X.TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON.

Suckling's satirical powers made him peculiarly odious to the Parliamentarians, as they were turned against them, and consequently Mennis's lampoon was a great favourite with the Roundheads. InLe Prince d'Amour, 1660, there is a songUpon SirJohn Suckling's 100 Horse, and the following are two of the seven stanzas of which it consists:—

"I tell thee, Jack, thou gav'st the kingSo rare a present, that nothingCould welcomer have been;A hundred horse! beshrew my heart,It was a brave heroic part,The like will scarce be seen."For ev'ry horse shall have on's backA man as valiant as Sir Jack,Although not half so witty:Yet I did hear the other dayTwo tailors made seven run awayGood faith, the more's the pity."

"I tell thee, Jack, thou gav'st the kingSo rare a present, that nothingCould welcomer have been;A hundred horse! beshrew my heart,It was a brave heroic part,The like will scarce be seen.

"For ev'ry horse shall have on's backA man as valiant as Sir Jack,Although not half so witty:Yet I did hear the other dayTwo tailors made seven run awayGood faith, the more's the pity."

The uniform adopted by Suckling for his troop consisted of a white doublet, and scarlet coat and breeches, with a scarlet feather in the bonnet. The men were vigorous, well mounted and armed, and these famous 100 horsemen were considered to be the finest sight in his majesty's army. Mr. W. C. Hazlitt points out that the earliest news of them appears to be in a letter of Jan. 29, 1638-9, from the Earl of Northumberland to Lord Conway, in which the writer speaks of Suckling having then engaged himself to raise the troop "within these three days." (Calendar of State Papers(Domestic,) 1638-9, p. 378.) The army was badly commanded, and no greater disgrace attached to Suckling's troop than to the rest.]

Sir John he got him an ambling nag,To Scotland for to ride-a,With a hundred horse more, all his own he swore,To guard him on every side-a.No Errant-knight ever went to fight5With halfe so gay a bravada,Had you seen but his look, you'ld have sworn on a book,Hee'ld have conquer'd a whole armada.The ladies ran all to the windows to seeSo gallant and warlike a sight-a,10And as he pass'd by, they said with a sigh,Sir John, why will you go fight-a?But he, like a cruel knight, spurr'd on;His heart would not relent-a,For, till he came there, what had he to fear?15Or why should he repent-a?The king (God bless him!) had singular hopesOf him and all his troop-a:The borderers they, as they met him on the way,For joy did hollow, and whoop-a.20None lik'd him so well, as his own colonell,Who took him for John de Wert-a;[826]But when there were shows of gunning and blows,My gallant was nothing so pert-a.For when the Scots army came within sight,25And all prepared to fight-a,He ran to his tent, they ask'd what he meant,He swore he must needs goe sh*te-a.The colonell sent for him back agen,To quarter him in the van-a,30But Sir John did swear, he would not come there,To be kill'd the very first man-a.To cure his fear, he was sent to the reare,Some ten miles back, and more-a;Where Sir John did play at trip and away,35And ne'er saw the enemy more-a.

Sir John he got him an ambling nag,To Scotland for to ride-a,With a hundred horse more, all his own he swore,To guard him on every side-a.

No Errant-knight ever went to fight5With halfe so gay a bravada,Had you seen but his look, you'ld have sworn on a book,Hee'ld have conquer'd a whole armada.

The ladies ran all to the windows to seeSo gallant and warlike a sight-a,10And as he pass'd by, they said with a sigh,Sir John, why will you go fight-a?

But he, like a cruel knight, spurr'd on;His heart would not relent-a,For, till he came there, what had he to fear?15Or why should he repent-a?

The king (God bless him!) had singular hopesOf him and all his troop-a:The borderers they, as they met him on the way,For joy did hollow, and whoop-a.20

None lik'd him so well, as his own colonell,Who took him for John de Wert-a;[826]But when there were shows of gunning and blows,My gallant was nothing so pert-a.

For when the Scots army came within sight,25And all prepared to fight-a,He ran to his tent, they ask'd what he meant,He swore he must needs goe sh*te-a.

The colonell sent for him back agen,To quarter him in the van-a,30But Sir John did swear, he would not come there,To be kill'd the very first man-a.

To cure his fear, he was sent to the reare,Some ten miles back, and more-a;Where Sir John did play at trip and away,35And ne'er saw the enemy more-a.

FOOTNOTES:[826]Ver. 22.John de Wertwas a German general of great reputation, and the terror of the French in the reign of Louis XIII. Hence his name became proverbial in France, where he was calledDeVert. See Bayle'sDict.

[826]Ver. 22.John de Wertwas a German general of great reputation, and the terror of the French in the reign of Louis XIII. Hence his name became proverbial in France, where he was calledDeVert. See Bayle'sDict.

Thisexcellent sonnet, which possessed a high degree of fame among the old Cavaliers, was written by Colone, Richard Lovelace during his confinement in the gatehouse, Westminster: to which he was committed by the House of Commons, in April 1642, for presenting a petition from the county of Kent, requesting them to restore the king to his rights, and to settle the government. See Wood'sAthenæ, vol. ii. p. 228, and Lysons'Environs of London, vol. i. p. 109; where may be seen at large the affecting story of this elegant writer, who afterhaving been distinguished for every gallant and polite accomplishment, the pattern of his own sex, and the darling of the ladies, died in the lowest wretchedness, obscurity, and want, in 1658.

This song is printed from a scarce volume of his poems intitled,Lucasta, 1649, 12mo. collated with a copy in the Editor's folio MS.

[As Percy mentions, the folio MS. collations have been added from it (ed. Hales and Furnivall, vol. ii. p. 17), but it will at once be seen that they are of little value. The music to this most exquisite of prison songs was composed by the celebrated Dr. John Wilson, and first printed (according to Dr. Rimbault) in hisCheerfulAyres or Ballads set for three Voices, Oxford, 1660.Lucasta (= Lux casta, Lucy Sacheverell), misled by a report that Lovelace had died of his wounds received at Dunkirk while commanding a regiment of his own forming in the service of the French king, married another lover.Although doubtless Lovelace died in great trouble, we may hope that Wood's account of his extreme poverty is exaggerated, for his daughter and sole heir married the son of Lord Chief Justice Coke, and brought to her husband the estates of her father at Kingsdown in Kent.]

Lucasta (= Lux casta, Lucy Sacheverell), misled by a report that Lovelace had died of his wounds received at Dunkirk while commanding a regiment of his own forming in the service of the French king, married another lover.

Although doubtless Lovelace died in great trouble, we may hope that Wood's account of his extreme poverty is exaggerated, for his daughter and sole heir married the son of Lord Chief Justice Coke, and brought to her husband the estates of her father at Kingsdown in Kent.]

When love with unconfined wingsHovers within my gates,And my divine Althea bringsTo whisper at my grates;When I lye tangled in her haire,5And fetter'd with her eye,The birds that wanton in the aire,Know no such libertye.[827]When flowing cups run swiftly roundWith no allaying Thames,[828]10Our carelesse heads with roses crown'd,Our hearts with loyal flames;When thirsty griefe in wine we steepe,[829]When healths and draughts goe free,[830]Fishes, that tipple in the deepe,15Know no such libertìe.[827]When, linnet-like, confined IWith shriller note shall singThe mercye, sweetness, majestye,[831]And glories of my king;[832]20When I shall voyce aloud how goodHe is, how great should be,Th' enlarged windes, that curle the flood,[833]Know no such libertìe.[827]Stone walls doe not a prison make,25Nor iron barres a cage,Mindes, innocent, and quiet, take[834]That for an hermitage:[835]If I have freedom in my love,And in my soule am free,30Angels alone, that soare above,[836]Enjoy such libertìe.[837]

When flowing cups run swiftly roundWith no allaying Thames,[828]10Our carelesse heads with roses crown'd,Our hearts with loyal flames;When thirsty griefe in wine we steepe,[829]When healths and draughts goe free,[830]Fishes, that tipple in the deepe,15Know no such libertìe.[827]

When, linnet-like, confined IWith shriller note shall singThe mercye, sweetness, majestye,[831]And glories of my king;[832]20When I shall voyce aloud how goodHe is, how great should be,Th' enlarged windes, that curle the flood,[833]Know no such libertìe.[827]

Stone walls doe not a prison make,25Nor iron barres a cage,Mindes, innocent, and quiet, take[834]That for an hermitage:[835]If I have freedom in my love,And in my soule am free,30Angels alone, that soare above,[836]Enjoy such libertìe.[837]

FOOTNOTES:[827][Ver. 8, 16, 24. enjoyes such lybertye, MS.][828]V. 10. with woe-allaying theames, MS. Thames is here used for water in general.[829][Ver. 13. thirsty soules, MS.][830][V. 14. when cupps and bowles goe free.][831][V. 19. the mercy, goodnesse, maiestye.][832][V. 20. glory.][833][V. 23. curles the floods.][834][V. 27. the spotlesse soule and inocent.][835][V. 28. Calls this an.][836][V. 31. sores.][837][V. 32. enjoyes. The second and third stanzas are transposed in the MS.]

[827][Ver. 8, 16, 24. enjoyes such lybertye, MS.]

[828]V. 10. with woe-allaying theames, MS. Thames is here used for water in general.

[829][Ver. 13. thirsty soules, MS.]

[830][V. 14. when cupps and bowles goe free.]

[831][V. 19. the mercy, goodnesse, maiestye.]

[832][V. 20. glory.]

[833][V. 23. curles the floods.]

[834][V. 27. the spotlesse soule and inocent.]

[835][V. 28. Calls this an.]

[836][V. 31. sores.]

[837][V. 32. enjoyes. The second and third stanzas are transposed in the MS.]

Charing-Cross, as it stood before the civil wars, was one of those beautiful Gothic obelisks erected to conjugal affection by Edward I., who built such a one wherever the herse of his beloved Eleanor rested in its way from Lincolnshire to Westminster. But neither its ornamental situation, the beauty of its structure, nor the noble designof its erection (which did honour to humanity), could preserve it from the merciless zeal of the times: For, in 1647, it was demolished by order of the House of Commons, as popish and superstitious. This occasioned the following not unhumorous sarcasm, which has been often printed among the popular sonnets of those times.

The plot referred to in ver. 17, was that entered into by Mr. Waller the poet, and others, with a view to reduce the city and tower to the service of the king; for which two of them, Nath. Tomkins and Rich. Chaloner, suffered death July 5, 1643. Vid.Ath. Ox.ii. 24.

Whitlocke says, "May 3, 1643, Cheapside cross and other crosses were voted down," &c.—But this Vote was not put in execution with regard toCharing Crosstill four years after, as appears from Lilly'sObservations on the Life, &c. of K. Charles, viz. "Charing-Cross, we know, was pulled down, 1647, in June, July, and August. Part of the Stones were converted to pave before Whitehall. I have seen Knife-hafts made of some of the stones, which, being well-polished, looked like marble." Ed, 1715, p. 18, 12mo.

[In Laud's Diary it is written, "1643 Maii 2 Tuesday The cross in Cheapside taken down."]

See an Account of the pulling down Cheapside Cross, in the Supplement toGent. Mag.1764.

[Charing Cross was the largest and most beautiful of the series of Eleanor crosses, and the architects employed in the construction of it were paid£450. The work was formerly attributed to Cavalini, but that artist was not born until the year 1279, and was therefore about eleven years old when the Queen died. Since the publication of the very interesting rolls of payments made by the executors of Queen Eleanor (Manners and Household Expenses ofEngland in the 13th and 15th centuries.Roxburghe Club, 1841), it has been known that Charing Cross was commenced by Richard de Crundale and completed, after his death, by Roger de Crundale.The site of the old cross was made use of as a place of execution, and several of the regicides were put to death there.The Cheapside cross, which was taken down in 1643, was the third which occupied the site, and it had only been erected in 1600. The original cross was found to be in a bad condition in 1441, and a new one was therefore commenced, which was not finished until 1486. This was replaced in 1600 by the third cross.Dr. Rimbault informs us that this ballad is printed with the music for three voices by "Mr. F. Farmeloe" in "The Second Book of thePleasant Musical Companion," 1687.]

The site of the old cross was made use of as a place of execution, and several of the regicides were put to death there.

The Cheapside cross, which was taken down in 1643, was the third which occupied the site, and it had only been erected in 1600. The original cross was found to be in a bad condition in 1441, and a new one was therefore commenced, which was not finished until 1486. This was replaced in 1600 by the third cross.

Dr. Rimbault informs us that this ballad is printed with the music for three voices by "Mr. F. Farmeloe" in "The Second Book of thePleasant Musical Companion," 1687.]

Undone, undone the lawyers are,They wander about the towne,Nor can find the way to Westminster,Now Charing-cross is downe:At the end of the Strand, they make a stand,5Swearing they are at a loss,And chaffing say, that's not the way,They must go by Charing-cross.The parliament to vote it downConceived it very fitting,10For fear it should fall, and kill them all,In the house, as they were sitting.They were told god-wot, it had a plot,Which made them so hard-hearted,To give command, it should not stand,15But be taken down and carted.Men talk of plots, this might have been worseFor any thing I know,Than that Tomkins, and Chaloner,Were hang'd for long agoe.20Our parliament did that prevent,And wisely them defended,For plots they will discover still,Before they were intended.But neither man, woman, nor child,25Will say, I'm confident,They ever heard it speak one wordAgainst the parliament.An informer swore, it letters bore,Or else it had been freed;30I'll take, in troth, my Bible oath,It could neither write, nor read.The committee said, that verilyTo popery it was bent;For ought I know, it might be so,35For to church it never went.What with excise, and such device,The kingdom doth beginTo think you'll leave them ne'er a cross,Without doors nor within.40Methinks the common-council shou'dOf it have taken pity,'Cause, good old cross, it always stoodSo firmly to the city.Since crosses you so much disdain,45Faith, if I were as you,For fear the king should rule again,I'd pull down Tiburn too.

The parliament to vote it downConceived it very fitting,10For fear it should fall, and kill them all,In the house, as they were sitting.They were told god-wot, it had a plot,Which made them so hard-hearted,To give command, it should not stand,15But be taken down and carted.

Men talk of plots, this might have been worseFor any thing I know,Than that Tomkins, and Chaloner,Were hang'd for long agoe.20Our parliament did that prevent,And wisely them defended,For plots they will discover still,Before they were intended.

But neither man, woman, nor child,25Will say, I'm confident,They ever heard it speak one wordAgainst the parliament.An informer swore, it letters bore,Or else it had been freed;30I'll take, in troth, my Bible oath,It could neither write, nor read.

The committee said, that verilyTo popery it was bent;For ought I know, it might be so,35For to church it never went.What with excise, and such device,The kingdom doth beginTo think you'll leave them ne'er a cross,Without doors nor within.40

Methinks the common-council shou'dOf it have taken pity,'Cause, good old cross, it always stoodSo firmly to the city.Since crosses you so much disdain,45Faith, if I were as you,For fear the king should rule again,I'd pull down Tiburn too.

Thisexcellent old song is preserved in David Lloyd'sMemoires of those that suffered in the cause of Charles I.Lond. 1668, fol. p. 96. He speaks of it as the composition of a worthy personage, who suffered deeply in those times, and was still living with no other reward than the conscience of having suffered. The author's name he has not mentioned, but, if tradition may be credited, this song was written by SirRoger L'Estrange.—Some mistakes in Lloyd's copy are corrected by two others, one in MS., the other in theWestminsterDrollery, or a choice Collection of Songs and Poems, 1671, 12mo.

[The ascription of this song to L'Estrange is improbable, and we must therefore seek elsewhere for an author.]

Beat on, proud billows; Boreas blow;Swell, curled waves, high as Jove's roof;Your incivility doth show,That innocence is tempest proof;Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm;5Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds are balm.That which the world miscalls a jail,A private closet is to me:Whilst a good conscience is my bail,And innocence my liberty:10Locks, bars, and solitude, together met,Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret.I, whilst I wisht to be retir'd,Into this private room was turn'd;As if their wisdoms had conspir'd15The salamander should be burn'd;Or like those sophists, that would drown a fish,I am constrain'd to suffer what I wish.The cynick loves his poverty;The pelican her wilderness;20And 'tis the Indian's pride to beNaked on frozen Caucasus:Contentment cannot smart, Stoicks we seeMake torments easie to their apathy.These manacles upon my arm25I, as my mistress' favours, wear;And for to keep my ancles warm,I have some iron shackles there:These walls are but my garrison; this cell,Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel.30I'm in the cabinet lockt up,Like some high-prized margarite,[838]Or, like the great mogul or pope,Am cloyster'd up from publick sight:Retiredness is a piece of majesty,35And thus, proud sultan, I'm as great as thee.Here sin for want of food must starve,Where tempting objects are not seen;And these strong walls do only serveTo keep vice out, and keep me in:40Malice of late's grown charitable sure,I'm not committed, but am kept secure.So he that struck at Jason's life,[839]Thinking t'have made his purpose sure,By a malicious friendly knife45Did only wound him to a cure:Malice, I see, wants wit; for what is meantMischief, oft-times proves favour by th' event.When once my prince affliction hath,Prosperity doth treason seem;50And to make smooth so rough a path,I can learn patience from him:Now not to suffer shews no loyal heart,When kings want ease subjects must bear a part.What though I cannot see my king55Neither in person or in coin;Yet contemplation is a thingThat renders what I have not, mine;My king from me what adamant can part,Whom I do wear engraven on my heart?60Have you not seen the nightingale,A prisoner like, coopt in a cage,How doth she chaunt her wonted taleIn that her narrow hermitage?Even then her charming melody doth prove,65That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove.I am that bird, whom they combineThus to deprive of liberty;But though they do my corps confine,Yet maugre hate, my sould is free:70And though immur'd yet can I chirp, and singDisgrace to rebels, glory to my king.My soul is free, as ambient air,Although my baser part's immew'd,Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair75T' accompany my solitude:Although rebellion do my body binde,My king alone can captivate my minde.

That which the world miscalls a jail,A private closet is to me:Whilst a good conscience is my bail,And innocence my liberty:10Locks, bars, and solitude, together met,Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret.

I, whilst I wisht to be retir'd,Into this private room was turn'd;As if their wisdoms had conspir'd15The salamander should be burn'd;Or like those sophists, that would drown a fish,I am constrain'd to suffer what I wish.

The cynick loves his poverty;The pelican her wilderness;20And 'tis the Indian's pride to beNaked on frozen Caucasus:Contentment cannot smart, Stoicks we seeMake torments easie to their apathy.

These manacles upon my arm25I, as my mistress' favours, wear;And for to keep my ancles warm,I have some iron shackles there:These walls are but my garrison; this cell,Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel.30

I'm in the cabinet lockt up,Like some high-prized margarite,[838]Or, like the great mogul or pope,Am cloyster'd up from publick sight:Retiredness is a piece of majesty,35And thus, proud sultan, I'm as great as thee.

Here sin for want of food must starve,Where tempting objects are not seen;And these strong walls do only serveTo keep vice out, and keep me in:40Malice of late's grown charitable sure,I'm not committed, but am kept secure.

So he that struck at Jason's life,[839]Thinking t'have made his purpose sure,By a malicious friendly knife45Did only wound him to a cure:Malice, I see, wants wit; for what is meantMischief, oft-times proves favour by th' event.

When once my prince affliction hath,Prosperity doth treason seem;50And to make smooth so rough a path,I can learn patience from him:Now not to suffer shews no loyal heart,When kings want ease subjects must bear a part.

What though I cannot see my king55Neither in person or in coin;Yet contemplation is a thingThat renders what I have not, mine;My king from me what adamant can part,Whom I do wear engraven on my heart?60

Have you not seen the nightingale,A prisoner like, coopt in a cage,How doth she chaunt her wonted taleIn that her narrow hermitage?Even then her charming melody doth prove,65That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove.

I am that bird, whom they combineThus to deprive of liberty;But though they do my corps confine,Yet maugre hate, my sould is free:70And though immur'd yet can I chirp, and singDisgrace to rebels, glory to my king.

My soul is free, as ambient air,Although my baser part's immew'd,Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair75T' accompany my solitude:Although rebellion do my body binde,My king alone can captivate my minde.

FOOTNOTES:[838][pearl.][839]See this remarkable story inCicero de Nat. Deorum, lib. 3, c. 28.Cic. de Offic.lib. 1, c. 30; see alsoVal. Max.1, 8.

[838][pearl.]

[839]See this remarkable story inCicero de Nat. Deorum, lib. 3, c. 28.Cic. de Offic.lib. 1, c. 30; see alsoVal. Max.1, 8.

"Thisprince, like his father, did not confine himself to prose: Bishop Burnet has given us a pathetic elegy, said to be written by Charles in Carisbrook castle (in 1648). The poetry is most uncouth and unharmonious, but there are strong thoughts in it, some good sense, and a strain of majestic piety." Mr. Walpole'sRoyal and Noble Authors, vol. i.

It is in hisMemoirs of the Duke of Hamilton, p. 379, that Burnet hath preserved this elegy, which he tells us he had from a gentleman, who waited on the king at the time when it was written, and copied it out from the original. It is there intitled,Majesty inMisery: or An Imploration to the King of Kings.

Hume hath remarked of these stanzas, "That the truth of the sentiment, rather than the elegance of expression, renders themvery pathetic." See hisHist.1763, 4to. vol. v. pp. 437, 442, which is no bad comment upon them.—These are almost the only verses known of Charles's composition. Indeed a little PoemOn a quiet Conscience, printed in thePoetical Calendar, 1763, vol. viii. is attributed toK. Charles I.; being reprinted from a thin 8vo. published by Nahum Tate, calledMiscellanea Sacra, orPoems on Divine and Moral Subjects.

Great monarch of the world, from whose power springsThe potency and power of kings,Record the royal woe my suffering sings;And teach my tongue, that ever did confineIts faculties in truth's seraphick line,5To track the treasons of thy foes and mine.Nature and law, by thy divine decree,(The only root of righteous royaltie)With this dim diadem invested me:With it, the sacred scepter, purple robe,10The holy unction, and the royal globe:Yet am I levell'd with the life of Job.The fiercest furies, that do daily treadUpon my grief, my grey discrowned head,Are those that owe my bounty for their bread.15They raise a war, and christen itTHE CAUSE,While sacrilegious hands have best applause,Plunder and murder are the kingdom's laws;Tyranny bears the title of taxation,Revenge and robbery are reformation,20Oppression gains the name of sequestration.My loyal subjects, who in this bad seasonAttend me (by the law of God and reason),They dare impeach, and punish for high treason.Next at the clergy do their furies frown,25Pious episcopacy must go down,They will destroy the crosier and the crown.Churchmen are chain'd, and schismaticks are freed,Mechanicks preach, and holy fathers bleed,The crown is crucified with the creed.30The church of England doth all factions foster,The pulpit is usurpt by each impostor,Extemporeexcludes thePaternoster.The Presbyter, and Independent seedSprings with broad blades. To make religion bleedHerod and Pontius Pilate are agreed.36The corner stone's misplac'd by every pavier:With such a bloody method and behaviourTheir ancestors did crucifie our Saviour.My royal consort, from whose fruitful womb40So many princes legally have come,Is forc'd in pilgrimage to seek a tomb.Great Britain's heir is forced into France,Whilst on his father's head his foes advance:Poor child! he weeps out his inheritance.45With my own power my majesty they wound,In the king's name the king himself's uncrown'd:So doth the dust destroy the diamond.With propositions daily they enchantMy people's ears, such as do reason daunt,50And the Almighty will not let me grant.They promise to erect my royal stem,To make me great, t' advance my diadem,If I will first fall down, and worship them!But for refusal they devour my thrones,55Distress my children, and destroy my bones;I fear they'll force me to make bread of stones.My life they prize at such a slender rate,That in my absence they draw bills of hate,To prove the king a traytor to the state.60Felons obtain more privilege than I,They are allow'd to answer ere they die;'Tis death for me to ask the reason, why.But, sacred Saviour, with thy words I wooThee to forgive, and not be bitter to65Such, as thou know'st do not know what they do.For since they from their lord are so disjointed,As to contemn those edicts he appointed,How can they prize the power of his anointed?Augment my patience, nullifie my hate,70Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate,Yet, though we perish,BLESS THIS CHURCHandSTATE.

Great monarch of the world, from whose power springsThe potency and power of kings,Record the royal woe my suffering sings;

And teach my tongue, that ever did confineIts faculties in truth's seraphick line,5To track the treasons of thy foes and mine.

Nature and law, by thy divine decree,(The only root of righteous royaltie)With this dim diadem invested me:

With it, the sacred scepter, purple robe,10The holy unction, and the royal globe:Yet am I levell'd with the life of Job.

The fiercest furies, that do daily treadUpon my grief, my grey discrowned head,Are those that owe my bounty for their bread.15

They raise a war, and christen itTHE CAUSE,While sacrilegious hands have best applause,Plunder and murder are the kingdom's laws;

Tyranny bears the title of taxation,Revenge and robbery are reformation,20Oppression gains the name of sequestration.

My loyal subjects, who in this bad seasonAttend me (by the law of God and reason),They dare impeach, and punish for high treason.

Next at the clergy do their furies frown,25Pious episcopacy must go down,They will destroy the crosier and the crown.

Churchmen are chain'd, and schismaticks are freed,Mechanicks preach, and holy fathers bleed,The crown is crucified with the creed.30

The church of England doth all factions foster,The pulpit is usurpt by each impostor,Extemporeexcludes thePaternoster.

The Presbyter, and Independent seedSprings with broad blades. To make religion bleedHerod and Pontius Pilate are agreed.36

The corner stone's misplac'd by every pavier:With such a bloody method and behaviourTheir ancestors did crucifie our Saviour.

My royal consort, from whose fruitful womb40So many princes legally have come,Is forc'd in pilgrimage to seek a tomb.

Great Britain's heir is forced into France,Whilst on his father's head his foes advance:Poor child! he weeps out his inheritance.45

With my own power my majesty they wound,In the king's name the king himself's uncrown'd:So doth the dust destroy the diamond.

With propositions daily they enchantMy people's ears, such as do reason daunt,50And the Almighty will not let me grant.

They promise to erect my royal stem,To make me great, t' advance my diadem,If I will first fall down, and worship them!

But for refusal they devour my thrones,55Distress my children, and destroy my bones;I fear they'll force me to make bread of stones.

My life they prize at such a slender rate,That in my absence they draw bills of hate,To prove the king a traytor to the state.60

Felons obtain more privilege than I,They are allow'd to answer ere they die;'Tis death for me to ask the reason, why.

But, sacred Saviour, with thy words I wooThee to forgive, and not be bitter to65Such, as thou know'st do not know what they do.

For since they from their lord are so disjointed,As to contemn those edicts he appointed,How can they prize the power of his anointed?

Augment my patience, nullifie my hate,70Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate,Yet, though we perish,BLESS THIS CHURCHandSTATE.

Thissarcastic exultation of triumphant loyalty, is printed from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, corrected by two others, one of which is preserved inA choice collection of120loyal songs, &c.1684, 12mo.—To the tune ofOld Simon the king.

[This triumph over the downfall of the Rump Parliament is one of the best of the numerous songs that were set to the favourite tune ofOld Simon the King, the full burden of which is—

"Says old Sir Symon the King,Says old Sir Symon the King,With his threadbare clothesAnd his malmsey noseSing hey ding, ding a ding, ding."]

Rebellion hath broken up house,And hath left me old lumber to sell;Come hither, and take your choice,I'll promise to use you well:Will you buy the old speaker's chair?5Which was warm and easie to sit in,And oft hath been clean'd I declare,When as it was fouler than fitting.Says old Simon the king, &c.Will you buy any bacon-flitches,10The fattest, that ever were spent?They're the sides of the old committees,Fed up in the long parliament.Here's a pair of bellows, and tongs,And for a small matter I'll sell ye 'um;15They are made of the presbyters lungs,To blow up the coals of rebellion.Says old Simon, &c.I had thought to have given them onceTo some black-smith for his forge;20But now I have considered on't,They are consecrate to the church:So I'll give them unto some quire,They will make the big organs roar,And the little pipes to squeeke higher,25Than ever they could before.Says old Simon, &c.Here's a couple of stools for sale,One's square, and t'other is round;Betwixt them both the tail30Of theRumpfell down to the ground.Will you buy the states council-table,Which was made of the good wain Scot?The frame was a tottering BabelTo uphold the Independent plot,35Says old Simon, &c.Here's the beesom of Reformation,Which should have made clean the floor,But it swept the wealth out of the nation,And left us dirt good store.40Will you buy the states spinning-wheel,Which spun for the ropers trade?But better it had stood still,For now it has spun a fair thread.Says old Simon, &c.45Here's a glyster-pipe well try'd,Which was made of a butcher's stump,[840]And has been safely apply'd,To cure the colds of the rump.Here's a lump of Pilgrims-Salve,50Which once was a justice of peace,Who Noll and the Devil did serve;But now it is come to this.Says old Simon, &c.Here's a roll of the states tobacco,55If any good fellow will take it;No Virginia had e'er such a smack-o,And I'll tell you how they did make it:'Tis th' Engagement, and Covenant cooktUp with the Abjuration oath;60And many of them, that have took't,Complain it was foul in the mouth.Says old Simon, &c.Yet the ashes may happily serveTo cure the scab of the nation,65Whene'er 't has an itch to swerveTo Rebellion by innovation.A Lanthorn here is to be bought,The like was scarce ever gotten,For many plots it has found out70Before they ever were thought on.Says old Simon, &c.Will you buy theRUMP'Sgreat saddle,With which it jocky'd the nation?And here is the bitt, and the bridle,75And curb of Dissimulation:And here's the trunk-hose of theRUMP,And their fair dissembling cloak,And a Presbyterian jump,With an Independent smock.80Says old Simon, &c.Will you buy a Conscience oft turn'd,Which serv'd the high-court of justice,And stretch'd until England it mourn'd:But Hell will buy that if the worst is.85Here's Joan Cromwell's kitching-stuff tub,[841]Wherein is the fat of the Rumpers,With which old Noll's horns she did rub,When he was got drunk with false bumpers.Says old Simon, &c.90Here's the purse of the public faith;Here's the model of the Sequestration,When the old wives upon their good troth,Lent thimbles to ruine the nation.[842]Here's Dick Cromwell's Protectorship,95And here are Lambert's commissions,And here is Hugh Peters his scripCramm'd with the tumultuous PetitionsSays old Simon, &c.And here are old Noll's brewing vessels,[843]100And here are his dray, and his slings;Here are Hewson's awl, and his bristles;[843]With diverse other odd things:And what is the price doth belongTo all these matters before ye?105I'll sell them all for an old song,And so I do end my story.Says old Simon, &c.

Will you buy any bacon-flitches,10The fattest, that ever were spent?They're the sides of the old committees,Fed up in the long parliament.Here's a pair of bellows, and tongs,And for a small matter I'll sell ye 'um;15They are made of the presbyters lungs,To blow up the coals of rebellion.Says old Simon, &c.

I had thought to have given them onceTo some black-smith for his forge;20But now I have considered on't,They are consecrate to the church:So I'll give them unto some quire,They will make the big organs roar,And the little pipes to squeeke higher,25Than ever they could before.Says old Simon, &c.

Here's a couple of stools for sale,One's square, and t'other is round;Betwixt them both the tail30Of theRumpfell down to the ground.Will you buy the states council-table,Which was made of the good wain Scot?The frame was a tottering BabelTo uphold the Independent plot,35Says old Simon, &c.

Here's the beesom of Reformation,Which should have made clean the floor,But it swept the wealth out of the nation,And left us dirt good store.40Will you buy the states spinning-wheel,Which spun for the ropers trade?But better it had stood still,For now it has spun a fair thread.Says old Simon, &c.45

Here's a glyster-pipe well try'd,Which was made of a butcher's stump,[840]And has been safely apply'd,To cure the colds of the rump.Here's a lump of Pilgrims-Salve,50Which once was a justice of peace,Who Noll and the Devil did serve;But now it is come to this.Says old Simon, &c.

Here's a roll of the states tobacco,55If any good fellow will take it;No Virginia had e'er such a smack-o,And I'll tell you how they did make it:'Tis th' Engagement, and Covenant cooktUp with the Abjuration oath;60And many of them, that have took't,Complain it was foul in the mouth.Says old Simon, &c.

Yet the ashes may happily serveTo cure the scab of the nation,65Whene'er 't has an itch to swerveTo Rebellion by innovation.A Lanthorn here is to be bought,The like was scarce ever gotten,For many plots it has found out70Before they ever were thought on.Says old Simon, &c.

Will you buy theRUMP'Sgreat saddle,With which it jocky'd the nation?And here is the bitt, and the bridle,75And curb of Dissimulation:And here's the trunk-hose of theRUMP,And their fair dissembling cloak,And a Presbyterian jump,With an Independent smock.80Says old Simon, &c.

Will you buy a Conscience oft turn'd,Which serv'd the high-court of justice,And stretch'd until England it mourn'd:But Hell will buy that if the worst is.85Here's Joan Cromwell's kitching-stuff tub,[841]Wherein is the fat of the Rumpers,With which old Noll's horns she did rub,When he was got drunk with false bumpers.Says old Simon, &c.90

Here's the purse of the public faith;Here's the model of the Sequestration,When the old wives upon their good troth,Lent thimbles to ruine the nation.[842]Here's Dick Cromwell's Protectorship,95And here are Lambert's commissions,And here is Hugh Peters his scripCramm'd with the tumultuous PetitionsSays old Simon, &c.

And here are old Noll's brewing vessels,[843]100And here are his dray, and his slings;Here are Hewson's awl, and his bristles;[843]With diverse other odd things:And what is the price doth belongTo all these matters before ye?105I'll sell them all for an old song,And so I do end my story.Says old Simon, &c.

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