came, Embrac'd us in her armes, gave us a name By which we live, and an indulgent brest, Flowing with stream to an eternal rest. Thus ravish'd, the poor Soul could not guess even, Which was more kind to her yet, earth or heaven. Or rather wrapped in a pious doubt Of heaven, whether she were in or out. Next the Great Father of our Country brings His blessing too, (even the Best of Kings) Safe and well-grounded Laws to guard our peace, And nurse our virtues in their just increase; Like a pure Spring from whom all graces come, Whose boun••y made it double Christendome: Such and so sweet were those Halcyon dayes, That rose upon us in our Infant rayes; Such a composed State we breathed under, We only heard of Jove, nere felt his thunder. Terrors were then as strange, as love now grown, Wrong and Revenge liv'd quietly at home.

The sole contention that we understood, Was a rare strife and war in doing good. Now let's reflect upon our gratefulness, How we have added, or (O:) made it less, What are th' improvements? what our progress, where Those handsom acts that say that some men were? He that to antient wreaths can bring no more From his own worth, dies banq'rupt on the score. For Father's Crests are crowned in the Son, And glory spreads by propogation. Now virtue shield me! where shall I begin? To what a labyrinth am I now slipp'd in? What shall we answer them? or what deny? What prove? or rather whither shall we fly? When the poor widdow'd Church shall ask us where Are all her honours? and that filial care We owed so sweet a Parent as the Spouse Of Christ, which here vouchsafed to own a house? Where are her B••anerges? and those rare Brave sons of consolation? which did bear The Ark before our Israel, and dispence The heavenly Manna with such diligence? In them the prim'tive Motto's come to passe, Aut mortui sunt, aut docent literas. Bless'd Virgin, we can only say we have Thy Prophets Tombes among us, and their grave. And here and there a man in colours paint, That by thy ••uines grew a mighty Saint. Next Caesar some accounts are due to thee, But those in Bloud already written be; So loud and lasting, in such monstrous shapes, So wide the never to be clos'd wound gapes;

All ages yet to come with shivering, shall Recite the fearfull pres'dent of thy fall. Hence we confute thy tenent Solomon, Ʋnder the Sun a new thing hath been done▪ A thing before all pattern, all pretence Of rule or copy: Such a strange offence Of such original extract, that it bears Date only from the Eden of our years. Laconian Agis! we have read thy fate, The violence of the Spartan love and hate. How Pagans trembled at the thought of thee, And fled the horror of thy tragedie; Thyestes cruel feast, and how the Sun Shrunk in his golden beams that fight to shun▪ The bosoms of all Kingdoms open lye, Plain and emergent to th' inquiring eye. But when we glance upon our native home▪ As the black Center to whom all points come, We rest amazed, and silently admire How far beyond all spleen ours did aspire. All that we dare assert, is but a cry Of an exchanged peace for Liberty▪ A secret term by inspiration known, A mist that brooks no demonstration, Unlesse we dive into our purses, where We quickly find Our Freedom purely dear. But why exclaim you thus? may some men say, Against the times? when equal night and day Keep their just course? the seasons still the same? As sweet as when from the first hand they came? The influence of the Stars benigne and free, As at first Peep up in their infancie? 'Tis not those standing motions that divide The space of years, nor the swift hours that glide

Those little particles of age, that come In thronging Items that make up the Sum, That's here intended: But our crying crimes, Our Monsters that abominate the times. 'Tis we that make the Metonimie good By being bad, which like a troubled floud Nothing produce but slimy mire and dirt, And impudence that makes shame malepert. To travel further in these wounds that lye Rankling, though seeming closed, were to deny Rest to an ore-watch'd world, and force fresh tears From stench'd eyes, new alarum'd by old fears. Which if they thus shall heal and stop, they be The first that ere were cur'd by Lethargie. This only Axiom from ill Times increase I gather, There's a time to hold ones peace.

The Commoners.

1

COme your wayes Bonny Boyes, Of the Town, For now is the time or never, Shall your fears, Or your cares Cast you down? Hang your wealth, And your health, Get renown, We all are undone for ever. Now the King and the Crown Are tumbling down,

And the Realm doth groan with disasters, And the scum of the land, Are the men that command, And our Slaves are become our Masters.

2

Now our lives Children, wives And Estate, Are a prey to the lust and plunder, To the rage Of our age; And the fate Of our land Is at hand, 'Tis too late To tread these Ʋsurpers under. First down goes the Crown, Then follows the Gown, Thus levell'd are we by the Roundhead, While Church and State must Feed their Pride and their Lust, And the Kingdom and King confounded.

3

Shall we still Suffer ill And be dumb? And let every Varlet undo us? Shall we doubt Of each Lowt, That doth come, With a voice Like the noise Of a Drum, And a Sword or a Buff-coat to us?

Shall we lose our estates By plunder and rates To bedeck those proud upstarts that swagger, Rather fight for your meat, Which these Locusts do eat, Now every man's a beggar.

The Scots Curanto.

1.

COme, come away to the English wars, A fig for our Hills and Valleys, 'Twas we did begin and will lengthen their jarrs, We'l gain by their loss and folleys; Let the Nations By invasions, Break through our barrs, They can get little good by their salleys.

2.

Though Irish and English entred be, The State is becom•• our Debtor. Let them have our Land, if their own may be free And the Scot will at length be a getter. If they crave it Let them have it, What care we: We would fain change our Land for a better.

3.

Long have we longed for the English Land, But we are hindred still by disasters, But now is their time, when they can't withstand, But are their own Countries wasters. If we venter, We may enter By command, And at last we shall grow to be Masters.

4.

When at first we began to rebell, Though they did not before regard us, How the name of a Scot did the English quell▪ Which formerly have out-dar'd us. For our comming And returning, They paid us well, And royally did reward us.

5.

The better to bring our ends about, We must plead for a Reformation; And tickle the minds of the giddy-brain'd rout▪ With the hopes of an innovation. They will love us And approve us, Without doubt, If we bring in an alteration.

6.

Down with the Bishops and their train, The Surplice and Common Prayers,

Then will we not have a King remain, But we'l be the Realms surveyers. So by little And a little We shall gain All the Kingdom without gain-sayers.

7.

And when at the last we have conquer'd the King, And beaten away the Cavaleers, The Parliament next must the same ditty sing, And thus we will set the State by the ears. By their jarring And their warring We will bring, Their Estates to be ours, which they think to be theirs.

8.

And thus when among us the Kingdom is shar'd, And the People are all made Beggars like we; A Scot will be as good as an English Leard, O! what a unity this will be. As we gain it We'l retain it By the sweard; And the English shall say, bonny blew-cap for me.

An Answer to a Letter from Sir John Mennis, wherein he jeers him for falling so quickly to the use of the Directory.

FRiend thou doest lash me with a story, A long one too of Directory; When thou alone deserves the Birch, That brought'st the bondage on the Church. Didst thou not treat for Bristol City, And yield it up? the more's the pity. And saw'st thou not, how right or wrong The Common-prayer-book went along? Did'st thou not scourse, as if enchanted For Articles Sir Thomas granted? And barte••, as an Author saith, The Articles oth' Christian Faith? And now the Directory jostles Christ out oth' Church and his Apostles; And tears down the Communion rayles, That men may take it on their tayles. Imagine, Friend, Bochus the King Engraven on Sylla's Signet ring, Delivering up into his hands Fugurth, and with him, all his Lands; Whom Sylla took and sent to Rome, There to abide the Senates doom. In the same posture I suppose, John standing in's Doublet and Hose,

Delivering up amidst the throng The Common-prayer and Wisedoms song To hands of Fairfax, to be sent A Sacrifice to the Parliament. Thou little thought'st what Jear began, Wrapt in that Treaty? Busie John▪ There lurk'd, the Fire that turn'd to Cinder, The Church her Ornaments to Tinder. There bound up in that Treaty lyes The fate of all our Christmass-pyes; Our Holydaies there went to wrack, Our Wakes were laid upon their back, Our Gossips spoons away were lurcht, Our Feasts and Fees for Women churcht; All this, and more ascribe we might To Thee at Bristol, wretched Knight. Yet thou upbraid'st and rayld'st in rime, On me, for that which was thy Crime. So froward Children in the Sun, Amidst their sports some shrew'd turn done, The faulty Youth begins to prate, And layes it on his harmlesse Mate.

Dated, From Nympton where the Cider smiles, And James has horse as lame as Giles, The fourth of May, and dost thou hear? 'Tis as I take the 8th. year Since Portugal by Duke Braganza Was cut from Spain without a Hand-saw.

I. S.

The Kings Disguise.

ANd why a Tenant to this vile disguise, Which who but sees, blasphemes thee with his eyes? My twins of light within their penthouse shrink, And hold it their Allegiance now to wink. Oh! for a state-distinction to arraign Charles of High Treason 'gainst my Soveraign. What an usurper to his Prince is wont, Cloyster and shave him, he himself hath don't. His muffled feature speaks him a recluse, His ruines prove him a religious house. The Sun hath mew'd his beams from off his lamp, And Majesty defac'd the Royal stamp. It's not enough thy Dignitie's in thrall, But thou'lt transmute it in thy shape and all? As if thy blacks were of too faint a dye, Without the tincture of Tautology. Flay an Aegyptian for his Cassocks skin, Spun of his Countries darknesse, line't within With Presbyterian budge, that drowsie t••ance, The Synod-sable, foggy ignorance: Nor bodily, nor ghostly Negro could Rough-cast thy figure in a sadder mould: This Privy-Chamber of thy shape would be But the close-mourner of thy Royalty: Twill break the circle of thy Jaylors spell, A Pearle within a rugged Oyster shell. Heaven, which the Minster of thy Person owns, Will fine thee for Dilapidations:

Like to the martyr'd Abbeys courser doom, Devoutly alter'd to a Pidgeon-room: Or like the colledge by the changeling rabble, M— Elves, transform'd into a s••able. Or if there be a prop••anation higher, Such is the Sacriledge of thine attire, By which th' art half depos'd: thou lookst like one Whose looks are under sequestration. Whose Regenado form, at the first glance, Shews like the self-denying Ordinance, Angel of light, and darkness too, I doubt, Inspir'd within, and yet possess'd without: Majestick twi-light in the state of grace, Yet with an excommunicated face. Charles and his Mask are of a different Mint, A Psalm of mercy in a miscreant print The Sun wears mid-night, Day is beetle-brow'd, And lightning is in Keldar of a cloud. Oh the accurst Stenography of fate! The Princely Eagle shrunk into a Bat. What charm, what Magick vapour can it be, That shrinks his ••ayes to this Apostasie? It is but subtile ••ilm of tiffany air, No Cob-web vizard, such as Ladies wear, When they are veil'd on purpose to be seen, Doubling their lustre by their vanquish'd skreen, Nor the false scabbard of a Princes tough Metal, and three pild darkness, like the slough Of an imprison'd flame: 'tis Faux in grain, Dark-Lanthorn to our high Meridian. Hell belcht the damp, the Warwick-castle Vote Rang Britains Corfeu, so our light went out. Thy visage is not legible, the letters, Like a Lords name writ in phantastick fetters:

Cloaths where a Switzer might be buried quick: Sure they would fit the Body politick. False beard enough to fit a stages plot, For that's the ambush of their wit, God wot. Nay all his Properties so strange appear, Y'are not i'th' presence, though the King be there. A Libel is his dress, a garb uncouth, Such as the Hue and Cry once purg'd at mouth. Scribling assassinate, thy lines attest An ear-mark due, Cub of the Blatant beast, Whose wrath before 'tis syllabled for worse, Is Blasphemy unfledg'd, a callow curse. The Laplanders, when they would sell a wind Wafting to Hell, bag up thy phrase, and bind It to the Barque, which at the Voyage-end Shi••ts Poop, and breeds the Collicke in the Fiend. But I'le not dubbe thee with a glorious scar, Nor sink thy Skullar with a man of War. The black mouth'd Si-quis, and this slandering suit, Both do alike in picture execute But since we're all call'd Papists, why not date Devotion to the rags thus consecrate? As Temples use to have their Porches wrought With Sphynxes, ••reatures of an antick draught, And puzling Pourtraictures, to shew that there Riddles inhabited, the like is here. But pardon Sir, since I presume to be Clerk of this Closet to your Majesty; Me thinks in this your dark mysterious dresse I see the Gospel coucht in Parables. At my next view my pur-blind fancy ripes, And shews Religion in its dusky types.

Such a Text-Royal, so obscure a shade, Was Solomon in proverbs all array'd. Come all the brats of this expounding age, To whom the spirit is in pupillage; You that damn more than ever Sampson slew, And with his engine the same jaw-bone too: How is't he scapes your Inquisition free, Since bound up in the Bibles livery? Hence Cabinet-intruders, Pick-locks hence, You that dim Jewels with your Bristol-sence: And Characters, like Witches so torment, Till they confesse a guilt, though innocent. Keys for this Coffer you can never get, None but St▪ Peter ope's this Cabinet. This Cabinet, whose aspect would benight Critick spectators with redundant light. A Prince most seen, is least: What Scriptures call The Revelation, is most mystical. Mount then thou Shadow-royal, and with hast Advance thy morning-star, Charles overcast. May thy strange journey contradictions twist, And force fair weather from a Scotish mist; Heavens Confessors are pos'd, those star-ey'd sages To interpret Eclipse, thus riding stages. Thus Israel-like, he travels with a cloud, Both as a conduct to him and a shroud. But oh! he goes to Gibeon, and renews A league with mouldy bread, and clouted shooes.

The Rebell SCOT.

HOw! Providence! and yet a Scottish crew! Then Madam nature wears black patches too? What? shall our Nation be in bondage thus Unto a Land that truckles under us? Ring the Bells backward, I am all on fire, Not all the Buckets in a Country Quire Shall quench my rage. A Poet should be fear'd, When angry, like a Comets flaming beard. And where's the Stoick? can his wrath appease To see his Country sick of Pym's disease, By Scotch Invasion to be made a prey To such Pig-wiggin Myrmidons as they? But that there's charm in verse, I would not quote The name of Scot without an Antidote, Unlesse my head were red, that I might brew Invention there that might be poyson too. Were I a drowsie Judge, whose dismal note Disgorgeth halters, as a Juglers throat Doth ribbands: could I (in Sir Emp'rick's tone) Speak Pills in phrase, and quack destruction: Or roar like Marshall, that Geneva Bull, Hell and Damnation a Pulpit full: Yet to expresse a Scot, to play that prize, Not all those mouth-Granadoes can suffice. Before a Scot can properly be curst, I must (like Hocas) swallow daggers first. Come keen Iambicks with your Badgers feet, And Badger-like, bite till your teeth do meet. Help ye tart Satyrists to imp my rage, With all the Scorpions that should whip this age:

Scots are like Witches, do but whet your pen, Scratch till the bloud come, they'l not hurt you then. Now as the Martyrs were inforc'd to take The shapes of Beasts, like Hypocrites at stake, I'le bait my Scot so, yet not cheat your eyes; A Scot within a Beast is no disguise. No more let Ireland brag, her harmless Nation Fosters no Venom, since the Scots plantation: Nor can ours feign'd antiquity maintain, Since they came in, England hath Wolves again. The Scot that kept the Tower, might have shown (Within the grate of his own breast alone) The Leopard and the Panther, and ingrost What all those wild Collegiates had cost The honest high-shoes in their termly fees, First to the salvage Lawyer, next to these. Nature her self doth Scotch-men Beasts confesse, Making their Country such a wildernesse: A Land that brings in question and suspence Gods omni-presence, but that Charles came thence, But that Montross and Crawfords loyal band Atton'd their sins and christ'ned half the Land. Nor is it all the Nation hath these spots; There is a Church, as well as Kirk of Scots: As in a picture, where the squinting paint Shews ••iend on this side, and on that side Saint. He that saw Hell in's melancholly dream, And in the twi-light of his fancy's theam Sca••'d from his sins, repented in a fright, Had he view'd Scotland, had turn'd Proselyte. A Land where one may pray with curst intent, O may they never suffer banishment! Had ••ain been Scot, God would have chang'd his doom, Not forc't him wander, but confin'd him home:

Like Jews they spread, and as infection fly, As if the Devil had Ubiquity. Hence 'tis they live at Rovers, and defie This or that place, Rags of Geography. They'r Citizens o'th' world; they'r all in all, Scotland's a Nation Epidemicall. And yet they ramble not, to learn the mode How to be drest, or how to lisp abroad; To return knowing in the Spanish shrug, Or which of the Dutch States a double Jug Resembles most, in belly, or in beard; (The Card by which the Marriners are steer'd.) No, the Scots-Errant fight, and fight to eat, Their Ostrich-stomachs make their Swords their meat: Nature with Scots, as Tooth-drawers hath dealt, Who use to hang their teeth upon their Belt. Yet wonder not at this their happy choise, The Serpent's fatall still to Paradise. Sure England hath the Hemeroids, and these On the North posture of the patient seize, Like Leeches: thus thy Physically thirst After our bloud, but in the cure shall burst. Let them not think to make us run o'th' score, To purchase villanage as once before, When an Act pass'd to stroak them on the head, Call them good Subjects, buy them Gingerbread; Nor Gold, nor Acts of grace, 'tis Steel must tame The stubborn Scot: a Prince that would reclaim Rebells by yielding, doth like him, (or worse) Who sadled his own back, to shame his horse. Was it for this you left your leaner soil, Thus to lard Israel with Aegypts spoyle? They are the Gospels Life guard: but for them The Garrison of new Jerusalem!

What would the Brethren do? the Cause! the Cause! Sack possets, and the Fundamental Laws! Lord! what a goodly thing is want of shirts! How a Scotch-stomach, and no meat, converts! They wanted food and raiment, so they took Religion for their Seamstresse and their Cook. Unmask them well, their honours and estate, As well as conscience are sophisticate. Shrive but their titles, and their money poize, A Laird & twenty pounds pronounc'd with noise, When constru'd, but for a plain Yeoman go, And a good sober two-pence, and well so. Hence then you proud Impostors, get you gone, You Picts in Gentry and Devotion; You scandal to the stock of Verse, a race Able to bring the Gibbet in disgrace. Hyperbolus by suffering did traduce The Ostracism, and sham'd it out of use. The Indian, that Heaven did forsware, Because he heard the Spaniards were there, Had he but known what Scots in Hell had been, He would, Erasmus like, have hung between: My Muse hath done. A voider for the nonce; I wrong the Devil should I pick their bones. That dish is his, for when the Scots decease, Hell, like their Nation, feeds on Barnacles. A Scot, when from the Gallow-tree got loose, Drops into Styx, and turns a Soland-Goose.

The Scots Apostasie.

IS't come to this? what shall the cheeks of fame, Stretcht with the breath of learned Londons name, Be flag'd again? and that great piece of sence, As rich in Loyalty and Eloquence▪ Brought to the Test, be found a trick of State? Like Chymists tinctures, prov'd adulterate? The Devil sure such language did atchieve, To cheat our un-forwarned Grandam Eve, As this impostour found out, to besot Th' experienc'd English to believe a Scot. Who reconcil'd the Covenants doubtfull sence? The Commons argument, or the Cities pence? Or did you doubt persistance in one good Would spoyle the fabrick of your Brotherhood, Projected first in such a forge of sin, Wa•• fit for the grand Devils hammering? Or was't ambition that this damned fact Should tell the world you know the sins you act? The infamy this super-treason brings, Blasts more than Murders of your sixty Kings; A crime so black, as being advis'dly done, Those hold with these no competition. Kings only suffer'd then, in this doth lye Th' Assassination of Monarchy. Beyond this sin no one step can be trod, If not t'attempt deposing of your God: Oh were you so ingag'd, that we might see Heavens angry lightning 'bout your ears to flee

Till you were shrivel'd to dust, and your cold Land, Parcht to a drought beyond the Lybian sand▪ But 'tis reserv'd, till Heaven plague you worse: Be Objects of an Epidemick curse. First, may your Brethren, to whose viler ends Your power hath bawded, cease to be your friends; And prompted by the dictate of their reason, Reproach the Traytors though they hug the Trea∣son. And may their jealousies increase and breed, Till they confine your steps beyond the Tweed. In forrain Nations may your loath'd name be A stigmatizing brand of infamy; Till forc'd by general hate, you cease to rome The world, and for a plague to live at home: Till you resume your poverty, and be Reduc'd to beg where none can be so free To grant; and may your scabby Land be all Translated to a general Hospitall, Let not the Sun afford one gentle ray, To give you comfort of a Summers day; But, as a guerdon for your Trayterous War, Live cherish'd only by the Northern star. No stranger deign to visit your rude coast, And be to all but banisht men, as lost. And such in heightning of the infliction due, Let provok'd Princes send them all to you. Your State a Chaos be, where not the Law, But power, your lives and liberties may aw. No Subject 'mongst you keep a quiet brest, But each man strive through bloud to be the best; Till, for those miseries on us you've brought, By your own Sword our just revenge be wrought.

To sum up all — let your Religion be, As your Allegiance, mask'd hypocrisie: Untill, when Charles shall be compos'd in dust, Perfum'd with Epithetes of good and just; HE sav'd, incensed Heaven may have forgot T' afford one act of mercy to a Scot, Unlesse that Scot deny himself, and do (What's easier far) renounce his Nation too.

The Scots Arrears.

FOur hundred thousand pounds! A lusty Bag indeed: Was't ever known so vast a Sum Ere past the River Tweede?

Great pity it is, I swear, Whole Carts was thither sent, Where hardly two in fifty knew, What Forty shillings meant: But 'twas to some perceiv'd, Three Kingdoms were undone. And those that sit here thought it fit, To settle them one by one, Now Ireland hath no haste, So there they'le not begin; The Scotish ayde must first be paid, For ye came freely in, And William Lilly writes — Who writes the truth you know; In frosty weather they marched hither. Up to the chins in snow.

Free quarter at excesse, They do not weigh a feather, Those Crowns for coals, brought in by shoals; Scarce kept their men together, Of Plunder they esteem As trifles of no worth, Of force ye dote, because recruit Issued no faster forth. If once this Cash is paid, I hope the Scot be spedd, He need not steal, but fairly deal, Both to be cloth'd and fedd. Our sheep and Oxen may Safe in their pastures stand, What need they filch the cow That's milch to sojourn in their land.

I wonder much the Scot With this defiles his hand, Because the summ's a price of Rome, Rais'd out of the Bishops lands; But too too well ye know To what intent they in come; 'Twas not their pains produc'd this gains, 'Twas sent to pack them home: Methinks I hear them laugh To see how matters proved, And give a shout, it so fell out, Ye were more fear'd than loved. If Jockey after this Reneaginge hath forgot, From antient fires, he much retires, And shows himself no Scot.

A SONG On the Schismatick ROTUNDOS.

ONce I a curious Eye did fix, To observe the tricks Of the Schismaticks of the Times, To find out which of them Was the merriest Theme, And best would befit my Rimes; Arminius I found solid, Socinians were not stolid, Much Learning for Papists did stickle. But ah, ah, ha ha ha ha Rotundos rot, ah, ha ha ha ha ha Rotundos rot, 'Tis you that my spleen doth tickle.

And first to tell must not be forgot, How I once did trot With a great Zealot to a Lecture, Where I a Tub did view, Hung with apron blew; 'Twas the Preachers as I conjecture, His Use and his Doctrine too Were of no other hue, Though he spake in a tone most mickle: But ah, ha ha ha, &c.

He taught amongst other prety things That the Book of Kings Small benefit brings to the godly,

Beside he had some grudges At the Book of Judges, And talkt of Leviticus odly, Wisedome most of all He declares Apocryphal, Beat Bell and the Dragon, like Michael: But ah, ah, ha ha ha ha, &c.

'Gainst Humane Learning next he envyes, And almost boldly say's, 'Tis that which destroyes Inspiration, Let superstitious sence And wit be banished hence, With Popish Predomination Cut Bishops down in hast, And Cathedrals as fast As Corn that's fit for the sickle: But ah, ah, ha ha ha ha Rotundos rot, ah, ha ha ha ha ha Rotundos rot, 'Tis you that my spleen doth tickle.

Cromwell's Panegyrick.

SShall Presbyterian Bells ring Cromwels praise, While we stand still and do no Trophyes raise Unto his lasting name? Then may we be Hung like the Bells for our dependencie. Well may his Nose, that is Dominicall, Take pepper in't, to see no Pen at all Stir to applaud his merits, who hath lent Such valour, to erect a Monument

Of lasting praise; whose name shall never dye, While England has a Church, or Monarchy. He whom the laurell'd Army home did bring Riding triumphant o're his conquer'd King, He is the Generals Cypher now; and when Hee's joyn'd to him▪ he makes that One a Ten. The Kingdoms Saint; England no more shall stir To cry St. George, but now St Oliver. Hee's the Realm Ensign; and who goes to wring His Nose, is forc'd to cry, God save the King. He that can rout an Army with his name, And take a City, ere he views the same: His Souldiers may want bread, but n'ere shall fear (While hee's their General,) the want of Beer; No Wonder they wore Bayes, his Brewing-fat (Helicon-like) make Poets Laureat. When Brains in those Castalian liquors swim, We sing no Heathenish Pean, but a Hymne; And that by th' Spirit too, for who can chuse But sing Hosanna to this King of Jewes? Tremble you Scotish Zealots, you that han't Freed any Conscience from your Covenant: That for those bal'd Appellatives of Cause, Religion, and the Fundamental Laws, Have pull'd the old Episcopacy down, And as the Miter, so you'le serve the Crown. You that have made the Cap to th' Bonnet vaile, And made the Head a Servant to the Taile. And you curst spawne of Publicans, that sit In every County, as a plague to it; That with your Yeomen Sequestrating Knaves, Have made whole Counties beggerly, and Slaves. You Synod, that have sate so long to know Whether we must believe in God, or no;

You that have torn the Church, and sate t' im∣paire The Ten Commandements, the Creed, the Prayer; And made your honors pull down Heavens glory, While you set up that Calfe, your Directory: We shall no wicked Jews-ear'd Elders want, This Army's built of Churches Militant: These are new Tribes of Levi; for they be Clergy, yet of no Universitie. Pull down your Crests, for every bird shall gather, From your usurping back, a stollen feather. Your great Lay Levite, whose great Margent tires The patient Reader, while he blots whole quires, Nay reams with Treason; and with Nonsence too, To justifie what e're you say or do: Whose circumcised ears are hardly grown Ripe for another Persecution: He must to Scotland for another paire; For he will lose these, if he tarry here. ••urges that Reverend Presbydean of Pauls, Must (with his Poundage) leave his Cure of Souls, And into Scotland trot, that he may pick Out of that Kirk, a nick-nam'd Bishoprick. The Protean Hypocrites, that will ne're burn, Must here, or else at Tyburn take a turn. And Will. the Conqueror in a Scotish dance Must lead his running Army into France. Or he and's Juncto among those Crews In Holland build a Synagogue of Jewes, And spread Rebellion; Great Alexander Fears not a Pillory, like this Commander. And Bedlam John, that at his Clerks so raves, Using them not like servants, but like slaves.

He that so freely rail'd against his Prince, Call'd him dissembling s••btile Knave, and since Has stil'd the whole Army Bankrupts; said, that none Of their Estates were equal to his own: He that was by a strong Ambition led To set himself upon the Cities head: But when he has restor'd his both-side fees, Hee'l be as poor, or they as rich as hee's. And that still-gaping Tophet Goldsmiths Hall, With all his Furies, shall to ruine fall. Wee'l be no more gull'd by that Popish story, But shall reach Heav'n without that Purgatory: What Honour does he merit? what Renown? By whom all these Oppression are pull'd down. And such a Government is like to be In Church and State, as eye did never see: Magicians hold, hee'l set up Common-prayer; Looking in's face they find the Rubrick there. His Name shall never dye by fire nor floud, But in Church-windows stand, where Pictures stood▪ And if his Soul lothing that house of clay, Shall to another Kingdom march away, Under some Barnes floor his bones shall lye, Who Churches did, and Monuments defie: Where the rude Thrasher with much knocking on, Shall wake him at the Resurrection. And on his Grave since there must be no Stone, Shall stand this Epitaph; That he has none.

The Scotch War.

WHen first the Scottish War began The English man, we did trapan, with Pellit and Pike, The bonny blythe and cunning Scot Had then a Plot, which they did not, well smell, it's like; Although he could neither write, nor read, Yet our General Lashly cross'd the Tweed With his gay gangh of Blew-caps all, And we marcht with our Generall; We took New-castle in a trice, But we thought it had been Paradice, They did look all so bonny and gay, Till we took all their Pillage away.

Then did we streight to plundering fall Of great and small, for were all most valiant that day; And Jinny in her Satten Gown the best in Town, From Heel to Crown was gallant and gay; Our silks and sweets made such a smother, Next day we knew not one another: For Jockie did never so shine, And Jinny was never so fine; A geud faith a gat a ged Beaver then, But it's beat into a Blew-cap agen By a Redcoat, that did still cry, Rag, And a red snowt, a the Deel aw the Crag.

The English raised an Army streight With mickle state, and we did wate to face them as well;

Then every valiant Musquet man put fire in pan, And we began to lace them as well; But before the Sparks were made a Cole, They did every man pay for his Pole; Then their bought Land we lent them agen, Into Scotland we went with our men; We were paid by all, both Peasant and Prince, But I think we have soundly paid for it since, For our Silver is wasted, Sir, all, And our Silks hang in Westminster Hall.

The Godly Presbyterian, that holy man, The War began with Bishop and King, Where we like Waiters at a Feast But not the least of all the guest, must dish up the thing, We did take a Covenant to pull down The Cross, the Crofier, and the Crown, VVith the Rochet the Bishop did bear. And the Smock that his Chaplain did wear: But now the Covenant's gone to wrack, They say, it looks like an old Almanack, For Jockie is grown out of date, And Jinny is thrown out of late.

I must confesse the holy firk did only work Upon our Kirk for silver and meat, VVhich made us come with aw our broods, Venter our bloods for aw your goods, to pilfer & cheat; But we see what covetousness doth bring, For we lost our selves when we sold our King; And alack now and welly we cry, Our backs mow and bellies must dye; VVe fought for food, and not vain-glory, And so there's an end of a Scotish mans Story;

I curse all your Silver and Gold, Aw the worst tale that ever was told.

The Power of Money.

TIs not the silver nor gold for it self That makes men adore it, but 'tis for its power: For no man does doat upon pelf because pelf, But all Court the Lady in hope of her dower: The wonders that now in our dayes we behold, Done by the irresistable power of gold, Our Zeal, and our Love, and Allegiance do hold.

This purchaseth Kingdoms, Kings, Scepters, and Crowns; Wins Battels, and conquers the Conquerors bold; Takes Bulwarks, and Castles, and Cities, and Towns, And our prime Laws are writ in letters of gold; 'Tis this that our Parliament calls and creates, Turns Kings into Keepers, and Kingdomes to States, And peopledomes these into highdomes trans∣lates.

This made our black Synod to sit still so long, To make themselves rich, by making us poor; This made our bold Army so daring and strong, And made them turn them, like Geese, out of door;

'Twas this made our Covenant-makers to make it, And this made our Priests for to make us to take it, And this made both Makers and Takers for∣sake it.

'Twas this spawn'd the dunghill Crew of Com∣mittees and 'strators, Who live by picking the Crockadile Parlia∣ments gums; This first made, and then prospered the Rebells and Traytors, And made Gentry of those that were the Nati∣ons scums: This Herald gives Armes not for merit, but store, And gives Coats to those that did sell Coats before, If their pockets be but lin'd well with argent and ore.

This, plots can devise, and discover what they are; This, makes the great Fellons the lesser con∣demn; This, sets those on the Bench, that should stand at the Bar, Who Judge such as by right ought to Execute them; Gives the boysterous Clown his unsufferable pride, Makes Beggars, and Fools, and Usurpers to ride, Whiles ruin'd Propriators run by their side.

Stamp either the Armes of the State or the King, St. George or the Breeches, C. R. or O. P. The Cross or the Fiddle, 'tis all the same thing; This, still is the Queen whosoe'er the King be; This, lines our Religion, builds Doctrine & Truth, With Zeal and the Spirit the factious endueth, To club with St. Katharine, or sweet Sister Ruth.

'Tis money makes Lawyers give Judgement, or plead On this side, or that side, on both sides, or neither; This makes young men Clerks that can scarce write or read, And spawns arbitrary Orders as various as the weather; This makes your blew Lecturers pray, preach, and prate Without reason or sence against Church, King, or State, To shew the thin lining of his twice-covered pate.

'Tis money makes Earls, Lords, Knights, and Esquires Without breeding, descent, wit, learning, or merit; This makes Ropers, and Ale-drapers, Sheriffs of Shires, Whose trade is not so low, nor so base as their spirit: This Justices makes, and wise ones we know, Furr'd Aldermen too, and Mayors also; This makes the old Wise trot, and makes the Mare to go.

This makes your blew aprons Right Worshipfull; And for this we stand bare, and before them do fall; They leave their young heirs well fleeced with wooll, Whom we must call Squires, and then they pay all: Who with beggarly souls, though their bodies be gawdy, Court the pale Chamber-maid, and nick-name her a Lady, And for want of good wit, they do swear and talk bawdy.

This Mariages makes, 'tis a Center of love, It draws on the man, & it pricks up the woman Birth, virtue, and parts no affection can move, Whilst this makes a Lord stoop to the Brat of a Broom-man; This gives virtue and beauty to the Lasses that you wooe, Makes women of all sorts and ages to do; 'Tis the soul of the world, and the worldling too.

This procures us whores, hawks, hounds & hares; 'Tis this keeps your Groom, and your Groom keeps your Gelding; This built Citizens Wives, as well as wares; And this makes your coy Lady so coming and yielding; This buys us good Sack, which revives like the spring, 'Tis this your Poetical fancies do bring; And this makes you as merry as we that do sing.

Contentment.

WHat though the ill times do run crosse to our will, And Fortune still frown upon us, Our hearts are our own, and shall be so still, A fig for the plagues they lay on us; Let us take t'other cup, to chear our hearts up, And let it be purest Canary; We'll ne'er shrink nor care, at the Crosses we bear, Let them plague us untill they be weary.

What though we are made both Beggars and Slaves? Let's endure it, and stoutly drink on't, 'Tis our comfort we suffer 'cause we wont be Knaves, Redemption will come e're we think on't; We must flatter and fear, those that over us are, And make them believe that we love them, When their Tyranny is past, we can serve them at last As they have serv'd those have been above them.

Let the Levites go preach for the Goose or the Pig, To drink Wine at Christmas or Easter: The Doctor may labour our lives to new trig, And make Nature fast while we feast her; The Lawyer may bawl, out his Lungs and his Gall For Plaintiff, and for Defendant, At his Book the Scholar lye, while with Plato he dye With an ugly hard word at the end on't.

Then here's to the man that delights in solfa, For Sack is his only Rozin. A load of hey ho, is not worth a ha ha, He's a man for my money that draws in; Then a pin for the muck, and a pin for ill luck, 'Tis better be blithe and frolick, Than sigh out our breath, and invite our own death By the Gout, or the Stone, or the Collick.

On the Goldsmiths Committee.

COm Drawer, some wine, Or wee'll pull down the Sign, For we are all joviall Compounders: We'll make the house ring, With healths to our KING, And confusion light on his Confounders.

Since Goldsmiths Committee Affords us no pitty, Our sorrows in Wine we will steep 'um, They force us to take Two Oaths, but wee'll make A third, that we ne'er meant to keep 'um.

And next, who e're sees, We drink on our knees, To the King, may he thirst that repines: A fig for those Traytors That look to our waters, They have nothing to do with our Wines.

And next, here's a Cup To the Queen, fill it up, Were it poyson we would make an end on't; May Charles and she meet. And tread under feet Both Presbyter and Independent.

To the Prince, and all others, His Sisters and Brothers, As low in condition as high born, We'll drink this, and pray That shortly they may See all them that wrongs them at Tyburn.

And next, here's three bouls To all gallant souls, That for the King did, and will venter; May they flourish when those That are his, and their foes, Are hang'd and ram'd down to the Center.

And next, let a Glasse To our undoers passe, Attended with two or three Curses: May plagues sent from Hell Stuff their bodies as well As the Cavaliers coyn doth their purses.

May the Cannibals of Pym Eat them up limb by limb, Or a hot Feaver scorch 'um to embers; Pox keep 'um in bed Untill they are dead, And repent for the losse of their Members.

And may they be found In all to abound, Both with Heaven and the Countries anger, May they never want Fractions, Doubts, Fears, and Distractions, Till the Gallow-tree choaks them from danger.

The mad Zealot.

AM I mad, O noble Festus, When Zeal and godly knowledge Have put me in hope To deal with the Pope, As well as the best in the Colledge? Boldly I preach, hate a Crosse, hate a Surplice, Miters, Copes, and Rochets: Come hear me pray nine times a day, And fill your heads with Crochets.

In the house of pure Emanuel I had my Education, Where my friends surmise I dazell'd mine eyes With the light of Revelation. Boldly I preach, &c.

They bound me like a Bedlam, They lasht my four poor quarters; Whilst thus I endure, Faith makes me sure To be one of Foxes Martyrs. Boldly I preach, &c.

These injuries I suffer Through Antichrists perswasions; Take off this Chain, Neither Rome nor Spain Can resist my strong invasions. Boldly I preach, &c.

Of the beasts ten horns (God blesse us!) I have knock'd off three already: If they let them alone, I'le leave him none: But they say I am too heady. Boldly I preach, &c.

When I sack'd the seven-hill'd City, I met the great red Dragon; I kept him aloof With the armour of proof, Though here I have never a rag on. Boldly I preach, &c.

With a fiery Sword and Target There fought I with this Monster: But the sons of Pride My Zeal deride, And all my deeds misconster. Boldly I preach, &c.

I unhors'd the Whore of Babel With the Lance of Inspirations: I made her stink, And spill her drink In the cup of Abominations, Boldly I preach, &c.

I have seen two in a Vision, With a flying Book between them: I have been in despair Five times a year, And cur'd by reading Greenham, Boldly I preach, &c.

I observ'd in Perkins Tables The black Lines of Damnation, Those crooked veins So stuck in my Brains, That I fear'd my Reprobation, Boldly I preach, &c.

In the holy tongue of Canaan I plac'd my chiefest pleasure, Till I prickt my foot, With an Hebrew root, That I bled beyond all measure. Boldly I preach, &c.

I appear'd before th' Archbishop, And all the High Commission: I gave him no Grace, But told him to his face That he favour'd Superstition. Boldly I preach, hate a Crosse, hate a Surplice, Miters, Copes, and Rochets: Come hear me pray nine times a day, And fill your heads with Crotchets.

Of banishing the Ladies out of Town.

1.

A Story strange I will unfold, Then which a sadder ne're was told, How the Ladies were from London sent, With mickle woe and discontent.

2

A heart of Marble would have bled, To see this rout of white and red, Both York and Lancaster must fly, With all their painted Monarchy.

3.

Those faces which men so much prize, In Mrs. Gibbes her Liveries, Must leave their false and borrowed hue, And put on grief that's only true.

4.

Those pretty patches long and round, Which covered all that was not sound; Must be forgotten at the Farmes, As useless and suspicious charmes.

5.

Now we must leave all our Designes, That were contriv'd within the Lines; Communication is deny'd, If to our Husbands we be try'd.

6.

And here's the misery alone, We must have nothing but our own, Oh give us Liberty, and we Will never aske propriety.

7.

Alas how can a Kisse be sent, From Rocky Cornwall into Kent? Or how can Sussex stretch an arm To keep a Northern servant warm,

8.

Oh London! Centre of all Mirth, Th' Epitome of English Earth; All Provinces are in the streets, And Warwick-shire with Essex meets.

9.

Then farewell Queen-street, and the Fields, And Garden that such pleasure yields, Oh who would such fair Lodgings change, To nestle in a plunder'd Grange!

10.

Farewell good places old and new, And Oxford Kates once more adieu; But it goes unto our very hearts, To leave the Cheese-cakes and the Tarts.

11.

Farewell Bridge-foot and Bear thereby, And those bald-pates that stand so high,

We wish it from our very Souls, That other Heads were on those powles.

12.

But whether hands of Parliament, Or of Husbands, we're content, Since all alike such Traytors be, Both against us and Monarchy.

Loyalty confin'd.

BEat on proud Billowes, Boreas Blow, Swell curled Waves, high as Jove's roof, Your incivility doth shew, That innocence is tempest proof. Though surely Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm, Then strike affliction, for thy wounds are balm.

That which the world miscalls a Goale, A private Closet is to me, Whilst a good Conscience is my Baile, And Innocence my Liberty: Locks Barres and Solitude together met, Make me no Prisoner but an Anchorit.

I whil'st I wish'd to be retir'd Into this private room was turn'd, As if their wisedomes had conspir'd, The Salamander should be burn'd.

The Cynick hugs his poverty, The Pelican her wilderness, And 'tis the Indians pride to be Naked on frozen Caucasus. Contentment cannot smart, Stoicks we see Make torments easie to their Apathy.

These Menacles upon my Arm, I as my Mistris's favours wear; And for to keep my Ankles warm, I have some Iron Shackles there. These walls are but my Garrison; this Cell Which men call Goal, doth prove my Cittadel.

So he that strook at Jasons life, Thinking he had his purpose sure: By a malicious friendly Knife, Did only wound him to a cure. Malice I see wants wit, for what is meant, Mischief oft-times, proves favour by th' event▪

I'me in this Cabinet lockt up, Like some high-prized Margaret, Or like some great Mogul or Pope, Are cloystered up from publick sight. Retirement is a piece of Majesty, And thus proud Sultan, I'me as great as thee.

Here sin for want of food must starve, Where tempting Objects are not seen; And these strong Walls do only serve, To keep Vice out, and keep me in. Malice of late's grown charitable sure, I'me not committed, but I'me kept secure.

Whence once my Prince affliction hath, Prosperity doth Treason seem; And for to smooth so tough a Path, I can learn Patience from him. Now not to suffer, shews no Loyal heart, When Kings wants ease, Subjects must bear a part.

Have you not seen the Nightingale, A Pilgrim koopt into a Cage, How doth she chant her wonted tale, In that her narrow hermitage. Even then her charming melody doth prove, That all her Boughs are Trees, her Cage a Grove.

My soul is free as the ambient aire, Although my baser part's immur'd, Whilest Loyal thoughts do still repair, T' accompany my Solitude. And though immur'd, yet I can chirp and sing, Disgrace to Rebels, glory to my King.

VVhat though I cannot see my King, Neither in his Person or his Coyne, Yet contemplation is a thing, That renders what I have not mine. My King from me, what Adamant can part, VVhom I do wear engraven on my heart.

I am that Bird whom they combine, Thus to deprive of Liberty; But though they do my Corps confine, Yet maugre hate, my Soul is free. Although Rebellion do my Body bind, My King can only captivate my mind.

On the demolishing the Forts.

IS this the end of all the toil, And labour of the Town? And did our Bulwarks rise so high Thus low to tumble down?

All things go by contraries now, We fight to still the Nation, Who build Forts to pull down Popery, Pull down for Edification.

The Indepedents tenets, and The wayes so pleasing be. Our City won't be bound about, But stands for Liberty.

The Popish doctrine shall no more Prevail within our Nation; For now we see that by our works, There is no Justification.

What an Almighty army's this, How worthy of our praysing, That with one Vote can blow down that All we so long were raising!

Yet let's not wonder at this Change, For thus 'twill be with all. These works did lift themselves too high, And Pride must have a fall.

And when both Houses vote agen, The Cavies to be gone, Nor dare to come within the lines Of Communication.

They must reserve the sense or else, Referr't to the Divines, And they had need fit seven years more Ere they can read those lines.

They went to make a Gotham on't, For now they did begin To build these mighty banks about, To keep the Cuckoes in.

Alas what need they take such pains! For why a Cucko here Might find so many of his Mates, Hee'l sing here all the year.

Has Isaac our L. Maior, L. Maior, With Tradesmen and his Wenches, Spent so much time, and Cakes and Beer, To edifie these Trenches!

All trades did shew their skill in this, Each Wife an Engineer; The Mairess took the tool in hand, The maids the stones did bear.

These Bulwarks stood for Popery, And yet we never fear'd um, And now they worship and fall down, Before those Calves that rear'd 'um.

But though for Superstition, The Crosses have been down'd, Who'ld think these works would Popish turn, That ever have been round?

This spoyles our Palmistry; for when Wee'l read the Cities fate, We find nor Lines nor Crosses now, As it hath had of late.

No wonder that the Aldermen, Will no more mony lend, When they that in this seven years, Such learned works have pen'd.

Now to debase their lofty lines, In which the wits delighted▪ 'Tis thought they'l nere turn Poets more, Because their works are slighted.

These to a dolefull tune are set, For they that in the town. Did every where cry Up go we, Now they must sing down down.

But if that Tyburn do remain, When tother slighted be, The Cits will thither flock and sing, Hay, hay, then up go we.

Upon Routing the Scots Army. A SONG.

To the Tune of Through the Wood Lady.

1.

CAm lend, lend y'are lugs Joes, an Ise speak a Song, Sing heome agen Jocky, sing heome agen Jocky, O hes velient Acts an hes Prowes emong, Sing heome agen heome agen O valent Jocky.

2.

Sirs, Jockie's a Man held a mickle Note, Sing heome agen Jocky, &c. Tha Breech o tha Covenant stuck in hes Throte, Sing heome agen, heome agen, &c.

3.

For Jockie was riteous, whilk ye wad admire, Sing heome agen Jocky, &c. A fooght for tha Kirk, bet a plunder'd tha Quire Sing heome agen Jocky, &c.

4.

An Jockie waxt roth, and toll Angland a cam, Sing heome agen Jocky, &c. Fro whence hee'd return, but alack a is lame, Sing heome agen Jocky, &c.

5.

An Jockie was armed fro topp toll to toe, Sing heome agen Jocky, &c. Wi a po're o Men and th'are geod D— I tro, Sing heome agen Jocky, &c.

6.

So valent I wis they were, an sa prat, Sing heome agen Jocky, &c. Ne Cock nor Hen durst stand in thare gat, Sing heome agen Jocky, &c.

7

In every strete thay ded sa flutter, Sing heome agen Jocky, &c. Ne Child durst shaw his Bred and Butter, Sing heome agen, Jocky, &c.

8.

Whan th' Anglish Forces they her'd on o're night, Sing heome again Jocky, &c. Next Morne thay harnest themsels for a fight, Sing heome agen, heome agen, &c.

9.

Thare D— wes tha Mon that wad be sen ••••oot, Sing heome agen, Jocky, &c. He feas't tham awhile, then turn'd Ars's about, Sing heome agen, heome agen, &c.

10.

Tha Men that ater this valent Scot went, Sing heome agen Jocky, &c.

Had ner foond him oout, bet by a strong sent, Sing heome agen, heome agen O val••nt Jocky.

11.

Bet se tha reward ò that Cowardly Crue, Sing heome agen Jocky, &c. Thare Countremon Ballatine sent 'em to Corfew, Not home agen, home agen, O slavish Jocky.

The disloyal Timist.

1.

NOw our holy Wars are don, Betwixt the Father and the Son; And since we have by righteous fate, Distrest a Monarch and his Mate. And first their heirs fly into France To weep out their Inheritance; Let's set open all our Packs, Which contain ten thousand wracks; Cast on the shore of the red Sea Of Naseby, and of Newbery. If then you will come provided with Gold, We dwell Close by Hell, Where wee'l sell What you will, That is ill; For Charity waxeth cold.

2.

Hast thou done murther, or bloud spilt, We can soon giv't another name, That will keep thee from all blame: But be it still provided thus, That thou hast once been one of us; Gold is the God that shall pardon the Guilt, For we have What shall save Thee from th' Grave, Since the Law We can awe; Although a famous Prince's bloud were spilt.

3.

If a Church thou hast bereft Of its Plate, 'tis holy-theft; Or for Zeal-sake, if thou beest Prompted on to take a Priest; Gold is a sure prevailing Advocate: Then come Bring a summe, Law is dumb: And submits, To our wits; For it's Policy guides a State.

A Medley.

1.

ROom for a Gamester that plays at all he sees, Whose fickle faith is fram'd, Sir, to fit such times as these; One that cryes Amen, to ev'ry factious Prayer, From Hugh Peters Pulpit, to St. Peters Chair: One that can comply with Crosier and with Crown; And yet can bouze A full carouze, While bottles tumble down, Dery down.

2.

This is the way to trample without trembling. Since Sycophants only secure; Covenants and Oaths are badges of dissembling, 'Tis the Politique pulls down the pure: To plunder and pray, To protest and betray Are the only ready wayes to be great, Flattering will do the feat: Ne're go, ne're stir Have ventred farther, Then the greatest o' th' Damme's in the Town, From a Copper to a Crown.

3.

I am in an excellent homor now to think well, And I'me in another humor now to drink well;

Fill us up a Beer-bowl boy, That we may drink it merrily; And let none other see, Nor cause to understand, For if we do, 'tis ten to one we are Trepand.

4.

Come fill us up a brace of Quarts, Whose Anagram is call'd true hearts; If all were true as I would hav't, And Britain were cur'd of its humor, Then I should very well like my fate, And drink off my Wine at a freer rate, Without any noise or tumor; And then I should fix my humor.

5.

But since 'tis no such matter, change your hue, I may cog and flatter, so may you; Religion Is a wigeon, And reason Is Treason; And he that hath a Noble heart may bid the world adieu.

6.

We must be like the Scotish man, Who with intent to beat down schism, Brought forth a Presbyterian, A Canon and a Catechism. If Beuk wont do't, then Jockie shoot, The Kirk of Scotland doth command; And what hath been, since he come in, I am sure we ha' cause to understand.

A Medley of the Nations.

The Scot.

1.

I Am the bonny Scot Sir, My name is Mickle John; 'Tis I was in the Plot Sir When first the Wars began: I left the Court one thousand Six hundred forty one; But since the flight At Worster fight We are aw undone. I serv'd my Lord and Master When as he liv'd at home, Untill by sad disaster He receiv'd his doom; But now we sink, Uds bred I think The Deel's gat in his room. He ne man spares, But stamps and stares At all Christendom.

2.

I have travel'd mickle grounds, Since I came from Worster bounds, I have gang'd the jolly rounds Of the neighbouring Nations;

And what their opinions are Of the Scotch and English war, In geed faith I sal declare, And their approbations. Jockie swears He has his load, Bears the rod, Comes from God, And complaints go very odd Since the siege at Worster; We were wounded Tag and rag, Foot and leg, Wemb and crag; Hark I hear the Dutchman brag, And begin to bluster.

The Dutch.

3.

Uds Sacrament, sal Hoghen Moghen States Strike down der top sails unto puny Powers; Ten twosand tun of Tivel Dammy Fates, If dat der Ships and Goods prove not all ours: Since dat bloot and wounds do delight dem, Tararara Trumpet sounds, Let Van Tromp go fort and fight dem; All de States shall first be crown'd, English Skellam fight not on goat side; Out at last the Flemins bear, Dey ha' giv'n us sush a broad side; Dat ick sal be forc't to retreat, See de French man he comes in compleat.

The French.

4.

By Gat Mounsieur 'tis much in vain For Dushland, France, or Spain, To crosse de English main; De Nation now is grown so strong, De Divla er't be long Must learna de same tongue. 'Tis bettra den far to combine, To sel dem Wine, And teasha dem to make der Laty fine; We'll teash dem for to trip and minsh, To kick and winsh, For by de Sword we never sal convince, Since every Brewer dere can beat a Prince.

The Spaniard.

5.

What are the English to quarrel so prone, Dat dey cannot now adayes let deir neighbour a∣lone, And sal de Grave and the Catholick King, Before ever dus control'd wid a sword and a sling; Sal bode de Indias be left unto de sway, And purity a dose dat do plunder and pray; E're dat we will suffer such affronts for to be, We'll tumble dem down, as you sal sennon see:

The Welsh.

6.

••affy was once a Cottamighty of Wales, Put her Cosin O. P. was a ••reater, Was come in her Country Cats••pluttery nailes, Was take her welch hook and was peat her; Was eat up her Shee••e, Her Tuck and her Geese, Her Pick, her Capon was ty for't; Ap Richard, ap Owen▪ ap Morgon, ap S••ef••n, Ap Shenkin, ap Powel was fly for't.

The Irish.

7.

O hone, O hone, poor Teg and shone, O hone may howl and cry, St. Patrick help dy Country men, Or fait and trot we dye; De ••nglish steal our h••art of Ʋsquebagh, Dey put us to de sword all in Dewguedagh▪ Help us St. Patrick we ha no Saint at all but dee▪ O let us cry no more, O hone, a cram, a cree!

The English.

8.

A Crown, a Crown, make room, The English man is come,

Whose valour Is taller Than all Christendome: The Spanish, French, and Dutch, Scotch, Welch, and Irish Grutch, We fear not, We care not, For we can deal with such. You thought when we began in a Civil war to waste, Our Tillage Your Pillage Should come home at last: For when we Could not agree, You thought to share in our fall; But nere stir Sir, For first Sir We shall noose you all.

A Medley.

3.

The English. LEt the Trumpets sound, And the Rocks rebound, Our English Natives comming; Let the Nations swarm, And the Princes storm; We value not their drumming. 'Tis not France that looks so smug Old fashions still renewing, It is not the Spanish shrug,

Scotish cap, or Irish rug; Nor the Dutch-mans double jug Can help what is ensuing, Pray my Masters look about, For something is a Brewing.

2.

He that is a Favorite consulting with Fortune, If he grow not wiser, then he's quite undone▪ In a rising Creature we daily see certainly, He is a Retreater that fails to go on: He that in a Builder's trade Stops e're the Roof be made, By the Aire he may be betray'd And overthrown: He that hath a Race begun, And let's the Goale be won; He had better never run, But let 't alone.

3.

Then plot rightly, March fightly, Shew your glittering Arms brightly: Charge hightly, Fight sprightly: Fortune gives renown. A right riser Will prize her, She makes all the World wiser; Still try her, Wee'l gain by her A Coffin or a Crown.

4.

If the Dutchman or the Spaniard Come but to oppose us, We will thrust them out of the Main-yard, If they do but nose us: Hans, Hans, think upon thy sins, And then submit to Spain thy Master; For though now you look like Friends, Yet he will never trust you after; Drink, drink, give the Dutchman drink, And let the tap and kan run faster; For faith, at the last I think A Brewer will become your Master.

5.

Let not poor Teg and Shone Vender from der Houses, Lest dey be quite undone In der very trowzes: And all her Orphans bestow'd under hatches, And made in London free der to cry matches; St. Patrick wid his Harp do tun'd wid tru string Is not fit to unty St. Hewson's shooes-strings.

6.

Methinks I hear The Welch draw near, And from each lock a louse trops; Ap Shon, ap LLoyd, Will spen'd her ploot. For to defend her mouse-traps: Mounted on her K••fflebagh With coot store of Koradagh,

The Pritish war begins. With a hook her was over come her Pluck her to her, thrust her from her, By cot her was preak her shins. Let Taffy fret, And Welch-hook whet, And troop up Pettigrees; We only tout, Tey will stink us out, Wit Leeks and toasted Sheeze.

7.

But Jockie now and Jinny comes, Our Brethren must approve on't; For pret a Cot dey beat der drums Onely to break de Couvenant. Dey bore St. Andrew's Crosse, Till our Army quite did rout dem, ••ut when we put um to de Losse De deal a Crosse about dem: The King and Couvenant they crave, Their Cause must needs be further'd; Although so many Kings they have Most barbarously, basely murther'd.

8.

The French. The French-man he will give con∣sent, Though he trickle in our veins; That willingly We may agree, To a marriage with Grapes and Graines: He conquers us with kindnesse, And doth so far entrench,

That fair, and wise, and young, and rich Are finified by the French: He prettifies us with Feathers and Fans, With Petticoats, Doublets, and Hose; And faith they shall Be welcome all If they forbear the nose. For love or for fear, Let Nations forbear; If fortune exhibit a Crown, A Coward he Must surely be, That will not put it on.

The Levellers Rant.

TO the Hall, to the hall, For justice we call, On the King and his pow'rful adherents & friends Who still have endeavour'd, but we work their ends. 'Tis we will pull down what e're is above us, And make them to fear us, that never did love us, Wee'l level the proud, and make every degree, To our Royalty bow the Knee, 'Tis no lesse then treason, 'Gainst freedom and Reason For our brethren to be higher then we.

2.

First the thing, call'd a King, To judgement we bring, And the spawn of the court, that were prouder then he, And next the two Houses united shall be,

It does to the Romish religion enveagle, For the State to be two-headed like the spredeagle Wee'l purge the superfluous Members away, They are too many Kings to sway, And as we all teach, 'Tis our Liberties breach, For the Freeborn Saints to obey.

3

Not a claw, in the Law, Shall keep us in aw; Wee'l have no cushon-cuffers to tell us of hell, For we are all gifted to do it as well, 'Tis freedom that we do hold forth to the Nations To enjoy our fellow-creatures as at the creation, The Carnal mens wives are for men of the spirit Their wealth is our own by merit, For we that have right, By the Law called Might, Are the Saints that must judge and inherit▪

The Safety.

SInce it has been lately enacted high Treason, For a man to speak truth of the heads of the state Let every wise man make use of his reason, See and hear what he can, but take heed what he prate. For the proverbs do learn us, He that stays from the battail sleeps in a whole skin, And our words are our own, if we can keep 'um in. What fools are we then, that to prattle begin Of things that do not concern us?

2

Let the three kingdoms fall to one of the prime ones My mind is a Kingdom, and shall be to me, I could make it appear, if I had but the time once, I'm as happy with one, as he can be with three. If I could but enjoy it He thats mounted on high, is a mark for the hate, And the envy of every pragmatical pate, While he that creeps low, lives safe in his state, And greatness do scorn to annoy it.

3

I am never the better which side gets the battel, The Tubs or the Crosses, what is it to me? They'l never increase my goods or my cattel, But a beggar's a beggar and so he shall be, Unless he turn Traytor, Let M••sers take courses to hep up their treasure, Whose lust has no limits, whose mind has no measur•• Let me be but quiet and take a little pleasure, A little contents my nature.

4.

My Petition shall be that Canary be cheaper, Without Patent or Custom, or cursed Excise; That the Wits may have leave to drink deeper and deeper, And not be undone, while their heads they bap∣tise, And in liquor do drench 'um; If this were but granted, who would not desire, To dub himself one of Apollo's own Quire? We'll ring out the Bells, when our noses are on fire, And the quarts shall be the buckets to drench 'um,

5.

I account him no wit, that is gifted at railing, And flirting at those that above him do sit, While they do out-wit him, with whipping and goaling, Then his purse and his person both pay for his wit, 'Tis better to be drinking; If sack were reform'd into twelve-pence a quart, I'ld study for money to Marchandize for't, And a friend that is true, we together will sport. Not a word, but we'l pay them with thinking.

The Leveller.

NAy prethee don't fly me, But ••it thee down by me, I cannot endure A man that's demure, Go hang up your Worships and Sirs; Your Congies and Trips, With your legs and your lips, Your Madams and Lords, And such finikin words, With the Complements you bring, That do spell NO-THING, You may keep for the Chains and the Furs: For at the beginning was no Peasant or Prince, And 'twas policy made the distinction since.

2.

Those Titles of Honours Do remain in the Donours,

And not in that thing, To which they do cling, If his soul be too narrow to wear 'um, No delight can I see In that word call'd degree, Honest Dick sounds as well As a name of an ell, That with Titles doth swell, And sounds like a spell, To affright mortal ears that hear 'um, He that wears a brave soul, and dares gallantly do, May be his own Herald and Godfather too,

3.

Why should we then doat on, One with a Fools coat on? Whose Coffers are cram'd, But yet he'l be damn'd Ere he'l do a good act or a wise one? What Reason has he To be ruler o're me? That's a Lord in his chest, But in's head and his breast, Is empty and bare, Or but puff'd up with air, And can neither assist nor advise one. Honour's but air, and proud flesh but dust is, 'Tis we Commons make Lords, and the Clerk makes the Justice.

4.

But since men must be Of a different degree, Because most do aspire, To be greater and higher, Then the rest of their Fellows and Brothers.

He that has such a spirit, Let him gain it by's merit, Spend his brains, wealth, or blood For his Countries good, And make himself fit By his valour or wit, For things above the reach of all others. For Honour's a Prize, and who wins it may wear it, If not 'tis a Badge and a burthen to bear it.

5.

For my part let me Be but quiet and free, I'le drink Sack and obey, And let great ones sway, And spend their whole time in thinking, I'le ne're busie my Pate With secrets of State, The News books I'le burn all, And with the Diurnall Light Tobacco, and admit That they're so far fit, As they serve good company and drinking. All the name I desire is an honest Good-Fellow, And that man has no worth that won't some∣times be mellow.

The Royalists Answer.

I Have reason to fly thee, And not sit down by thee; For I hate to behold, One so sawcy and bold,

To deride and contemn his Superiours, Our Madams and Lords, And such mannerly words, With the gestures that be Fit for every degree, Are things that we and you Both claim as our due From all those that are our Inferiours. For from the beginning there were Princes we know, 'Twas you Levellers hate 'um, 'cause you can't be so.

2.

All Titles of Honours Were at first in the Donours. But being granted away With the Grantees stay, Where he wear a small soul or a bigger. There's a necessity That there should be degree. Where 'tis due we'l afford A Sir John, and my Lord, Though Dick, Tom and Jack, Will serve you and your Pack, Honest Dick's name enough for a Digger. He that has a strong Purse can all things be or do, He is valiant and wise and religious too.

3.

We have cause to adore, That man that has store, Though a Bore or a sot, There's something to be got; Though he be neither honest nor witty; Make him high, let him rule, Hee'l be playing the fool,

And transgresse, then we'l squeze Him for fines and for fees. And so we shall gain, By the wants of his brain, 'Tis the Fools-cap that maintains the City. If honour be air, 'tis in common, and as fit, For the fool & the clown, as for the champion or the wit.

4.

Then why mayn't we be Of different degree? And each man aspire To be greater and higher Then his wiser or honester brother, Since Fortune and Nature Their favours do scatter; This hath valour, that wit, T'other wealth, nor is't fit That one should have all, For then what would befall Him, that's born nor to one nor to'ther? Though honour were a prize at first, now 'tis a chattle, And as merchantable grown as your wares or your cattle.

5.

Yet in this we agree, To live quiet and free, To drink sack and submit, And not shew our wit By our prating, but silence, and thinking, Let the politick Jewes Read Diurnals and Newes, And lard their discourse, With a Comment that's worse,

That which pleaseth me best Is a Song or a Jest, And my obedience I'le shew by my drinking. He that drinks well, does sleep well, he that sleeps well, doth think well, He that thinks well, does do well, he that does well must drink well.

The Independents resolve.

COme Drawer and fill us about some Wine Let's merrily tipple the day's our own, VVee'l have our delights, let the Country go pine, Let the King and his Kingdom groan. The Crown is our own, and so shall continue, VVee'l Monarchy baffle quite, VVee'l drink off the Kingdomes revenue, And sacrifice all to delight. 'Tis Power that brings Us all to be Kings, And wee'l be all crown'd by our might.

2.

A fig for divinity lectures and law, And all that to Loyalty do pretend, While we by the sword keep the Kingdom in aw, Our Power shall never have end. The Church and the State wee'l turn into liquor, And spend a whole Town in a day, We'l melt all their bodkins the quicker Into Sack, and drink them away.

We'l keep the demeans And turn Bishops and Deans, And over the Presbyters sway.

3.

The nimble St. Patrick is sunk in his boggs, And his Country men sadly cry O hone! O hone! St. Andrew and's Kirk-men are lost in the foggs, Now we are the Saints alone. Then on our Superiours and Equalls we trample, And Jockie our stirrup shall hold, The City's our Mule for example, That we may in plenty be roul'd. Each delicate dish, Shall but Eccho our wish And our drink shall be cordial gold.

The Lamentation.

MOurn, London, mourn, Bathe thy polluted soul in tears; Return, return, Thou hast more cause of grief, then th'hadst for fears, For the whole Kingdom now begins To feel thy sorrow as they saw thy sins, And now do no Compassion show Unto thy misery and woe, But slight thy sufferings as thou didst theirs.

2.

Pride towring Pride, And boyling lust, those fatal twins, Sit side by side, And are become Plantations of sins.

Hence thy Rebellions first did flow, Both to the King above, and him below. And sordid sloth The Nurse of both, Have rais'd thy crimes to such a growth, That sorrow must conclude as sin begins.

3.

Fire raging fire, Shall burn thy stately towers down, Yet not expire, Tygres and Wolves, or men more savage grown, Thy Childrens brains, and thine shall dash, And in your blood their guilty tallons wash, Thy Daughters must Allay their lust, Mischiefs will be on mischief thrust, Till thy Cap tumble as thou mad'st the Crown.

4.

Cry London cry! Now now petition for redresse, Where canst thou fly? Thy emptyed Chests augment thy heavinesse, The Gentry and the Commons loath, Th' adored Houses slight thee worse than both, The King poor Saint, Would help, but can't; To heav'n alone unfold thy want, Thence came thy Plagues, thence onely Pity flow'th.

The Reformation.

TEll not me of Lords or Laws, Rules or Reformation, All that's done's not worth two straws, To the welfare of the Nation. Men in power do ra••t it still, And give no reason but their will, For all their domination. Or if they do an act that's just, 'Tis not because they would▪ but must, To Gratifie some parties lust, Or merely for a fashion.

2.

Our expence of blood and purse Has produc'd no profit. Men are still as bad or worse, And will be what e're comes of it. We've shuffled out, and shuffled in, The persons, but retain the sin, To make our game the surer, Yet spite of all our pains and skill, The Knaves all in the pack are still, And ever were and ever will, Though something now demurer.

3.

And it cannot but be so, Since those toys in fashion, And of Souls so base and low, And mere Bigots of the Na••ion, Whose designs are power and wealth▪ At which, by rapines, fraud, and stealth,

Audaciously they vent ye, They lay their Consciences aside, And turn with every winde and tide, Puff'd on by Ignorance and Pride, And all to look like Gentry.

4.

Crimes are not punish'd 'cause their Crimes, But 'cause they're low and little, Mean men for mean faults in these times Make satisfaction to a tittle; While those in office and in power, Boldly the underlings devour Our Cobweb laws can't hold 'um. They sell for many a Thousand crown, Things which were never yet their own, And this is law and custom grown. 'Cause those do judge that sold 'um.

5.

Brothers still with Brothers brawl, And for trifles sue 'um, For two Pronouns that spoyl all, Those contentious Meum, Tuum, The wary Lawyer buyes and builds, While the Client sells his fields, To sacrifice to's fury; And when he thinks to obtain his right He's baffled off, or beaten quite, By th' Judges will, or Lawyers slight, Or ignorance of the Jury.

6.

See the Trades-man how he thrives With perpetual trouble, How he ••heats, and how he strives His Estate t'enlarge and double,

Extort, oppress, grind and encroach, To be a Squire, and keep a Coach, And to be one o'th' Quorum, Who may with's Brother worships ••it, And judge without law, fear or wit, Poor petty Thieves that nothing get, And yet are brought before 'um.

7.

And his way to get all this Is mere dissimulation, No factious Lecture does he miss, And scapes no schism that's in fashion. But with short hair and shining shooes, He with two Pens and's Note-book goes, And winks and writes at randome; Thence with short meal and tedious Grace, In a loud tone and Publick place, Sings Wisedoms hymnes, that trot and pace, As if Goliah scan'd um.

8.

But when death begins his threats, And his Conscience struggles, To call to mind his former cheats Then at heav'n he turns his juggles. And out of all's ill-gotten store, He gives a dribling to the poor, In a Hospital or School-house, And the suborned Priest for's hire Quite frees him from th' infernal fire, And places him ith' Angels quire, Thus these Jack-puddings fool us.

9.

All he gets by's pains ith' close, Is that he dyed worth so much,

Which he on's doubtfull seed bestows, That neither care nor know much, Then Fortunes favourite his heir, Bred base, and ignorant and bare, Is blown up like a bubble, Who wondring at's own suddain rise, By Pride, Simplicity and Vice, Falls to's sports, drink, drab and dice And makes all fly like stubble.

10.

And the Church the other twin, Whose mad zeal enrag'd us, Is not purify'd a pin, By all those broyles in which she engag'd us, We, our Wives turn'd out of doors, And took in Concubines and Whores, To make an alteration Our Pulpitteers are proud and bold, They their own Wills and factions hold, And sell salvation still for Gold, And here's our Reformation.

11.

'Tis a madnesse then to make, Thriving our employment, And lucre love, for Lucres sake, Since we've possession, not enjoyment. Let the times run on their course, For opposition makes them worse, We ne're shall better find 'um, Let Grand••es wealth and power ingrosse, And honour too, while we sit close, And laugh and take our plenteous dose, Of sack and never mind 'um.

CHRONOSTICON Decollationis CAROLI Regis trice∣simo die Januari••▪ secunda hora Pome∣ridiana, Anno Dom. MDCXLVIII.

Ter Deno Ianl Labens ReX SoLe CaDente CaroLVs eXVtVs SoLIo SCeptroq Ve SeCVto.

CHARLES — ah forbear, forbear! lest Mortals prize His Name too dearly, and Idolatrize. His Name! Our Losse! Thrice cursed and forlorn Be that Black Night which usher'd in this Morn.

CHARLES our Dread Soveraign! — hold! lest Outlaw'd Sense Bribe, and seduce tame Reason to dispense With those Celestial powers; and distrust Heav'n can behold such Treason, and prove Just.

CHARLES our Dread Soveraign's murther'd! tremble! and View what Convulsions shoulder-shake this Land, Court, City, Country, nay three Kingdoms run To their last stage, and Set with him their Sun.

CHARLES our Dread Soveraign's murther'd at His Gate! Fell fiends! dire Hydra's of a stiff-neck'd-State!

Strange Body-politick! whose Members spread, And Monster-like, swell bigger than their HEAD.

CHARLES of Great Britain! He! who was the known King of three Realms, lyes murther'd in his own; He! He! who liv'd, and Faith's Defender stood, Dy'd here to re-Baptize it in his bloud.

No more, no more, Fame's Trump shall Eccho all The rest in dreadfull Thunder. Such a Fall Great Christendom nere pattern'd; and 'twas strange Earth's Center reel'd not at this dismal Change.

The Blow struck Britain blinde, each well-set Limb By dislocation was lopt off in HIM. And though she yet lives, she lives but to condole Three Bleeding Bodies left without a Soul.

Religion puts on Black, sad Loyalty Blushes and mourns so see bright Majesty Butcher'd by such Assassinates; nay both 'Gainst God, 'gainst Law, Allegiance, and their Oath.

Farewell sad Isle! Farewell! thy fatal Glory Is Sum'd, Cast up, and Cancell'd in this Story.

AN ELEGIE. Upon King CHARLES the first, mur∣thered publickly by his Subjects.

WEre not my Faith buoy'd up by sacred bloud, It might be drown'd in this prodigious flood; Which reasons highest ground doth so exceed, It leaves my soul no Anch'rage, but my Creed; Where my Faith resting on th' Original; Supports it self in this the Copies fall; So while my Faith floats on that Bloudy wood, My reason's cast away in this Red flood, Which ne're o'reflows us all: Those showers past Made but Land-floods, which did some vallies wast; This stroak hath cut the only neck of land Which between us, and this Red Sea did stand, That covers now our world, which cursed lies At once with two of Aegypts prodigies; O're-cast with darkness, and with bloud o're-run, And justly, since our hearts have theirs outdone; Th' Inchanter led them to a lesse known ill, To act his sin, then 'twas their King to kill: Which crime hath widdowed our whole Nation, Voided all Forms, left but Privation In Church and State; inverting ev'ry right; Brought in Hells State of fire without light; No wonder then, if all good eyes look red, Washing their Loyal hearts from bloud so shed; The which deserves each pore should turn an eye, To weep out, even a bloudy Agony.

Let nought then passe for Musick, but sad cryes, For Beauty, bloudless cheeks, and bloud-shot eyes. All colours soil but black, all odours have Ill scent but Myrrh, incens'd upon this Grave: It notes a Jew, not to believe as much, The cleaner made by a Religious touch Of their Dead Body, whom to judge to dye, Seems the Judaical Impiety. To kill the King, the Spirit Legion paints His rage with Law, the Temple and the Saints: But the truth is, He fear'd and did repine, To be cast out, and back into the Swine: And the case holds, in that the Spirit bends His malice in this Act against his ends: For it is like, the sooner hee'll be sent Out of that body, He would still torment; Let Christians then use otherwise this bloud, Detest the Act, yet turn it to their good; Thinking how like a King of Death He dies; We easily may the world and death despise: Death had no sting for him, and its sharp arm, Only of all the troop, meant him no harm. And so he look'd upon the Axe, as one Weapon yet left, to guard Him to his Throne; In His great Name then may His Subjects cry, Death thou art swallowed up in Victory. If this our losse a comfort can admit, 'Tis that his narrowed Crown is grown unfit For his enlarged Head, since his distresse Had greatned this, as it made that the lesse; His Crown was faln unto too low a thing For him, who was become so great a King; So the same hands enthron'd him in that Crown, They had exalted from Him, not pull'd down;

And thus Gods truth by them hath rendred more Than e're mens falshood promis'd to restore; Which, since by Death, alone he could attain, Was yet exempt from weaknesse, and from pain; Death was enjoyn'd by God, to touch a part, Might make his passage quick, ne'r move his heart; Which ev'n expiring was so far from death, It seem'd but to command away his breath. And thus his Soul, of this her triumph proud, Broke, like a flash of lightning, through the cloud Of flesh and bloud; and from the highest line Of humane vertue, pass'd to be divine: Nor is't much lesse his vertues to relate, Than the high glories of his present state; Since both then passe all Acts but of belief, Silence may praise the one, the other grief. And since, upon the Diamond, no lesse Than Diamonds, will serve us to impresse, I'le only wish that for his Elegie, This our Josias had a Jeremie.

AN ELEGIE On

• The best of Men,
• The meekest of Martyrs,
• CHARLES the First, &c.

DOe•• not the Sun call in his light, and day Like a thin exhalation melt away? Both wrapping up their Beams in Clouds, to be Themselves Close Mourners at the Obsequie

Of this great Monarch? does his Royal Bloud, Which th'Earth late drunk in so profuse a floud, Not shoot through her affrightned womb, and make All her convulsed Arteries to shake So long, till all those hinges that sustain, Like Nerves, the frame of nature shrink again Into a shuffled Chaos? Does the Sun Not suck it from its liquid Mansion, And Still it in••o vap'rous Clouds, which may Themselves in bearded Meteors display, Whose s••aggy and dishevel'd Beams may be The Tapers at this black Solemnitie? You seed of Marble in the Womb accurst, Rock'd by some storm, or by some Tigress nurst, Fed by some Plague, which in blind mists was hurld, To strew infection on the tainted World; What fury charm'd your hands to Act a deed, Tyrants to think on would not weep, but bleed? And Rocks by instinct so resent this Fact, They'ld into Springs of easie tears be slack'd. Say sons of tumult since you think it good, Still to keep up the trade, and Bath in Blood Your guilty hands, why did you then not state Your Slaughters at some cheap and common rate? Your gluttonous and lavish Blades might have Devoted Myriads to one publick Grave; And lop'd off thousands of some base allay, Whilst the same Sexton that inter'd their clay, In the same Urne their Names too might entomb, But when on him you fixt your fatall Doom, You gave a blow to Nature, since even all▪ The ••••ock of man now bleeds too in his fall. Could not Religion, which you oft have made A specious glosse your black designs to shade,

Teach you, that we come nearest Heaven when we Are suppled into acts of Clemency? And copy out the Deity agen, When we distill our mercies upon men? But why do I deplore this ruine? He Only shook off his fraile Humanity, And with such calmnesse fell, he seem'd to be, Even lesse unmov'd and unconcern'd than we; And forc'd us from our Throes of Grief to say, We only died, he only liv'd that Day: So that his Tomb is now his Throne become, T'invest him with the Crown of Martyrdome; And death the shade of nature did not shroud His Soul in Mists, but its clear Beams uncloud, That who a Star in our Meridian shone, In Heaven might shine a Constellation.

On the Death of his Royal Majestie, CHARLES late King of ENGLAND, &c.

WHat went you out to see? a dying King? Nay more, I fear an Angel suffering. But what went you to see? a Prophet slain? Nay that and more, a Martyr'd Soveraign. Peace to that sacred dust! Great Sir, our fears Have left us nothing but obedient tears To court your hearse, and in those pious flouds We live, the poor remainder of our goods. Accept us in these latter Obsequies, The unplundred riches of our hearts and eyes;

For in these faithfull streams, and emanations, W'are Subjects still beyond all Sequestrations. Here we cry more than Conquerors: malice may Murder Estates, but hearts will still obey; These as your glory's yet above the reach Of such whose purple lines confusion preach. And now, (Dear Sir) vouchsafe us to admire With envy your arrival, and that Quire Of Cherubims and Angels that supply'd Our duties at your triumphs: where you ride With full caelestial Joyes, and Ovations, Rich as the Conquest of three ruin'd Nations. But 'twas the heavenly plot that snatch'd you hence, To crown your Soul with that magnificence, And bounden rites of honour, that poor earth Could only wish and stangle in the birth. Such pitied emulation stop'd the blush Of our ambitious shame, non-suited us. For where souls act beyond mortality, Heaven only can perform that Jubilee. We wrastle then no more, but blesse your day, And mourn the anguish of our sad delay: That since we cannot adde we yet stay here Fette••ed in clay: Yet longing to appear Spectators of your blisse, that being shown Once more, you may embrace us as your own; Where never envy shall divide us more, Nor City tumults, nor the worlds uproar; But an eternal hush, a quiet peace As without end, so still in the increase, Shall lull humanity asleep, and bring Us equal Subjects to the Heavenly King.

Till then I'le turn Recusant, and forswear All Calvin, for there's Purgatory here.

AN EPITAPH.

STay Passenger: Behold and see The widowed Grave of Majestie. Why tremblest thou? Here's that will make All but our stupid souls to shake. Here lies entomb'd the sacred dust Of Peace and Piety, Right and Just. The bloud (O start'st not thou to hear?) Of a King, 'twixt hope and fear Shed and hurried hence to be The miracle of misery. Adde the ills that Rome can boast, Shrift the world in every coast, Mix the fire of Earth and Seas With humane spleen and practices, To puny the records of time, By one grand Gygantick crime, Then swell it bigger till it squeeze The Globe to crooked hams and knees, Here's that shall make it seem to be But modest Christianitie. The Law-giver, amongst his own, Sentenc'd by a Law unknown. Voted Monarchy to death By the course Plebeian breath. The Soveraign of all command, Suff'ring by a Common hand.

A Prince, to make the odium more, Offer'd at his very door. The Head cut off, O death to see't! In obedience to the feet. And that by Justice you must know, If you have Faith to think it so. We'll stir no further then this Sacred Clay, But let it slumber till the Judgement day: Of all the Kings on Earth, 'tis not denyed, Here lies the first that for Religion dyed.

The Engagement stated.

BEgon Expositor: the Text is plain, No Church, no Lord, no Law, no Soveraign. Away with mental reservations, and Senses of Oaths in files out-vy the Strand: Here's Hell truss'd in a thimble, in a breath, Dares face the hazard of the second death. The Saints are grown Laconians, and can twist Perjury up in Pills, like Leyden grist: But hold precize Doponents: though the heat Of Zeal in Cataracts digest•• such meat, My cold concoction shrinks, and my advance Drives slowly to approach your Ordinance. The sign's in Cancer, and the Zodiack turns Leonick, roul'd in curls, while Terra burns. What though your fancies are sublim'd to reach Those fatal reins? Successe and will can teach But rash Divinity: a sad renown, Where one man fell to see a million drown.

When neither Arts nor Armes can serve to fight And wrest a Title from its Law and Right, Must Malice piece the Trangum, and make clear The scruple? Else we will resolve to swear? Nay out-swear all that we have sworn before, And make good lesser crimes by acting more And more sublime? This, this extends the Line▪ And shames the puny soul of Cataline. On this account all those whose Fortune's crost, And want estates, may turn Knights of the Post. Vaulx we out-vy'd thee, since thy plot fell lame, We found a closer Celler for the same, Piling the fatal Powder in our mouths, Which in an Oath discharg'd blew up the House. Maugre Mounteagle, Aspes not throughly slain, Their poyson in an age may live again. Good Demas cuff your Bear, then let us see The mystery of your iniquity. May a Man course a Cur? and freely box The Question? or the formal Paradox? But as in Physick, so in this device This que••k of policy the point is nice. For he that in this model means to thrive, Must first subscribe to the Preparative; Like Witches compact counter-march his faith And soak up all what ere the Spirit saith; Then seale and signe. Scylla threw three Barres short, He a had Sword indeed, but no Text for't. Old Rome lam••nt thy infancy in sin, We perfect what thou trembledst to begin, Blush then to see thy self out-done. But all The world may grieve, 'tis epidemical.

Heaven frowns indeed. But what makes Hell en∣raged? Sweet Pluto be at Peace, we have Engaged.

On the happy Memory of Alderman Hoyle that hang'd himself.

ALL hail fair fruit! may every Crab-tree bear Such blossomes, and so lovely every year! Call ye me this the slip? marry 'tis well, Zacheus slip'd to Heaven, the Thief to Hell: But if the Saints thus give's the slip, 'tis need To look about us to preserve the breed. Th'are of the Running game, and thus to post In nooses, blanks the reckning with their Host. Here's more than Trussum cordum I suppose That knit this knot: guilt seldome singly goes! A wounded soul close coupled with the sense Of sin, payes home its proper recompence. But hark you Sir, if hast can grant the time? See you the danger yet what 'tis to climbe In Kings Prerogatives? things beyond just, When Law seemes brib'd to doom them, must be truss'd. But O I smell your Plot strong through your Hose, 'Twas but to cheat the Hang-man of your Cloaths▪ Else your more active hands had fairly stay'd The leasure of a Psalm: Judas has pray'd.

But later crimes cannot admit the pause, They run upon effects more than the cause. Yet let me ask one question, why alone? One Member of a Corporation? 'Tis clear amongst Divines, Bodies and Souls As joyntly active, so their judgement rowles Concordant in the Sentence; why not so In earthly Suffrings? States attended go. But I perceive the Knack: Old women say And bee't approv'd, each Dogge should have his day. Hence sweep the Almanack: Lilly make room, And blanks enough for the new Saints to come, All in Red letters: as their faults have bin Scarlet, so limbe their Anniverse of sin. And to their Childrens credits and their Wives Be it still said, they leap fair for their lives.

The States New Coyne.

1.

SAw you the States mony new come from the Mint? Some People do say it is wonderous fine; And that you may read a great mystery in't, Of mighty King Nol, the Lord of the Coyn.

2.

They have quite omitted his Politick head, His worshipfull face, and his excellent Nose; But the better to tempt the sisters to bed, They have fixed upon it the print of his Hose.

3.

For, if they had set up his Picture there, They needs must ha' crown'd him in Charles his stead; But 'twas cunningly done, that they did forbear, And rather would set up his Ar— than his head.

4

'Tis monstrous strange, and yet it is true, In this Reformation we should ha' such luck, That Crosses were alwaies disdained by you, Who before pull'd them down, should now set them up.

5.

On this side they have circumscrib'd God with us, And in this stamp and Coyn they confide; Common-wealth on the other, by which we may guess That God and the States were not both of a side.

6.

On this side they have Crosse and Harp, And only a Crosse on the other set forth; By which we may learn it falls to our part Two Crosses to have for one fit of Mirth.

7.

A Country-man hearing this, straight way did think, That he would procure such a piece of his own; And knowing it like his Wifes Butter-print, She should ha't for a Token when as he came home.

8.

Then since that this is the Parliament coyn, Now Lilly by thy mysterious charms, Or Heralds, pray tell us if these ha' not been Carmen or Fidlers before by their Arms.

The Rebellion.

NOw, thanks to the Powers below, We have even done our do, The Myter is down, and so is the Crown, And with them the Corronet too: All is now the Peoples, and then What is theirs is ours we know; There is no such thing as a Bishop or K— Or Peer, but in name or show; Come Clowns, and come Boys, come Hoberde∣hoys, Come Females of each degree, Stretch out your throats, bring in your Votes, And make good the Anarchy; Then thus it shall be, sayes Alse, Nay, thus it shall be, sayes Amie, Nay, thus it shall go, sayes Taffie,! trow, Nay, thus it shall go, sayes Jemmy.

Oh but the truth, good People all, the truth is is such a thing. For it will undo both Church and State too, And pull out the throat of our King; No, nor the Spirit, nor the new Light Can make the Point so clear, But we must bring out the defil'd Coat, What thing the truth is, and where, Speak Abraham, speak Hester, Speak Judith, speak K••ster, Speak tag and rag, short coat and long: Truth is the spell that made us rebell, And murder and plunder ding dong;

Sure I have the truth, sayes Numphs, Nay, I have the truth, sayes Clem, Nay, I have the truth, sayes reverend Ruth, Nay, I have the truth, sayes Nem.

Well, let the truth be whose it will, There is something else in ours, Yet this devotion in our Religions May chance to abate our Powers: Then let's agree on some new way, It skills not much how true, Take P — and his club, or Smec and his tub Or any Sect, old or new; The Devil is in the pack, if choyce you can lack▪ We are fourscore Religions strong, Then take your choice, the Major voice Shall carry't right or wrong; Then let's have King Charles, sayes George, Nay, wee'l have his Son, sayes Hugh; Nay, then let's have none, sayes gabbering Jone, Nay, wee'l be all Kings, sayes Prue.

Nay, but neighbours and friends, one word more, There's something else behind, And wise though you be, you do not well see In which door fits the winde; And for Religion, to speak truth, And in both Houses sence, The matter is all one, if any or none, If it were not for the pretence; Now here doth lurk the key of the work, And how to dispose of the Crown Dexteriously, and as it may be For your behalf and our own;

Then wee'l be of this, sayes Meg, Nay, wee'l be of this, sayes Tib, Come, we'll be of all, sayes pittifull Paul, Nay, wee'l be of none, sayes Gib.

Oh we shall have, if we go on In Plunder, Excise, and Blood, But few folks, and poor, to domineer o're, And that will not be good; Then let's agree on some new way, Some new and happy course, The Country is grown sad, the City is Horn mad, And both the Houses are worse; The Synod hath writ, the General hath shit, And both to like purpose, for Religion, Laws, the Truth, and the Cause We talk on, but nothing we do; Come, then let's have peace, sayes Nel, No, no, but we won't sayes Meg, But I say we will, sayes fiery-face Phil, We will, and we won't, sayes Hodge.

Thus from the Rout who can expect Ought but confusion, Since the Unity with good Monarchy Begin and end in one? If then when all is thought their own, And lyes at their belief, These popular pates, reap nought but debates From these many round-headed beast; Come Royalists then, do you play the men, And Cavaliers give the word, And now let's see what you will be, And whether you can accord;

A health to King Charles, sayes Tom, Up with it, sayes Ralph, like a man, God blesse him, sayes Doll, and raise him, sayes Moll, And send him his own, sayes Nan.

But now for these prudent Wights, That sit without end, and to none, And their Committees in Towns and Cities Fill with confusion; For the bold Troops of Sectaries, The Scots, and their Partakers, Our new British States, Col. Burges and his Mates, The Covenant and its Makers: For all these wee'l pray, and in such a way, That if it might granted be, Both Jack and Gill, and Moll and Will, And all the world will agree: El••e Pox take them all, sayes Bess, And a Plague too sayes Mary, The Devil, sayes Dick, and his Dam too, sayes Nick, Amen and amen say we.

On Britannicus his leap three Story high, and his escape from London.

PAul from Damascus in a basket slides, Cran'd by the faithfull Brethren down the sides O•• their embattel'd walls; Britannicus As loath to trust the Brethrens God with us,

Slides too, but yet more desp'rate, and yet thrives In his descent; needs must! the Devil drives. Their Cause was both the same, and herein meet, Only their fall was not with equal feet, Which makes the Case Iambick: thus we see How much News falls short of Divinity. Truth was their crying crime: One takes the night, Th' other th' advantage of the New-sprung Light To mantle his escape: how different be The Pristin and the Modern Policy? Have Ages their Antipodes? Yet still Close in the Propagation of ill? Hence flowes this use and doctrine from the thump I last sustain'd (beloved) Good wits may Jump.

An Epigram on the People of England.

SWeating and chafing hot Ardelio cryes A Boat a Boat, else farewell all the prize. But having once set foot upon the deep Hot-spur Ardelio fell fast asleep. So we, on fire with zealous discontent, Call'd out a Parliament, a Parliament; Which being obtain'd at last, what did they do? Even squeez the Wool-packs, and lye snorting too.

Another.

BRitain a lovely Orchard seem'd to be Furnish'd with natures choise variety, Temptations golden fruit of every sort, Th' Hesperian Garden fann'd from fein'd report; Great boyes and small together in we brake, No matter what disdain'd Priapus spake: Up, up, we lift the great boyes in the trees, Hoping a common share to sympathize: But they no sooner there, neglected streight The shoulders that so rais'd them to this height; And fell to stuffing of their own bags first, And as their treasure grew, so did their thirst. Whiles we in lean expectance gaping stand, For one shake from their charitable hand. But all in vain, the dropsie of desire So scortch'd them, three Realms could not quench the fire. Be wise then in your Ale, bold youths, for fear The Gardner catch us as Mosse caught his Mare.

Upon report there should be no more Terms kept at Westminster.

IS't possible? will no Terms then prevail? And must the Gown and Bag jog on to sale? The Bills and Answers in our Courts become Converted to the taring use of Drum?

And shall no more Confederacies pass 'Twixt Midsomer and dying Michaelmas? Though they deprive us of Old * 1.7 Hillary, 'Tis fit they should allow the Trinity; But that's denyed too: this Alteration Contracts our whole time to a long Vacation. Now farewell the (1.) 1.8 Brown bowl, and Bonny Ale, The Sanguine Herring, and its merry tayle; (2.) 1.9 Higgenian Quibbles, and the Harpean Lyre, Fentonian Sweetness, and the Tow'ring Fire; Our (3.) 1.10 Host and Hostess too, they're both Ʋxorums, As Hermophraditus is, in Sex Duorums: Weep (4.) 1.11 Heaven, lament thy loss, and thou Hell rore, Thy Furnace scarce will ere be heated more; Of Pleasure, Paradise, thou must be barren, And Purgatory furnisht but with Carrion: Th'Abomination of the (5.) 1.12 Hole i'th' Wall, Now June is past, cry Pamphlets in the Hall; And she that's left but th' remnant of a Nose, Who to a Chirurgion (as men do suppose) Did pawn the other part for cure of this, Turn Zealot, and be Martyr'd when she p— All Trades, and all Societies lament Your wants in us, you'le find cause to repent The setting up your Idol Parliament: For though on these Terms they'le no profit give To Us, we'll try on other Terms to live.

Upon the Cavaliers departing out of London.

NOw fare thee well London, Thou next must be undone, 'Cause thou hast undone us before; This Cause and this Tyrant, Had ne're play'd this high rant, Were't not for thy argent and Or.

2.

Now we must desert thee, With the lines that begirt thee, And the Red-coated Saints domineer; Who with liberty fool thee, While a Monster doth rule thee, And thou feel'st what before thou didst fear.

3.

Now Justice and Freedom, With the Laws that did breed 'um, Are sent to Jamaica for gold; And those that upheld 'um, Have power but seldom, For Justice is barter'd and sold.

4.

Now the Christian Religion Must seek a new Region, And the old Saints give way to the new; And we that are Loyal, Vail to those that destroy all, When the Christian gives place to the Jew.

5.

But this is our glory In this wretched story, Calamities fall on the best; And those that destroy us Do better imploy us, To sing till they are supprest.

On Col. Pride.

OF Gyants and Knights, and their wonderfull fights We have stories enough in Romances, But Ile tell you one new, that is strange and yet true, Though t'other are nothing but fancies.

2.

A Knight lately made, of the Governing trade, Whose name he'l not have to be known; Has been trucking with fame, to purchase a name, For 'tis said he had none of his own.

3.

He by Fortunes design, should have been a Divine, And a Pillar no doubt of the Church; Whom a Sexton (God wot) in the Bellfry begot, And his Mother did pig in the Porch.

4.

And next for his breeding, 'twas learned Hog-feed∣ing, With which he so long did converse, That his manners & feature, was so like their nature, You'ld scarce know his sweetnesse from theirs.

5.

But observe the device, of this Noblemans rise, How he hurried from trade to trade, From the grains he'd aspire, to the yest, and then higher, Till at length he a Drayman was made.

6.

Then his dray-horse and he, in the streets we did see, With his hanger, his sling, and his jacket; Long time he did watch, to meet with his match, For he'd ever a mind to the Placket.

7.

At length he did find, out a Trull to his mind, And Ʋrsula was her name; Oh Ʋrsl•• quoth he, and oh Tom then quoth she, And so they began their game.

8.

But as soon as they met, O such Babes they did get, And Blood-royal in 'um did place, From a swineheard they came, a she-bear was their Dam, They were suckled as Romulus was.

9.

At last when the Rout, with their head did fall out, And the Wars thereupon did fall in, He went to the field, with a sword, but no shield, Strong drink was his buckler within.

10

But when he did spy, how they dropt down and dye, And did hear the bullets to sing; His armes he flung down, and run fairly to town, And exchang'd his sword for his sling.

11.

Yet he claimed his share, in such honours as were Belonging to nobler spirits;

That ventur'd their lives, while this Buffon survives To receive the reward of their merits.

12.

When the Wars were all done, he his fighting be∣gun, And would needs shew his valour in peace, Then his fury he flings, at poor conquer'd things, And frets like a hog in his grease.

13.

For his first feat of all, on a Wit he did fall, A Wit as some say, and some not, Because he'd an art, to rhime on the quart, But never did care for the pot.

14.

And next on the Cocks, he fell like an Ox, Took them and their Masters together; But the combs and the spurs, kept himself and his Sirs, Who are to have both or neither.

15.

The cause of his spight, was because they would fight, And because he durst not, he did take on; And said they were fit, for the pot, not the spit, And would serve to be eaten with Bacon.

16.

But flesh'd with these spoyles, the next of his toyles, Was to fall with wild-beasts by the ears, To the Bearward he goeth, and then opened his mouth, And said, Oh! are you there with your bears.

17.

Our stories are dull, of a Cock and a Bull, But such was his valour and care; Since he bears the Bell, the tales that we tell, Must be of a Cock and a Bear.

18.

The crime of the Bears, was, they were Cavaliers, And had formerly fought for the King; And pull'd by the Burrs, the Round-headed Cur••, That they made their ears to ring.

19.

Our successor of Kings, like blind fortune flings Upon him both honour and store; Who has as much right, to make Tom a Knight, As Tom has desert, and no more.

20.

But Fortune that Whore, still attended this Brewer, And did all his Atchievements reward; And blindly did fling, on this lubberly thing, More Honour, and made him a Lord.

21.

Now he walks with his spurs, and a couple of curs At his heels, which he calls Squires; So when Honour is thrown, on the head of a Clown, 'Tis by Parasites held up, and Lyars.

22.

The rest of his pranks, will merit new thanks, With his death, if we did but know it; But we'l leave him and it, to a time and place fit, And Greg. shall be funeral Poet.

Upon the General Pardon past by the RUMP, 1653.

REjoyce, rejoyce, ye Cavaliers, For here comes that expells your fears;

A General Pardon is now past, What was long look'd for, comes at last.

It Pardons all that are undone; The Pope ne're granted such a one: So long, so large, so full, so free; O what a gratious State have we!

Yet do not joy too much (my friends) First see how well this pardon ends, For though it hath a Glorious face, I fear there's in't but little grace.

'Tis said the Mountains once brought forth, And what brought they? a Mouse introth; Our States have done the like, I doubt, In this their Pardon now set out.

We'll look it o're then if you please, And see wherein it brings us ease; And first, it Pardons words I find Against our State, words are but wind.

Hath any pray'd for th'King of late? And wish'd confusion to our State? And call'd them Rebells? he come in And plead this Pardon for that sin.

Hath any call'd King Charles that's dead A Martyr? He that lost his Head? And Villains those that did the Fact? That man is pardoned by this Act.

Hath any said our Parliament Is such a one as God ne're sent? Or hath he writ, or put in Print That he believes the Devil's in't?

Or hath he said there never were Such Tyrants any where as here? Though this offence of his be high, He's pardon'd for his Blasphemy.

You see how large this Pardon is, It Pardons all our Mercuries, And Poets too, for you know they Are poor, and have not ought to pay.

For where there's money to be got, I find this Pardon pardons not; Malignants that were rich before, Shall not be pardon'd till they'r poor.

Hath any one been true to th' Crown. And for that paid his money down; By this new Act he shall be free, And pardon'd for his Loyalty.

Who have their Lands confiscate quite, For not Compounding when they might; If that they know not how to digg, This Pardon gives them leave to beg.

Before this Act came out in print, We thought there had been comfort in't; We drank some Healths to th' Higher Powers, But now we've seen't they'd need drink ours.

For by this Act it is thought fit That no man shall have benefit, Unlesse he first engage to be A Rebel to eternity.

Thus in this Pardon it is clear, That nothing's here, and nothing's there, I think our States do mean to choke us With this new Act of Hocus Pocus.

Well, since this Act's not worth a pin, We'll pray our States to call it in, For most men think it ought to be Burnt by the hand of Gregory.

Then to conclude, here's little joy For those that pray Vive le Roy: But since they'l not forget our Crimes, Wee'l keep our mirth till better times.

Upon Olivers dissolving the Parliament in 1653.

1.

WIll you hear a strange thing scarce heard of before, A ballad of News without any lyes, The Parliament men are turn'd out of doors, And so are the Council of State likewise.

2.

Brave Oliver came to the House like a Spright, His fiery looks strook the Speaker dumb;

You must be gone hence, quoth he, by this light, Do you mean to sit here till Dooms-day come?

3.

With that the Speaker lookt pale for fear, As though he had been with the night-mare rid, Insomuch that some did think that were there, That he had even done as the Alderman did.

4.

But Oliver though he be Doctor of Law, Yet he seem'd to play the Physician there; His Physick so wrought on the Speakers maw, That he gave him a stool instead of a Chair.

5.

Harry Martyn wondred to see such a thing, Done by a Saint of such high degree; 'Twas an act he did not expect from a King, Much lesse from such a dry bone as he.

6.

But Oliver laid his hand on his sword, And upbraided him with his Adultery; To which Harry answer'd never a word, Saving, humbly thanking his Majesty.

7.

Allen the Coppersmith was in great fear, He did as much harm since the Wars began; A broken Citizen many a year, And now he is a broken Parliament-man.

8.

Bradshaw that President proud as the Pope, That loves upon Kings and Princes to trample; Now the house is dissolv'd I cannot but hope, To see such a President made an example.

9.

And were I one of the Council of War, I'le tell you what my Vote should be, Upon his own Turret at Westminster, To be hanged up for all comers to see.

10.

My Masters I wonder you could not agree, You that have been so long Brethren in evil; A dissolution you might think there would be, When the Devil's divided against the Devil.

11.

Then room for the Speaker without his Mace, And room for the rest of the Rabble-rout; My Masters methinks 'tis a pitifull case, Like the snuff of a Candle thus to go out.

12.

Now some like this change, and some like it not, Some think it was not done in due season; Some think it was but a Jesuits plot, To blow up the House like a Gun-powder-treason,

13.

Some think that Oliver and Charles are agreed, And sure it were good policy if it were so; Lest the Hollander, French, the Dane, and the Swede, Should bring him in whether he would or no.

14.

And now I would gladly conclude my Song, With a Prayer as Ballads are used to do, But yet I'le forbear, for I think er't be long, We shall have a King and a Parliament too.

Admiral Deans Funeral.

1.

NIck Culpepper, and William Lilly, Though you were pleas'd to say they were silly, Yet something these prophesi'd true, I tell ye, Which no body can deny.

2.

In the month of May, I tell you truly, Which neither was in June nor July, The Dutch began to be unruly, Which no body can deny.

3.

Betwixt our England and their Holland, Which neither was in France nor Poland, But on the Sea, where there was no Land, Which no body can deny.

4.

There joyn'd the Dutch, and the English Fleet, Our Authors opinion then they did meet, Some saw't that never more shall see't, Which no body can deny.

5.

There were many mens hearts as heavy as lead, Yet would not believe Dick Dean to be dead, Till they saw his Body take leave of his head, Which no body can deny.

6.

Then after the sad departure of him, There was many a man lost a Leg or a Lim, And many were drow'd 'cause they could not swim, Which no body can deny.

7.

One cryes, lend me thy hand good friend, Although he knew it was to no end, I think, quoth he, I am going to the Fiend, Which no body can deny.

8.

Some, 'twas reported, were kill'd with a Gun, And some stood that knew not whether to run, There was old taking leave of Father and Son, Which no body can deny.

9

There's a rumour also, if we may believe, We have many gay Widows now given to grieve, 'Cause unmannerly Husbands nere came to take leave. Which no body can deny.

10.

The ••itty is sad of our Dean to sing; To say truth, it was a pittifull thing To take off his head and not leave him a ring, Which no body can deny.

11.

From Greenwich toward the Bear at Bridgefoot He was wafted with wind that had water to't, But I think they brought the Devil to boot, Which no body can deny.

12.

The heads on London Bridge upon Poles, That once had bodies, and honester souls Than hath the Master of the Roules, Which no body can deny.

13.

They grieved for this great man of command, Yet would not his head amongst theirs should stand;

He dy'd on the Water, and they on the Land, Which no body can deny.

14▪

I cannot say, they look'd wisely upon him, Because People cursed that parcel was on him; He has fed fish and worms, if they do not wrong him, Which no body can deny.

15.

The Old Swan as he passed by, Said, she would sing him a dirge, and lye down and di••; Wilt thou sing to a bit of a body, quoth I? Which no body can deny.

16.

The Globe on the Bank, I mean, on the Ferry, Where Gentle and Simple might come and be merry, Admired at the change from a Ship to a Wherry, Which no body can deny.

17.

Tom Godfreys Bears began for to roare, Hearing such moans one side of the shore, They knew they should never see Dean any more, Which no body can deny.

18.

Queen-hithe, Pauls-Wharf, and the Fryers also, Where now the Players have little to do, Let him passe without any tokens of woe, Which no body can deny.

19.

Quoth th' Students o'th' Temple, I know not their names, Looking out of their Chambers into the Thames, The Barge fits him better than did the great James, Which no body can deny.

20.

Essex House, late called Cuckolds Hall, The folk in the Garden staring over the wall, Said, they knew that once Pride would have a fall. Which no body can deny.

21.

At Strand Gate, a little farther then, Where mighty Guns numbred to sixty and ten, Which neither hurt Children▪ Women nor Men, Which no body can deny.

22.

They were shot over times one, two, three, or four, 'Tis thought one might 'heard the bounce to th' Tower, Folk report, the din made the Buttermilk sower, Which no body can deny.

23.

Had old Goodman Lenthal or All••n but heard 'um, The noise worse than Olivers voice would have fear'd 'um, And out of their small wits would have scar'd um Which no body can deny.

24.

Sommerset House, where once did the Queen lye, And afterwards Ireton in black, and not green, by, The Canon clattered the Windows really Which no body can deny.

25.

The Savoys mortified spitled Crew, If I lye, as Falstaffe sayes, I am a Jew, Gave the Hearse such a look it would make a man spew, Which no body can deny.

26.

The House of S — that Fool and Knave,

Had so much wit left lamentation to save From accompanying a traytorly Rogue to his grave, Which no body can deny.

27.

The Exchange, and the ruines of Durham house eke Wish'd such sights might be seen each day i'th' week, A General's Carkasse without a Cheek, Which no body can deny.

28.

The House that lately Great Buckinghams was, Which now Sir Thomas Fairfax has, Wish'd it might be Sir Thomas's fate so to passe, Which no body can deny.

29.

Howards House, Suffolks great Duke of Yore, Sent him one single sad wish, and no more, He might flote by Whitehall in purple gore, Which no body can deny.

30.

Some••hing I should of VVhitehall say, ••ut the Story is so sad, and so bad, by my fay, That it turns my wits another way, Which no body can deny.

31.

To VV••stminster, to the Bridge of the Kings. The water the Barge, and the Barge-men brings The small remain of the worst of things, Which no body can deny.

32.

They inter'd him in triumph, like Lewis the eleven, In the famous Chappel of Henry the seven, But his soul is scarce gone the right way to hea∣ven, Which no body can deny.

The merry Goodfellow.

WHy should we not laugh and be jolly, Since all the World now is grown mad? And lull'd in a dull melancholly; He that wallows in store Is still gaping for more, And that makes him as poor, As the Wretch that never any thing had.

How mad is that damn'd Money-monger? That to purchase to him and his heirs, Grows shriviled with thirst and hunger; While we that are bonny, Buy Sack with ready-mony, And ne'r trouble the Scriveners, nor Lawyers.

Those guts that by scraping and toyling, Do swell their Revenues so fast, Get nothing by all their turmoiling, But are marks of each tax, While they load their own backs With the heavier packs, And lye down gall'd and weary at last.

While we that do traffick in tipple, Can baffle the Gown and the Sword, Whose jaws are so hungry and gripple; We ne'r trouble our heads With Indentures or Deeds, And our Wills are compos'd in a word.

Our mony shall never indite us, Nor drag us to Goldsmiths Hall, No Pyrats nor wracks can affright us; We, that have no Estates, Fear no plunder nor rates, We can sleep with open gates, He that lyes on the ground cannot fall.

We laugh at those Fools whose endeavours Do but fit them for Prisons and Fines, When we that spend all are the savers; For if Thieves do break in, They go out empty agin, Nay, the Plunderers lose their designs.

Then let us not think on to morrow, But tipple and laugh while we may, To wash from our hearts all sorrow; Those Cormorants which Are troubled with an itch, To be mighty and rich, Do but toyl for the wealth which they borrow.

The Maior of the Town with his Ruff on, What a pox is he better than we? He must vail to the man with the Buff on; Though he Custard may eat, And such lubbardly meat, Yet our Sack makes us merrier than he.

The Rebells Reign.

NOw we are met in a knot, let's take t'other pot, And chirp o're a cup of Nectar; Let's think on a charm, to keep us from harm, From the Fiend, and the new Protector.

Heretofore at a brunt, a Cross would have don't, But now they have taken courses, With their Laws and their theft, there's not a Cross left In the Church, nor the Farmers Purses.

They're with you to bring, for stuffing at a King, For now you must make no dainty, To have your Nose ground, on a stone turned round By Noll, and one and twenty.

But our Rights are kept for us, in Oliver's store∣house, 'Twere as good they were set in the Stocks: They are just in the pickle, in the thirtieth Arti∣cle, Like Jack in a Juglers box.

We are loath for to look, for the Saints in a book, But would not a man be vext, To see them so rough with their blades and their buff, But not a word on't in the Text.

We have been twelve years together by the ears To prepare for a spiritual raign: Men were never so spic'd, with the Scepter of Christ In the hands of a Saint in grain.

'Twas brewed in their Hives by Citizens wives, Who ventured their husbands far, With Robin the fool, there was ne're such a tool To lead in the womens War.

He was ill at Command, but worse at a stand, So they sought out another more able: Then Fair▪ undertakes, but Nol keeps the stakes, And sends away Fax with a bauble.

Will, Conqueror the second, without his host rec∣kon'd, And so did B— billet his Mate; They made a great noise, 'mongst women and boys, But now they are both out of date.

Cowardly W— had but a foul Fortune, And wanted a knife to scrape it, When his Oriphice ran, there was no mortal man, But omnibus horis sapit.

Bradshaw, the Knave, sent the King to his grave, And on the Bloud Royal did trample, For which the next Lent, he was made President, And ere long may be made an example.

Dorislaus did steer, to Hans mine heer, And Askew to Don at Madril, Ere a man could have scratcht, they were both dispatcht, Yet there they lye Leger still.

Martin and St. Johns, and more with a Vengeance, Had each a finger i'th' pye: Some for the Money, and some for the Conny, And some for they knew not why.

The Parliament sate as snug as a Cat, And were playing for mine and yours: Sweep-stakes was their Game, till Oliver came, And turn'd it to Knave out of doors.

Then a new one was cast, and made up in hast, But alas they could do no more Than empty our purse, and empty us worse Than e're we were married before.

But in a good hour, they gave up their power To one that was wiser than they; By common consent, 'twas the first Parliament That ever was felo de se.

After all this Jeer, we are never the near, There sits one at the Helm commanding; One that doth us nick, with a trick for our trick, And the stone in our foot notwithstanding

He'll not relax, one groat of the Tax, Though it come to more then he need, He may keep it in store, till his need be more; Tis an Article of our new Creed.

So well he hath wrought, that now he hath brought The Realm to the manner he it meant; The fishes, and the foul, and the Devil and all, And the monthly pay his high rent.

All this we must bear, but 'twould make a man swear When they call us a Reformed Nation: It can never sink into my head for to think That this is a Reformation.

'Tis the man in the Moon, or the Devil as soon, Our Laws are asleep upon shelves: Our Charter & Freedom, we may bid God speed um, 'Tis well we can beg for our selves.

Since Nol hath bereft us, and nothing hath left us, Not a Horse or an Oxe to plough land, Let Oliver passe, come fill up my Glasse, And here's a good health to Rowland.

The Resolve.

1.

THere's no Man so worthy of Envy as he, Drinks Sack, and is free, Can draw down his mind to his present Con∣dition, And at that ebbe, can Shew himself a better man, Then his Enemy at his full tide of Ambition; Has a breast so well Man'd, he fears not the thun∣der Of those Bastards of fame, That have got a Name By Rapine and Plunder; But bravely despiseth, The Mock-Sun that riseth: He that's quiet within, what need he to care, Though not worth a groat, h'as the whole world to spare.

2.

He's arm'd 'gainst the Chances and Changes of State, And still meets his Fate,

With a Conquering Cup of the stoutest Cana∣ry, Drinks healths to the best, And he Wrastles with the rest, Yet never is foyl'd, 'less his liquor miscarry; His thoughts are more soft then the bed that he lies on; Who puts his cares to flight, A Prince is o're Night, And next Morn doth rise one; Let th'Fates do what they will, He's the self-same Man still: Scepters have Palfies, and Crowns too are shaking, Who soundly doth sleep, need not keep others waking.

3.

Then give us the Sack, let the Hen-hearted Cit, Drink Whey, and submit, His Cucumber Courage does ne're well till bea∣ten; He, Camel-like, kneels, And his Burthen ne're feels, Till his back become gall'd, and his carcasse near eaten; Has a spirit so poor, that ev'ry Fool rides him; He's soul-lesse, alone; At best, but a Drone, And no Man abides him; He's a compact of Clay, That will yield any way: 'Tis Sack and good Company sets the Soul free, Like the Musick of that there's no Harmonie.

Upon Cromwell's pulling out the Long Parliament. 1653.

The Alligory.

1.

AS Plutarch doth write, (a Man of known Credit) A Serpent there was had a Mutinous Tayle, Rebell'd 'gainst the Head, that so oft had fed it, And would not permit it to lead, or prevaile: Is't not fit that by turns we Leaders should be Quoth the Tayle? follow me, as I've follow'd thee.

2.

Now, the Body being grown too strong for the Head, Quoth the Head, if it must be, then let it be so; For quietnesse sake I yield to be lead, But fear that from hence some mischief will grow; A thing so un-naturall never was read, As the Head to turn Tayle, and the Tayle to turn Head.

3.

A Monster like this, but of stranger Conditions, Engender'd there was in the year thirty nine; Rebell'd 'gainst the Head, but with fawning Petitions, To have him his Pow'r and his Right to resign; This Monster (the truth on't to speak) was begot By a Mongrell Parson, and that Hagg the Scot.

4.

So large and so mighty this Tayle grew in length, That where ere it came, it swept all before it; There was no resisting so pow'rfull a strength, The Head at the last was forc't to implore it: All our Castles and Towns this Tayle did subdue, A sad tale to tell, but believe me 'tis true.

5.

Above seven years Conflict this Head did endure, With that Monsterous Tayle, and the Spawn it begot: During which time no Man's life was secure, Our Goods and our Cattle all went to the Pot: At last came a Champion with an Iron stayle, And ended the strife 'twixt the Head, and the Tayle▪

6.

The Head being departed the Body began To consult with the Tayle what wa•• best to do; St. George (quoth the Body) 'tis said was a Man, But what can this thing be is called St. O. Why he (quoth the Tayle) was one of our Rout, And 'tis wonderous strange he should turn Tayle about.

7.

While thus they did argue in rusht our St. O. With Courage more keen then the Sword that he wore; Quoth he, ye are vile things, not fit here to grow, Such Fiends ne're was known in this place heretofore, The wealth and the fat of the Country doth feed you, And now I do guesse it is high time to bleed you.

8.

Some say that this Tayle wore the mark of a P, O, is a Letter in rank known before it; How e're 't makes no matter, 'tis all one to me, Save this, that I'm sure the O had the more wit; There's no Man so blind, but may easily see He hath added unto his small O, a tall P.

9.

My Story now ended come viva St. George, That old true blew Lad, and Hospitable-Saint, Bring a Butt of good Sack to fill up my Gorge, At this tale of Head and Tayle I almost faint; Howe're let it pass; if you studdy upon't, I hope you will neither make Head or Tayle on't.

The Advice.

1.

NE're trouble thy self at the Times nor their turnings, Afflictions run circular, and wheele about, Away with these Murmurings, and, these Heart-burnings, With the Juyce of the Grape wee'l quench the Fire out, Ne're chain, nor imprison thy Soul up in sorrow, What fails us to day, may befriend us to morrow, Wee'l scorn our Content from others to borrow.

2.

Though Fortune hath left us wee'le strive to re∣gain her, And court her with Cupps till her Favourite come, Then with a Courage untam'd wee'le maintain her, And silence the noyse of the Enemies Drum, Wee'le link her unto the Man most deserving, Shall keep her at work, as well as from starving, She shall not hereafter be at her own Carving.

3.

I hold him a Novice in Humane affairs, Thinks whirlings in State a wonderous thing, To daub up old Ruines with dirty repairs, And instead of a Scepter to set up a Sling. Such Atomes of Greatnesse are but Fortune's laughter, She fattens them up 'till they're fitted for slaughter, Then leaves them at Tiburn to Tittar and Tauter.

Sharers in the Government. A MEDLEY. To 8. several Tunes.

SOme say the World is but a Cheat, Troth we see't For the feet

Still rebell against the Head, When Antipodian Rulers sway, Who'le obey? Thus some say, Shall we not his own steps tread? Pray were we not in the late Quarrel, All pickl'd up in the same Barrel? Then why that? or why this? Our hearts are as great as his.

* 1.13 Here is One that claims a share In the Scepter, and the Chaire, Though he cryes Religion down, Hee's Ambitious for a Crown; Fain hee'd have his Head to shine Where his Father ••ngs his Signe, So he should, had I the Power In the twinkling of an how're I, of his disease would cure him.

* 1.14 What think you of the Man of War, Whose Muzle is the Sea-mans Star? Hee's Arm'd within, and Wall'd without To give the Rout, if that we dare; But faith the Dutch will hem him in, And make him either sink or swim; This is the News brought Mr. P — To which he lent scarce half an Eare.

There is one, and a sly one, In Scotland, lurks to quarter with the Lyon, He is your comeing Man sir, Will lead the Van sir,

Pick out the meaning if you can.

Upon the least Commotion;

He wears a Coat with double-colours faced, On one side whereof the States is gravely placed, But on the other the Cavies rudely raced; Hold Ambodexter whither wilt thou go?

* 1.15 Then comes a stout Heart, A Man very pert, Reaking with Revenge, for Disgrace; He swore he was true To give the Devil his due, And as firm as the Nose on his Face.

* 1.16 Another puts in To be a States Pin, Good reason it should be so, He can Circumvent A Parliament; Then why not Our Oliver O?

Some talk this, and some talk that, Some talk of New wars, and some they know not what, But well fare the Cavalier, for at a bare word, Hee's scarce left either Tongue or Sword.

* 1.17 Then Turbulent-spirited Jack bring up the Reere, For thou hast a Spleene farr keener than any one here; Thou spurn'st at Authoritie, art Ambition's Minion, And boy••'••t like thy Soap to advance a New-fang∣led Opinion;

Promotion's thy drift, to rule doth make thy Wits roame, But a Gibbet 'tis thought will stand betwixt thee and home.

Upon Cromwell's refusing the Kingly Power.

1.

HOw poor is his Spirit? how lost is his Name, Deceiveth Opinion, and Curtailes his Fame? When a•• his Designs come near to their height, 'Twixt shall I and shall I, suspect their own weight, He has traffiqu'd for Honour, but lost the whole Freight: He that's stout in the Front, not so in the Rear, Doth forfeit his Fame, and is Cow'd out by Fear.

2.

A small part of Honor to him doth belong, Consults not the Glory, but faints in the throng; That dares not embrace what his own Soul doth Vote, But yields up Our Liberties to a Red-coat; Sure Midsommer's near, and some Men doth dote: I like the bold Romanes, (whose Fame ever rings) That kept in Subjection such pittifull things.

3.

He that will be Bug-bea••'d, is turn'd again Child, A Reed than a Scepteris fitter to weild;

Examine the Story, no Story you'l find, Saving the Story, that Kat will to kind, The World is deluded, the Common-wealth blind; These false stamps of Honour prove but Copper-Mettle, And Fame sounds as loud from a Tinkers old Kettle.

4.

He that past has the Pikes, and found Canon-free, Which shews that noe Curse from his Parents could be, Had a Soul so devout, it made Killing a Trade; And now to retreat at the sent of a Blade Doth show of what Mold our Knight-Errant was made▪ He that flagges in his Flight, when's Ambition sores high, Doth stabb his own Merit, & gives Fame the lye.

5.

Then Cicero-like, yea Gown-men drench Cares, O••re-whelm'd with your Own, and your Coun∣tries Affairs; And Pulpit-men too be as Airy as Wee; Do you but preach Sack up, we'l ne'r disagree, That Common-wealth's best that is the most free: Then fret not, nor care not, when the Sack's in our Crown, We can fancy a King up, or fancy Him down.

The Encounter. A SONG.

1.

HAng the Presbyters Gill, Bring a Pinte of Sack Will, More O••thodox of the two; Though a slender dispute Will strike the Elfe mute, Hees one of the honester Crue.

2.

In a Pinte there's small heart, Sir••ah, bring us a Quart, There's substance and vigor met, 'Twill hold us in Play, Some part of the day, But we'll suck him before Sun-set.

3.

The dareing old Pottle Does now bid us Battle; Let's try what his strength can do; Keep your Ranks and your Files: And for all his Wiles, Wee'l tumble him down Staires too.

4

The Stout-breasted Lumberd, His Brains ne'r encumber'd With drinking of Gallous three; Tricongius was named, And by Caesar ••amed, Who dubbed him Knight Cap-a-pe.

5.

If then Honour be in't, Why a pox should we stint Our selves of the fullness it bears? H' has lesse wit than an Ape In the blood of the Grape, Will not plunge himself o're head and ears.

6.

Then summon the Gallon, A stout Foe, and a tall One, And likely to hold us to't; Keep Coyn in your Purse, The Word is disburse, I'le warrant he falls at your foot.

7.

See, the bold Foe appears, May he falls that him fears; Keep you but close Order, and then We will give him the Rout, Be he never so stout, And prepare for his Rallying agen.

8.

Wee'l dreyn the whole Cellar, Pipes, Butts, and the Dweller, If the Wine does flow no faster; Will, when thou dost slack us, By Warrant from Bacchus, Wee'l Cane thy Tun-belly'd Master.

The Good Old Cause.

NOw Lambert's sunk, and valiant M — Does ape his General Cromwell, And Arthur's Court, 'cause time is short, Does rage like Devils from Hell; Let's mark the fate and course of State, Who rises when t'other is sinking, And beleive when this is past 'Twill be our turn at last To bring the Good Old Cause by drinking.

First, red nos'd Nol he swallowed all, His colour shew'd he lov'd it: But Dick his Son, as he were none, Gav't off, and hath reprov'd it; But that his foes made bridge of's nose, And cry'd him down for a Protector, Proving him to be a fool, that would undertake to rule, And not drink and fight like Hector.

The Grecian Lad, he drank like mad, Minding no work above it; And Sans question kill'd Ephestion, Because he'd not approve it; He got command, where God had land, And like a Maudlin Yonker, When he tippled all and wept, he laid him down to sleep, Having no more Worlds to conquer.

Rump-Parliament would needs invent An Oath of Abjuration, But Obedience and Allegiance are now come into fashion: Then heres a boul, with a heart and soul To Charles, and let all men say Amen to't, Though they brought the Father down From a triple Kingdom Crown, Wee'l drink the Son up agen to't.

The Protecting Brewer.

A Brewer may be a Burgess grave, And carry the matter so fine and so brave, That he the better may play the Knave, Which no body can deny.

A Brewer may be a Parliament-man, For there the Knavery first began, And brew most cunning Plots he can, Which no body, &c.

A Brewer may put on a Nabal face, And march to the Wars with such a grace, That he may get a Captains place, Which no body, &c.

A Brewer may speak so wonderous well, That he may raise strange things to tell, And so to be made a Collonel, Which no body, &c.

A Brewer may make his foes to flee, And raise his Fortunes, so that he Lieutenant-General may be, Which no body, &c.

A Brewer he may be all in all, And raise his Powers both great and small, That he may be a Lord General, Which no body, &c.

A Brewer may be like a Fox in a Cub, And teach a Lecture out of a Tub, And give the wicked world a rub, Which no body, &c.

A Brewer by's Excize and Rate, Will promise his Army he knows what, And set it upon the Colledge-gate, Which no body, &c.

Methinks I hear one say to me, Pray why may not a Brewer be, Lord-Chancellor o'th' University, Which no body, &c.

A Brewer may be as bold as Hector, When as he has drunk off his cup of Nectar, And a Brewer may be a Lord Protector. Which no body, &c.

Now here remans the strangest thing, How this Brewer about his Liquor did bring, To be an Emperour, or a King, Which no body, &c.

A Brewer may do what he will, And rob the Church and State, to sell His soul unto the devil of hell, Which no body can deny.

The Power of the Sword.

LAY by your Pleading, Law lyes a bleeding, Burn all your Studies down, and throw away your Reading; Small power the Word has, and can afford us Not half so many Priviledges as the Sword has: It fosters your Masters, it plasters Disasters, And makes your Servants, quickly greater than their Masters; It venters, it enters, it circles, it centers, And makes a Prentice free in spight of his In∣dentures.

This takes off tall things, and sets up small things, This masters Money, though Money masters all things; 'Tis not in season, to talk of Reason, Or call it Legal, when the Sword will have it Treason; It conquers the Crown too, the Furres and the Gown too, This set up a Presbyter, and this pull'd him down too; This subtil Deceiver, turn'd Bonnet to Beaver, Down drops a Bishop, and up starts a Weaver.

This fits a Lay-man to preach and pray man, 'Tis this can make a Lord of him that was a Dray∣man; Forth from the dull pit, of Follies full pit, This brought an Hebrew Iron-monger to the Pulpit; Such pittifull things be, more happier than Kings be, This got the Herauldry of Thimblebee and Slings∣bee; No Gospel can guide it, no Law can decide it, In Church or State, untill the Sword hath sanc∣tify'd it.

Down goes the Law-tricks, for from that Matrix Sprung holy Hewson's power, and tumbled down St. Patricks; The Sword prevails so highly in Wales too, Shinkin ap Powel cryes, and swears Cuts-pluttera∣nails too; In Scotland this Waster, did make such disaster, They sent their Money back for which they sold their Master; It batter'd so their Dunkirke, and did so the Don firke, That he is fled, and swears, the Devil is in Dun∣kirke.

He that can tower o'er him that is lower, Would be but thought a Fool to put away his Power; Take Books and rent 'um, who would invent 'um, When as the Sword replyes, Negatur argumen∣tum?

Your grand Colledge Butlers, must stoop to your Sutlers, There's not a Library living like the Cutlers; The bloud that is spilt, Sir, hath gain'd all the gilt, Sir, Thus have you seen me run the Sword up to the hilt, Sir.

Cromwell's Coronation.

OLiver, Oliver, take up thy Crown, For now thou hast made three Kingdoms thine own; Call thee a Conclave of thy own creation, To ride us to ruine, who dare thee oppose: Whilst we thy good people are at thy Devotion, To fall down and worship thy terrible Nose.

To thee and thy Mermydons, Oliver, we, Do tender our homage as fits thy degree, We'll pay the Excise and Taxes, God blesse us, With fear and contrition, as penitents should, Whilst you, great Sir, vouchsafe to oppresse us, Not daring so much as in private to soold.

We bow down, as cow'd down, to thee and thy Sword, For now thou hast made thy self Englands sole Lord, By Mandate of Scripture, and Heavenly warrant, The Oath of Allegiance, and Covenant too;

To Charles and his Kingdoms thou art Heir apparent, And born to rule over the Turk and the Jew.

Then Oliver, Oliver, get up and ride, Whilst Lords, Knights, and Gentry do run by thy side; The Maulsters and Brewers account it their glory, Great God of the Grain-tub's compared to thee: All Rebells of old are lost in their story, Till thou plod'st along to the Padington-tree.

The BREWER.

To the Tune of the Black-smith.

THere many a Clinching Verse is made In honour of the Black-smiths trade, But more of the Brewer may be said, Which no body can deny.

I need not much of this repeat, The Black-smith cannot be compleat, Unlesse the Brewer do give him a heat, Which no body can deny.

When Smug unto the forge doth come, Unlesse the Brew••r doth liquor him home, He'll never strike thy pot and my pot Tom. Which no body can deny.

Of all professions in the town The Brewers trade hath gain'd renown, His liquor reacheth up to the Crown, Which no body can deny.

Many new Lords from him there did spring, Of all the trades he still was their King, For the Brewer had the world in a sling, Which no body can deny.

He scorneth all Laws and Martial stops, But whips an Army as round as tops, And cuts off his foes as thick as hops, Which no body can deny.

He dives for Riches down to the bottom, And cryes, my Masters, when he had got um, Let every tub stand upon his own bottom, Which no body can deny.

In War-like acts he scorns to stoop, For when his Army begins to droop, He draws them up us round as a hoop, Which no body can deny.

The Jewish Scots that scorns to eat The flesh of Swine, and Brewers beat, 'Twas the sight of this hogs-head made 'um re∣treat, Which no body can deny.

Poor Jockie and his basket hilt Was beaten, and much blood was spilt, And their bodies like barrels did run a tilt, Which no body can deny.

Though Jemy gave the first assault, The Brewer at last made them to halt, And left them what the Cat left in the Mault. Which no body can deny.

They cry'd that Antichrist came to settle Religion in a Cooler and a Kettle, For his Nose and Copper were both of one mettle, Which no body can deny.

Some Christian King began to quake, And said, with the Brewer no quarrels we'll make, We'll let him alone, as he Brews let him Bake, Which no body can deny.

He hath a strong and very stout heart, And thought to be made an Emperor for't, But the Devil put a spoke in his Cart, Which no body can deny.

If any intended to do him disgrace, His fury would take off his head in the place, He alway did carry his Furnesse in his face, Which no body can deny.

But yet by the way you must understand, He kept his foes so under command, That Pride could never get the upper hand, Which no body can deny.

He was a stout Brewer, of whom we may brag, But now he is hurried away with a hag; He brew'd in a bottle, and bak'd in a bag, Which no body can deny.

And now may all stout Souldiers say, Farewell the glory of the day, For the Brewer himself is turn'd to clay, Which no body can deny.

Thus fell the brave Brewer, the bold son of slaugh∣ter, We need not to fear what shall follow after, For he dealt all his life time in fire and water, Which no body can deny.

And if his Successor had had but his might, We had not been in a pittifull plight, But he was found many grains too light, Which no body can deny.

Let's leave off singing, and drink off our Bub, Wee'll call for a Reckoning, and every man Club, For I think I have told you a Tale of a Tub. Which no body can deny.

In imitation of Come my Daphne, a Dialogue between Pluto and Oliver.

Pluto.

COme Imp Royal, come away, Into black night we will turn bright day.

Oliver.

'Tis Pluto calls, what would my Syre?

Pluto.

Come, follow to the Stygian fire, Where Ireton doth wait To welcome thee in state.

Oliver.

Were I in bed with Lamberts wife, I'de quit those joyes for such a life.

Pluto.

My Princely Nol make hast, For thee we keep a Fast.

Oliver.

In these dismal shades will I Unto thee unfold my Villany.

Pluto.

In my bosome I'll thee lay, For thy sake wee'l all keep holyday.

Chorus.

Wee'l rage and roar, and fry in flames, And Charles himself shall see How damn'dly we agree, Yet scorn to change our Chains For his eternal diety.

A Quarrel betwixt Tower-hill and Tyburn.

I'LE tell you a Story that never was told, A tale that hath both head and heel, And though by no Recorder inroll'd, I know you will find it as true as steel.

When General Monck was come to the Town, A little time after the Rump had the rout, When Loyalty rose, and Rebellion fell down, They say, that Tower-hill and Tyburne fell out.

Q••oth terrible Tyburne to lofty Tower-hill, Thy longed-for daies are come at last, And now thou wilt dayly thy belly fulfill With King-killers bloud whilst I must fast.

The High Court of Justice will come to the Bar, There to be cooked and dressed for thee, Whilst I, that live out of Town so far, Must only be fed by Fellony.

If Treason be counted the foulest fact, And dying be a Traytor's due, Then why should you all the glory exact? You know, they are sitter for me than you.

To speak the plain truth, I have groan'd for them long, For when they had routed the Royal Root, And done the Kingdom so much wrong, I knew at the last they would come to't▪

When Titchburne sate upon the Ben••h, Twirling his Chain in high degree, With a Beardless Chin, like a withered Wench, Thought I, the Bar is fitter for thee.

But then, with stately composed face, Tower-hill to Tyburne made reply, Do not complain, in such a Case Thou shalt have thy share as well as I.

There are a sort of Mongrils, which My Lordly Scaffold will disgrace: I know Hugh Peters his fingers itch To make a Pulpit of the place.

But t••ke him Tyburn, he is thine own, Divide his quarter•• with thy ••••ife, Who did pollute with f••••sh and ••e The quarters of the Butchers wife.

The next among these Petticoat-Peers Is Harry Martin, take him thither, But he hath been addle so many years, That I fear he will hardly hang together.

There's Hacker, zealous Tom Harrison too, That boldly defends the bloudy deed, He practizeth what the Jesuites do, To murder his King, as a part of his Creed.

There's single-eyed Hewson the Cobler of Fate, Translated into Buff and Feather, But bootless are all his seams of State When the soul is unript from the upper-lea∣ther.

Is this prophane mechanical Brood For me, that have been dignfy'd With loyal Land and Straffords blood, And holy Hewet, who lately dy'd?

Do thou contrive with deadly Dun To send them to the River of Stix, 'Tis pitty, since those Saints are gone, That Martyrs and Murtherers bloud should mix.

Then do not fear me that I will Deprive thee of that fatal Day: 'Tis fit those that their King did kill Sould hang up in the Kings high-way.

My Priviledge, though I know it is large, Into thy hand I'le freely give it, For there is Cook that read the Kings Charge, Is only fit for the Devils tribute.

Then taunting Tyburn, in great scorn, Did make Tower-hill this rude reply: So much rank bloud my stomack will turn, And thou shalt be sick as well as I.

These Traytors made those Martyrs bleed Upon the Block, that thou dost bear, And there it is fit they should dye for the deed; But Tower-hill cryed, they shall not come there.

With that grim Tyburn began to fret, And Tower-hill did look very grim: And sure as a Club they both would have met, But that the City did step between.

The Bloody Bed-roll, or Treason displayed in its Colours.

Triumphing News for Cavaliers, The Rump smells strong, cast out by th' Peers.

OLd OLIVER's gone to the Dogs, Oh! No I do mistake, Hee's gone in a Wherry Over the Ferry, Is call'd the Stygian Lake. But Cerberus that Great Porter Did read him such a Lecture, That made him to roar When he came a-shoar

For being Lord Protector. News, news, news, Brave Cavaliers be merry, Chear up your sad souls With Bacchus Bowls, Of Claret, White, and Sherry.

Where is that Cursed Crew Were of the last King•• Jury, By thy damned soul Go fetch them Nol Quoth ••luto in his fury. Where is old Joan thy wife? Her Highness I would see, Come let her in She shall be my Queen, For a Cuckold thou shalt be. News, news, &c.

Make room for a Ramping Lady, One of the Devils race, This ugly Witch, And nasty Bitch Spat in the King's sweet face. I••le make her a Lady of Honour, Q••oth Pluto let her in, And open the door; For this old Whore Shall wait upon my Queen. News, n••ws, &c.

Here comes Sir HENRY MARTYN As good as ever pist,

This wenching beast Had Whores at least A thousand on his lift: This made the Devils laugh, So good a friend to see, At Pluto's Court There's better sport, Come thou shalt dwell with me. News, news, &c.

Bid Caron bring his Boat, Here comes a man of fame, Who hath waited here Above a year, JACK BRADSHAW is his name, O ho quoth Pluto then, As loud as he could yawl, By Oliver's Nose I did suppose Thou hadst been at White-hall. News, news, &c.

Thou'rt welcome to my Court, Here on my Scroul I find, I have in store A thousand more As Arrant Rogues behind. Why art thou sad quoth Pluto? My Servants must appear, Then do not grudge I'le made thee Judge Of all my Subjects here. News, news, &c.

Here comes a friend of mine, Make room for the Lord LISLE, His guests at last Did come so fast That made old Pluto smile. Thou must along with me, Now 'tis too late to rue it, Thy damned Soul Is on my Scroul, Remember Doctor Hewet. News, news, &c.

What is the Cause Sir ARTHUR Your Pulses go so quick? 'Tis Bishops Lands That's in your hands VVhich makes them beat so thick. Thy Oath of Abjuration Was far a worser thing, For the Devil and thou Did study how VVe should abjure our KING. News, news, &c.

Next comes Sir HENRY MILDMAY As good as ever twang'd, VVhat Laws had we VVhen he scap'd free And honest men were hang'd? Perhaps the KING's good grace May pardon what is past, But that's all one At Pluto's Throne Thou must appear at last, News, news, &c,

Shall Traytors be conceal'd? Oh! no Sir HENRY VANE, 'Tis a pittifull thing For our good KING When Traytors are in grain. If thou wilt take the pains, Then pray thee go and look, For I am told Thou art enrol'd In Pluto's bloody Book. News, news, &c.

Here comes the Learned SPEAKER, Whose baggs of Gold do rust, Who would not hear A Cavalier Though his Cause were nere so just. Corruption bears the sway Where Justice is deny'd, The Devil take him, And Mr. PYM, And likewise Collonel PRIDE. News, news, &c.

Make room for one-ey'd HEWSON, A Lord of such account, 'Twas a pretty Jest That such a Beast Should to such honour mount. When Coblers were in fashion, And Nigherds in such grace; 'Twas sport to see How PRIDE and he

Did justle for the Place. News, news, &c.

What dreadfull shew is this? 'Tis PRIDEAUX or his Ghost, He makes such hast, And comes so fast, I think He's riding Post. A Lawyer if thou art, Amongst the damned souls, At Pluto's Barre, 'Tis better farre Then pleading at the Roles. News, news, &c.

Oh welcome Dr. PETERS, And Co••ne•• ••OYCE also, One of these twain Was worse than Cain That gave the deadly blow: One of these Cursed Rogues Was he that did the feat, But some men say 'Twas that Lord GRAY That made the work compleat. News, news, &c.

A Boat for this Old Doctor To cross the River Styx, For Pluto he Desired to see Some of his Antick tricks; My Chaplain thou shalt be, What more can be desired?

Oh! quoth he That cannot be, My Lease is not expir'd. News, news, &c.

Oh! my Rump, my Rump, my Rump, My Rump smells wonderous strong, The blisters rise About my Thighs With voting here so long, My Rump is grown so sore, I can no longer sit, Hold up thy Bum, The Devil is come With a Plaister to cure it. News, news, &c.

VVhen Pluto keeps his feast, The Rogues must all appear, And Mr. SCOT I had forgot, Must tast of this good Chear. Find out the Man, quoth Pluto, That is the greatest sinner, If COOK be he Then COOK shall be The Cook to Cook my dinner, News, news, &c.

God blesse the KINGS good grace, And keep him from his foes, I wish the rather Because his Father, Had too too many of those.

God blesse the Duke of YORK, His Sister, and Another, Accurst be those That do oppose The sending for their Mother. News, news, news, Brave Cavaliers be merry, Chear up your sad souls With Bacchus Bowls, Of Claret, White, and Sherry.

The four Legg'd Elder; or a Relation of a Horrible Dog and an Elders Maid.

To the Tune of The Ladies fall; Or Gather your Rose Buds, and 50 other Tunes.

1.

ALL Christians, and Lay-Elders too, For shame amend your Lives, I'll tell you of a Dog-trick now, Which much concerns your wives. An Elder's Maid near Temple-bar (Ah what a Quean was she!) Did take an ugly Mastiff Cur Where Christians use to be. Help House of Commons, House of Peers! Oh now or never help! Th' Assembly having sate four years Have now brought forth a whelp!

2.

One Evening late she stept aside, Pretending to fetch Eggs, And there she made her self a Bride To one that had four leggs: Her Master heard a Rumblement, And wonder'd she did tarry, Not dreaming (without his consent) His Dog would ever marry. Help House of Commons, &c.

3.

He went to peep, but was afraid, And hastily did run To fetch a Staff to help his Maid, Not knowing what was done; He took his Ruling Elder's Cane, And cry'd out, Help, help here! For Swash our Mastiff and poor Jane Are now, fight Dog, fight Bear. Oh House of Commons, &c.

4.

But when he came he was full sorry, For he perceiv'd their strife, That according to the Directory These two were Dog and Wife: Ah (then he said) thou cruel Quean, Why hast thou me beguil'd? I wonder'd Swash was grown so lean, Poor Dog he's almost spoyl'd. Oh House of Commons, &c.

5.

I thought thou hadst no carnal sense But what's in other Lasses,

And could have quench'd thy Cupiscence According to the Classis; But all the Parish see it plain, Since thou art in this pickle, Thou art an Independent Quean, And lov'st a Conventicle. Oh House of Commons, &c.

6.

Alas now each Malignant Rogue Will all the world perswade That she that's Spouse unto a Dog, May be an Elder's Maid; They'll jeer us if abroad we stir, Good Master Elder stay, Sir, of what Classis is your Cur; And then what can we say? Oh House of Commons, &c.

7.

They'll many graceless Ballads sing Of a Presbyterian, That a Lay-Elder is a thing Made up half-Dog half-Man: Out, out, (said he, and smote her down) Was Mankind grown so scant? There's scarce another Dog in town Had took the Covenant. Oh House of Commons, &c.

8.

Then Swash began to look full grim, And Jane did thus reply, Sir, you thought nought too good for him, You fed your Dog too high: Tis true, he took me in the lurch, And leapt into my arm,

But (as I hope to come to Church) I did your Dog no harm. Oh House of Commons, &c.

9.

Then she was brought to Newgate Gaol, And there was naked stript, They whipt her till the Cord did fail, As Dogs use to be whipt: Poor City Maids shed many a tear When she was lash'd and bang'd, And had she been a Cavalier, Surely she had been hang'd. Oh House of Commons, &c.

10.

Her's was but Fornication found, For which she felt the lash, But his was Buggery presum'd, Therefore they hanged Swash. What will become of Bishops then, Or Independency, For now we find both Dogs and Men Stand for Presbytery. Oh House of Commons, &c.

11.

She might have took a Sow-gelder, With Synod-men good store, But she would have a Lay-Elder With two legs, and two more. Go tell the Assembly of Divines, Tell Adoniram Blew, Tell Burges, Marshall, Case, and Vines, Tell Now-and-Anon-too. Oh House of Commons, &c.

12.

Some said she was a Scotish Girl, Or else (at least) a Witch; But she was born in Colchester, Was ever such a Bitch! Take heed all Christian Virgins now, The Dog-star now prevails; Ladies beware your Monkeys too, For Monkeys have long tails. Oh House of Commons, &c.

13.

Blesse King and Queen, and send us peace, As we had seven years since, For we remember no Dog-dayes While we enjoy'd our Prince: Bless sweet Prince Charles, two Dukes, three Girls, O save His Majesty! Grant that his Commons, Lords, and Earls, May lead such lives as He Oh House of Commons, House of Peers! Oh now or never help! Th' Assembly having sate four years, Have now brought forth a whelp!

News from Colchester.

Or, A Proper new Ballad of certain Carnal passages betwixt a Quaker and a Colt, at Horsley near Col∣chester in Essex. To the Tune of Tom of Bedlam.

1.

ALL in the Land of Essex, Near Colchester the Zealous,

On the side of a bank, Was play'd such a Prank, As would make a Stone-horse jealous.

2.

Help Woodcock Fox, and Nailor, For Brother Green's a Stallion, Now alas what hope Of converting the Pope, When a Quaker turns Italian!

3.

Even to our whole profession A scandall 'twill be counted, When 'tis talkt with disdain Amongst the Profane, How Brother Green was mounted.

4.

And in the Good time of Christmas, Which though our Saints have damn'd all, Yet when did they hear That a damn'd Cavalier Ere play'd such a Christmas gamball?

5.

Had thy flesh, O Green, been pamper'd With any Cates unhallow'd, Hadst thou sweetned thy Gums With Pottage of Plums, Or prophane minc'd Pie hadst swallow'd.

6.

Roll'd up in wanton Swine's-flesh, The Fiend might have crept into thee, Then fullnesse of gut Might have made thee rut, And the Devil have so rid through thee.

7.

But alas, he had been feasted With a Spiritual Collation, By our frugal Mayor, Who can dine on a Prayer, And sup on an Exhortation.

8.

'Twas meer impulse of Spirit, Though he us'd the weapon carnal, Filly Foal, quoth he, My Bride thou shalt be: And how this is lawfull, learn all.

9.

For if no respect of Persons Be due 'mongst the sons of Adam, In a large extent, Thereby may be meant That a Mare's as good as a Madam.

10.

Then without more Ceremony, Not Bonnet vail'd, nor Kist her, But took her by force, For better for worse, And us'd her like a Sister.

11.

Now when in such a Saddle A Saint will needs be riding, Though we dare not say 'Tis a falling away, May there not be some back-sliding?

12.

No surely, quoth James Nailor, 'Twas but an insurrection

Of the Carnal part, For a Quaker in heart Can never lose perfection.

13.

For (as our Masters teach us) The intent being well directed, Though the Devil trapan The Adamical man, The Saint stands un-infected.

14.

But alas a Pagan Jury Ne're judges what's intended, Then say what we can, Brother Green's out-ward man I fear will be suspended.

15.

And our Adopted Sister Will find no better quarter, But when him we inroul For a Saint, Filly Foal Shall passe her self for a Martyr.

16.

Rome that Spiritual Sodome, No longer is thy debter, O Colchester, now Who's Sodome but thou, Even according to the Letter?

The Four-legg'd Quaker.

To the Tune of The Four-legg'd Elder.

1.

ALL that have two or but one ear, (I dare not tell ye half) You of an Essex Colt shall hear Will shame their very Calf. In Horsley Fields near Colchester A Quaker would turn Trooper; He caught a Foal and mounted her (O base!) below the Crupper. Help Lords, and Commons, once more help, O send us Knives and Daggers! For if the Quakers be not gelt Your Troops will have the Staggers.

2.

Ralph Green (it was this Varlet's name) Of Colchester you'll swear, For thence the Four-legg'd Elder came, Was ever such a Pair! But though 'twas foul 'tween Swash and Jane, Yet this is ten times worse; For then a Dog did play the Man, But Man now play'd the Horse. Help, &c.

3.

The Owner of the Colt was nigh, (Observing their Embrace) And drawing nearer did espy The Quaker's sorrel Face:

My Foal is ravish'd (then he cryes, And fiercely at him ran) Thou Rogue, I'll have thee haltered twice, As Horse and eke as Man! Help, &c.

4.

Ah Devil, do'st thou tremble? now 'Tis sore against thy will; For Mares and preaching Ladies know Thou hast a Colts tooth still: But mine's not guilty of this Fact, She was by thee compelled; Poor thing, whom no man ever backt Thou wickedly hast Bellied. Help, &c.

5.

O Friend (said Green, with sighs and groans) Let this thy wrath appease! (And gave him then eight new Half-crowns To make him hold his peace) The man reply'd, though I for this Conceal thy Hugger Mugger, Do'st think it lawfull for a Piece A silly Foal to Bugger? Help, &c.

6.

The Master saw his Colt defil'd, Which vext his Soul with doubt; For if his Filly prov'd with Childe He knew All would come out: Then he afresh began to rave, (For all his Money taking) Neighbours, said he, I took this Knave 'Ith' very act of Quaking. Help, &c.

7.

Then to the Pinfold (Gaol I mean) They dragg'd him by the Mane, They call'd him Beast, and call'd her Quean, As if she had been Jane. O stone him (all the Women cry'd) Nay geld him (which is worse) Who scorn'd us all, and took a Bride That's Daughter to a Horse! Help, &c.

8.

The Colt was silent all this while, And therefore 'twas no Rape, The Virgin foal he did beguile, And so intends to scape: For though he caught her in a Ditch Where she could not revolt, Yet he had no Scott'sh spurr nor Switch To ride the willing Colt Help, &c.

9.

O Essex, Essex, England's pride, Go burn this long-tail'd Quean, For though the Thames runs by thy side, It cannot wash thee clean! 'Tis not thy Bleating Sonn's complaints, Hold forth such wanton courses, Thy Oysters hint the very Saint To horn the very Horses. Help, &c.

10.

Though they salute not in the Street (Because they are our Masters) 'Tis now reveal'd why Quakers meet In Meadows, Woods, and Pastures.

But Hors-men, Mare-men, all and some Who Man and Beast perplex, Not only from East-Horsley come, But from West-Middle-Sex. Help, &c.

11.

This was not GREEN the Feltmaker, Nor Willow GREEN the Baker, Nor GEORGE the Sea-GREEN Mariner, But RALPH the Grasse-GREEN Quaker, Had GREEN the Sow-gelder but known, And done his Office duly, Though RALPH was GREEN when he came on, He had come off most blewly. Help, &c.

12.

Alas you know by Man's flesh came The Foul-disease to Naples, And now we fear the very same Is broke into our Stable••; For Death hath stoln so many Steeds From Prince and Peer, and Carrier, That this new Murrain rather needs a * 1.18 FARRAR than a Farrier Help, &c.

13.

Nay if this GREEN within the walls Of Colchester left forces, Those Cavaliers were Caniballs, Eating his Humane Horses! But some make Man their second course, (In cool Blood will not spare) Who butcher Men and favour Horse Will couple with a Mare. Help, &c.

14.

This Centaur, unquoth Other thing, Will make a dreadfull Breach: Yet though an Ass may speak or * 1.19 sing, O let not Horses preach! But bridle such wilde Colts who can When they'll obey no Summons, For things begot 'tween Mare & Man Are neither Lords nor Commons. Help, &c.

15.

O Elders, Independants too, Though all your Power's combin'd▪ Quakers will grow too strong for you Now Horse and Man are joyn'd: While Cavaliers, poor foolish Rogues, Know only Maids Affairs, She-Presbyters can deal with Dogs, And Quaking-men with Mares. Help, &c.

16.

Now as when Milan Town was rear'd, A Monstrous Sow untam'd, With Back half Hair half Wool appear'd, 'Twas Mediolanum nam'd: So Colchester must have recourse To some such four-legg'd Sister, For sure as Horsley came from Horse, From Colt 'twas call'd Col-chester. Help, Lords and Commons, &c.

A JOLT on Michaelmas day 1654.

To the Tune of

To himself that hath fool'd More than Mahomet could, &c.

1.

IT fell on a day, When good People say St. Michael beat the Dragon, My Lord the Protector Did drive (like a Hector) A Coach instead of a * 1.20 Wagon.

2.

Because he did hear The Chareteer Did antiently wear a Crown, Up went the Horse-heels, Round round went the Wheeles, 'Till his Highnesse came head-long down.

3.

He reign'd them so hard, They look'd back and were scar'd To see him so red and so grim Away then they fled, And though he us'd to lead, This new-modell'd Horse would lead him.

4.

But O how they snuff When his Pistol flew off, For which all the Saints suspect him, Doth Providence attend him, Thirty thousand defend him, Yet a poor Pocket-pistol protect him;

5.

How many a Hurl Had poor Mr. * 1.21 Thurl — —Lo! He in the Coach did prank it: He thought he had sate Chief Secretary of State, But was toss'd like a Dog in a Blanket.

6.

Nay had they run faster Hee'd follow his Master Through all the Sceans of this Mad-show: A Brewer, a Collonel, A Preacher a General, A Protector, a King—then comes Bradshaw.

7.

They slander my Lord With a bug-bear Word, That he did like Phaeton drive; But his Highness try'd Six Horses to guide, And Phaeton had now five.

8.

Mad Phaeton hurl'd Fire all o're the World, Then dead in a River was found: But my Lord had no ayme To set all in a flame, And never was born to be drown'd.

9.

'Twas Nero did strive Such Charets to drive, And publickly shew'd his Work; But when my Lord sticks Up his Bills to shew tricks, Hee'l undo th'other dauncing Turk.

10.

But if you look high, There's some reason why These Jades did so fling and skip, For though we afford Him the power of the Sword, He had no command of the Whip.

11.

Enthron'd in his Chair (What a pox did He there?) He took such Protectorly courses, He seem'd Horse and Mule, But 'tis easier to rule Three Kingdoms, than six Horses.

12.

Not a day nor an hour But we felt his Power, And now he would shew us his Art:

His first Reproach Is a fall from a Coach, And his last will be from a Cart.

The House out of Doors. April 20. 1653.

To the Tune of Cook Laurell.

1.

YOu saw Eleven Members turn'd out of Doors, And 200. more were driven from home, And then their own Lords were voted down stairs, (When some of them crept into the Lower room:) We purg'd and we purg'd, but all would not do't, The Body had got such a damnable Paunch) 'Till OLIVER fell upon Branch and Root, Then down with it, down with it, down Root and Branch. With a hey down, down a down down, Sing ho down down to make up the Ditty, With a hey down down a down down, The Parliament's broke as well as the City.

2.

These Remnant Members began to say Their General was fit to be had in suspition; And offer'd to Vote his Commission away, As if (forsooth) they had given him his Commis∣sion: He did (yet did not) make use of his Sword, On Men that could vote, and vote, but no more;

He shew'd them his Hilt, and spake but a word, And that word blew the whole House out of door. With a hey down, &c. The Parliament's broke as well as the City.

3.

This day was Strafford all-to-be-Traytor'd, Because (they say) He had an Intent (As this day Nol the Members scatter'd) * 1.22 By an Army to force the Parliament. At which old VANE now rants and raves, For Strafford's bloud is not yet grown cold) And yet we must say while we speak of Knaves, The Old is the Young, and the Young is the Old. With a hey down, &c. The Parliament's broke as well as the City.

4.

Sir MILDMAY then with his hand on his groin, (As fit for a Knave of the Diamonds) stood: He eat the Kings Bread, & drank the Kings Wine, So long till at last he drank of his Bloud. So did CORNELIƲS HOLLAND too, Whose share i'th' Revenue doth fill three Pages, But now when the House is broke up (you know) 'Tis fit Houshold Servants be paid their Wages. With a hey down, &c. The Parliament's broke as well as the City.

5.

The Judge of Morocco (Treason HILL) Devour'd at a Morsell all Taunton Dean, He keeps five Chambers i'th'Temple, but will (Now th' House is pull'd down) be a Hillock again. And the Devil too for his BOND doth call,

Though Dennis from Chamber to Chamber did hop, He sate Lord President at Whitehall, But now must go home to fit in his shop. With a hey, &c. The Parliament's broke as well a•• the City.

6.

Now Alderman Fustian cocks not his Beaver, Who chang'd his Name from Perry to PƲRY, A Dean and a Bishop made out of a Weaver, That had been refus'd to be of a Jury: He vow'd to leave not a Gentleman, Though every House were as big as Rome: In all bloody Votes he highest ran; But now may run down to his Bottom and Loom. With a hey, &c, The Parliament's broke as well as the City.

7.

Now look to your Wives, for I am inform'd That carnal SCOT is again broke loose; But the House that shelter'd his Lust is Reform'd As he did the Hall of Lambeth-house; (For he knew the High Commission sate there) Both King and Cromwell he openly curs'd, But Oliver now will pay his Arrear, For of all kind of Scots the English is worst. With a hey down, down a down down, Sing ho down down to make up the Ditty, With a hey down down a down down, The Parliament's broke as well as the City.

The RUMP. December 26. 1659.

To the Tune of The Blacksmith.

NOw Master & Prentice for Rimes must pump On Hab, * 1.23 Noll, Arthur, and Lawson Vantrump, A Long Parliament of a Short Rump. Which no body can deny.

For Wits and No-Wits now have an Itch To prepare some damnable tearing Switch For them whose very Face is a Breech. Which, &c.

Twelve years they sate above Kings and Queens, Full twelve, and then had enter'd their teens When Oliver came to out-sin their Sins. Which, &c.

And yet after all his signal Septembers, Both he and his Babe, and his Other-House Mem∣bers Saw Rump was but asleep in its Embers. Which, &c.

For up it rose, then out 'twas blown, For Lambert and Rump like my Lady and Joan, Blew in and out till Rump blew out John. Which, &c▪

And then it swell'd with such monstrous growth

That by and by it broke out in the South, From whence it was called PORTS-MOUTH. Which, &c.

From thence to London it rode tan-tivy, (Though London then wore Holly and Ivy) And sate at Whitehall in a Council-Privy. Which, &c.

Then suddenly Fleetwood fell from Grace, And now cryes Heaven hath spit in his face, Though he smelt it came from another place. Which, &c.

Janizary Desbrow then look'd pale, For, said he, if this Rump prevail, 'Twill blow me back to my old Plough-tayl, Which, &c.

But when he felt his own Regiment kick, Oh, quoth he, this was my own Trick 'Gainst my Brother Nol and my Nephew Dick. Which, &c.

Now whom the Devil doth Rump represent? 'Twas This that Sir Thomas Jermyn meant When he call'd it a Whipping Parliament. Which, &c.

We're stript of all shelter from the long Robe, As rich and warm as the Devil left Job, For Satan Rump sits Lord of the Globe. Which, &c.

And yet when all is examin'd and ponder'd, You'll find three Kingdoms enslav'd & plunder'd, For saying Fourty is lesse than Four hundred. Which, &c.

And now behold the Sign is in Clune, But if Monck be honest or wise, then soon he Makes Rump but the Italian's Domo Communi. Which, &c.

Heaven bless the King, with his two brave Brothers, From Rumps and Lords of the House call'd Others, And hang these Rumping Sons of their Mothers. Which, &c.

And that He may blesse both Us and our Heirs, Let all the Members of Commons and Peers, Turn honest as He that wants his Ears. Which no body can deny.

Sir Eglamor and the Dragon: Or a Relation how Generall George Monck slew a most Cruell Dragon Febr. 11. 1659.

To the Tune of Sir Eglamor.

1.

GEnerall George that Valiant wight, He took his Sword and he would go fight, And as he rode through London Town, Men, Women, Posts, and Gates, fell down.

2.

But turning about towards Westminster, He saw it must come to Fight Dog, Fight Bear, For there an old Dragon sate in its Den, Had devour'd (God knows how many) brave Men.

3.

This Dragon it was and a monstrous Beast, With fourty or fifty heads at least, And still as this Dragon drank down Blood, Those heads would wag and cry good—good—good!

4.

No Hidra nor Leviathan, For every Head look'd like a Man, And yet they all grew Hidra-wise, For cut off one and another would rise

5.

Besides it had most Devilish claws, Call'd Committees of the Good Old Cause; But Devil and his Dam had no such Paunch As this which swallow'd Root and Branch.

6.

It swallow'd Churches, Pallaces, Forrests, Islands, Lands, and Seas, Cathedrall Choires it made but a Sallad, And left not a man to sing a Ballad.

7.

But that which made this Dragon prevaile, Was a damnable Sting stuck in its Tayle, This Tayle 'gainst Christendom made Wars, And swept down all St. Georges Stars.

8.

Then Aegypts Plagues we understood, Darknesse, Rivers turn'd to Blood,

Upstart Vermin thick as wooll, And Frogs and Locusts Pulpits full.

9.

Yet that which most did Plague these Isles, Three Kingdoms lay so sick of th' Piles, For every man in dolefull dump Was tortur'd with a Bloody Rump.

10.

But as in its Den this Dragon did sit, George gave it many a gay good hit, Though then he had no Sword nor Sythe on, But fought as Phoebus slew old Python.

11.

For George shot at him a flaming Letter, (Which some then thought might have been bet∣ter He wipe'd the Rump away with a Paper, And out it flew like a stinking Vapour.

12.

Now London had her own desire, For every Street was pav'd with fire, All Men and Bells with many a thump, Cry'd Rump-Rump-Rump-Rump-Rump-Rump-R.

13.

Six thousand fifty Bone-fires then, (By twenty more thenth' Army had Men) O monstrous Rump, that thus requires (Though but half broyl'd) six thousand Fires▪

14.

This very day that Rump was burn'd, Old Magna Charta was confirm'd; This day they Voted that monstrous thing,* 1.24 That no Addresses be made to the King.

15.

Now God bless Charles, & York, & Gloucester, From many or from one Impostor, May Kings, and Peers, and Commons joyn To save us both from Rump and Loyn.

The Cities Feast to the Lord Protector.

To the Tune of Cook Laurell.

SIR Mayor invites his Highnesse 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 jest∣ing, 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 Souldiers in clusters throng'd 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 hear three quarters hence. With a ran tan the Devil is dead.

With that the Recorder marcht up to the Hall With a dish of Divinity drest for his pallate, And laid before him a shoulder of Saul, With a savory simily by for a salate. With a ran tan the Devil is dead.

His Highnesse 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 wisht his stomack ten times larger, Yet made a long neck and poach'd them all. With a ran tan the Divil is dead.

A Prelate was next, and to him he buckles, With a Bishoprick truss'd before and behinde, His Highness was in with him up to the knuckles, And to his own kitchin the skuers assign'd. With a ran tan the Divel is dead.

His Highness then calld' for a boule of Canary, And drank so deep that it made him reel, He toss'd 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 ano∣ther, H••l fill'd up his pockets, and said God be thank∣ed,

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 Lords worship and made him a leg, With that the Knight-maker did give him the Sword; His Highnesse did spice him without a nutmeg, When he made a bad Knight of a pittifull Lord. With a ran tan the Devil is dead.

When he left the City he broke a jest, His words were pithy, and I'le repeat them, Farewell (quoth his Highness) thou spur-gall'd Beast, Fools make the Feasts, and wise men eat them. With a ran tan the Devil is dead.

FINIS.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Their Decla∣ration.
• * 1.2

  Surplices.
• * 1.3

  The new disease.
• * 1.4

  See the Preface
• * 1.5

  Q. Curtius, lib. 3.
• * 1.6

  Q. Curtius lib. 2.
• * 1.7

  An At∣torney.
• (1.) 1.8

  The Scotch Ale-house in Harts-horne Lane.
• (2.) 1.9

  Clerks of the Exchequer, that used to drink their Mornings Draughts there.
• (3.) 1.10

  They call'd one another so.
• (4.) 1.11

  To Westminster.] Places there where Clerks in Term time usually break their Fast.
• (5.) 1.12

  A Bawdy-house.
• * 1.13

  Harrison.
• * 1.14

  Blake
• * 1.15

  Lambert.
• * 1.16

  Ludlow.
• * 1.17

  John Lil∣born.
• * 1.18

  Physician to the Earl of Pem∣brook, who is no Quaker nor Quacker.
• * 1.19

  A new Sect of young Men and Women, who pray, eat and sing ex tempore.
• * 1.20

  Londinium petere solebat gestatorio, se•• vehiculo com∣muni.
• * 1.21

  Vocem 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 THURLO rithmicè respondentem nostrates desiderant: nomen itaque (ipsius homulli instar crucis) hanc 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 patitur; nostroque vel versiculo, ac ipso curru, huc illuc impellitur.
• * 1.22

  April 20. 1641 April 20. 1653
• * 1.23

  St. John's.
• * 1.24

  Febr. 11. 1647.