White-Hall fayre, or, Who buys good penniworths of Barkstead the fayre proclamed.
About this Item
Title
White-Hall fayre, or, Who buys good penniworths of Barkstead the fayre proclamed.
Author
Barkstead, John, d. 1662.
Publication
[London] :: Printed for A.P.,
1648.
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Subject terms
Roundheads -- Anecdotes. -- Poetry.
Great Britain -- Politics and government -- 1642-1649 -- Poetry.
Cite this Item
"White-Hall fayre, or, Who buys good penniworths of Barkstead the fayre proclamed." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A30966.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 21, 2024.
Pages
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WHITE-HALL FAYRE, &c.
Spectator.
HEre's a Faire well furnisht? what Co∣lonel Barkstead, art thou turn'd Ped∣lar, what rarities, make thy packe looke with so full a countenance; thou art laden with other Commo∣dities (sure) then Thimbles, and silver Spoones.
Pedlar.
Sir I intrusted am, by our high States,Who are the Kingdomes Rulers, yea their Fates,To put to sale, those paper OrdinancesWho broke ere they were charg'd by sad mischances;For to make money of those rotten LawesWhich shrunke, and durst not to support the Cause.I am Authoriz'd to present to viewThe States Quodiblits, and I have a fewOf their strange wild projections, hard to see,To kill the King, and all his Progenie.
Spectator.
Pri-thee discover some of those envi'd Objects. What's that thou art so shie to bring out, rip up the belly of thy Bag, and let me take a view of all.
Pedlar.
Here is a Fairing, dangerous to reveale,'Tis the late counterfeited, new Great Seale:With which the Commons ratifie their Acts,And doe confirme, their treasonable Facts.
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Nor is this to be thought, a grand deceit;For they each one, even Kings do counterfeit.The Kings Power virtually, is in themThey say, and therefore share his Diadem:And though against all Reason, Law, and Right,They keepe him Prisoner, in the Isle of Wight.By consequence, He doth amongst them sit,If you will please Sir, for to credit it.
Spectator.
Their principles are altogether Paradoxes; but pri∣thee, what's that hath so faire an out-side, yet is so black within.
Pedlar.
O Sir! this able is, all Hell to daunt,This is the Solemne league, and Covenant;A damn'd projection, such as Knox found outWhen hee, and Andrew Melvill went aboutFor to reforme the Scottish Kirk, and drawAll to imbrace, the Presbyterian law.When the Earth sweat, for to behold their acts,And Hell was plow'd up, with their hellish facts.This is the Gordian-knot, that once did tieTwo Kingdomes, in a trayterous Amitie.This thrust them forward, Bishops to pull downe;And after that, to ceaze on CHARLES his Crowne:While the poore Commons, of this bale-full IsleWere forc't for to be perjur'd, and meane whileExpos'd to all calamity, and woe;Their Persons slaine, their Chattels ceaz'd on too▪But now the Members, having gain'd their ends,They kick the Scots off, once their onely Friends▪
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The Covenant no longer, they regard;They fought for fame, their Brethren for reward.And Oliver, even by his Sword hath vow'dTheir Government, shall never, be allow'd,
Spectator.
What's that, that is so patch't and piec't there, with many Cuts and slices in't, as if some Sword had been ea∣ting out a passage, through and through it.
Pedlar.
This is an Ordinance, o'the purest kind;That maimed Soldiers, may some succour find;Those that have lost, a joynt, an Arme, a Leg,Must now no longer, be constrain'd to beg.They shall have a relief, the day is set,From those Delinquents states, not found out yet;Their service is summ'd up, and this is allThat must bee their reward, an Hospitall:Three-pence a day, cleane Straw, contempt and scorne,This is the badge, that must their Armes adorne.
Spectator.
Was any other to be expected, but that those who have ruinated others for gaine, should in the end perish them∣selves by want; but what more hast thou there, prithee make a full and free discovery?
Pedlar.
Here's a Declaration showesThe Members, doe repent the woesThey have upon, the Kingdome brought;While they good-men, it's welfare sought:
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Therefore to bleare the Commons eyes,And for to stint their heavie cryesThis doth declare; they will appointThose men, who to put all in joint,Shall heare, their heavie plaints; redresseAll grievances, that them oppresse:Though no such thing, they doe intend;Or that their Pressures, e're should end.
Spectator.
Enough of that, but what is that other Scrowle there, thou hast bound up so surely?
Pedlar.
O Sir, this Ordinance commandsThe speedy sale, of Bishops lands;For since the Church is quite defac't:Why with Revenues, is it grac't.This lovely Pawne, is layd to pledgeTo Sathan, Prince of Sacriledge.Since now no Learning's requisiteBut what, the Spirit doth indite.Since Coblers, Tinkers, Weavers, Taylors,Rope-makers, Chandlers, Pedlars, SaylorsCan Preach, and lovely well can Pray,When as the Spirit bids them say.Since now each Dolt, although in jest,Can put on black, and bee a Priest;And with his Staffe in hand can traceAll o're the Land from place to place.And 'mongst the Rurals pick up pence;Tearming it supreame providence.What should wee doe, with Learned men;No, let the Chaos, come agen.
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For since no lands the Church doth merit,Wee all will live, upon the Spirit.
Spectator.
Church Lands are worth a million an Acre, and yet whoseever buyes one for a pennie, will lose by the bargaine, but those Sacrilegious theeves at Westminster, are so flesht in wickednesse, that were it in their power, they would make sale of the Golden gates of Heaven, and traffick for the Emeraulds and Saphires that pave it, but what other conceits hast thou?
Pedlar.
Sir, here's an Ordinance, that doth command,That all the Royall partie, out of handDepart the City, and for preservationOf those good Members, that now rule our Nation.Not come, within ten furlongs of the CittyLest they be snapt, by a Select Committee.Hierusalem, the holy Citty noneBut Saints, must have their habitationIn thee; and therefore, now away prophane,And come, when you are sent for in againe.None must in London, take up their abode,But the blest Round-heads, the Elect of God.Whom he hath blest, with a pure Reformation,To trample on the ruines, of a Nation.Bow, bow your backs, stoope, stoope and let them rideYee Cavaliers, your Fate you must abide.
Spectator.
They are immeasurally happy whose occasions will per∣mit them, to keep out of that great but wicked City, who was the first fementer of the late rebellious Warre, and will be the last that so arts the greatest for its treacherie? but whats that i'the black box there?
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Pedlar.
Sir, this some call, Hells master-piece, the coreAnd heart of all those Ills, that went before.A vile projection, grimme, and dangerousDeform'd, defunct, destructive Hazordaus.The Epitome, and extract of all crimes,That have these seven yeers, abus'd the Times.Tis call'd an Ordinance, that none shall dareLest they gaine death, as those that Traytors are.From their Leige Lord, a letter to receiveOr, any letter writ from him to giveInto their hands; harke, harke, yee Nations neere,Yee Tartars, who doe only Demons feare.It is high Treason now, for us to doe,That which the Law of God injoynes us to.Yea and all humane Statutes, were they scandCommand us to obey, our Kings command.Ring the Bells backward, now let all things jarre,As when the furious Element mannag'd warre.All things goe quite contrary, blacks call'd white,White black, right is call'd wrong wrong called right.
Spectator.
Thou hast showne mee very strange ware, such as never no Pedlar before thee could produce; but is this all?
Pedlar.
No Sir I'ave one thing more, and this is it,And let swift Fame, for aye remember it:Pray shut your eyes, for that which now I shew,Once forct Sol back, when he the lines did view.〈2 pages missing〉〈2 pages missing〉
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As when Thiestes Banquet, stay'd his course,Or Joshua's Prayers, did unyoake his horse.This I doe want a name for, 'tis a thingSome call a Declaration, 'gainst the King;Taxing him for his Life; this if you buy,You have the Master-piece of treachery.This, this alone, discovers their false hearts,And that they ever, acted Traytors parts.Since now for to support, their tottering stateThey'l purchase Hell, sell sinne, at any rate.They would perswade the world, the Kings commandDid send his Father, to the Stygian strand.O damn'd contrivers of a Nations woe,The Ruiners of Prince, and People too.Come who buyes this, that hee may read and seeWhat vipers our brave Westminsterians bee.
But now 'tis night, and Sol is gon,Darknesse ore-spreads the Horizon:All you, who to White-hall repairePray enter, and behold the Faire.For such a Faire was never knowne,Nor ne're will bee, when this is gone.
FINIS.
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