THE PRISONERS.

Written when O. C. attempted to be King. By Alex. Brome.

Come, a brimmer (my bullies), drink whole ones or nothing,Now healths have been voted down;’Tis sack that can heat us, we care not for clothing,A gallon’s as warm as a gown;’Cause the Parliament seesNor the former nor theseCould engage us to drink their health,They may vote that we shallDrink no healths at all,Not to King nor to Commonwealth,So that now we must venture to drink ’em by stealth.

But we’ve found out a way that’s beyond all their thinking;To keep up good fellowship still,We’ll drink their destruction that would destroy drinking,—Let ’um votethata health if they will.Those men that did fight,And did pray day and nightFor the Parliament and its attendant,Did make all that bustleThe King out to justle,And bring in the Independent,But now we all clearly see what was the end on’t.

Now their idols thrown down with their sooter-kin also,About which they did make such a pother;And tho’ their contrivance did make one thing to fall so,We have drank ourselves into another;And now (my lads) weMay still Cavaliers be,In spite of the Committee’s frown;We will drink and we’ll sing,And each health to our KingShall be loyally drunk in the ‘Crown,’Which shall be the standard in every town.

Their politick would-be’s do but show themselves assesThat other men’s calling invade;We only converse with pots and with glasses,Let the rulers alone with their trade;The Lyon of the TowerThere estates does devour,Without showing law for’t or reason;Into prison we getFor the crime called debt,Where our bodies and brains we do season,And that is ne’er taken for murder or treason.

Where our ditties still be, Give’s more drink, give’s more drink, boys.Let those that are frugal take care;Our gaolers and we will live by our chink, boys,While our creditors live by the air;Here we live at our ease,And get craft and grease,’Till we’ve merrily spent all our store;Then, as drink brought us in,’Twill redeem us agen;We got in because we were poor,And swear ourselves out on the very same score.

This was apparently written as a parody on the Brewer, in Pills to purge Melancholy, 1682. The original was too complimentary to Oliver Cromwell, asserted by the Royalists to have been a brewer in early life, to suit the taste of the Cavaliers, and hence the alteration made in it. Such compliments as the following must have proceeded from a writer of the opposite party.

Some Christian kings began to quake,And said With the brewer no quarrel we’ll make,We’ll let him alone; as he brews let him bake;Which nobody can deny.

He had a strong and a very stout heart,And thought to be made an Emperor for’t,* * * * *Which nobody can deny.

ABrewermay be a burgess grave,And carry the matter so fine and so brave,That he the better may play the knave,Which nobody can deny.

A brewer may put on a Nabal face,And march to the wars with such a graceThat he may get a captain’s place;Which nobody, etc.

A brewer may speak so wondrous wellThat he may rise (strange things to tell),And so be made a colonel;Which nobody, etc.

A brewer may make his foes to flee,And rise his fortunes, so that heLieutenant-general may be;Which nobody, etc.

A brewer may be all in all,And raise his powers, both great and small,That he may be a lord general;Which nobody, etc.

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 nobody, etc.

A brewer, by’s excise and rate,Will promise his army he knows what,And set upon the college-gate;Which nobody, etc.

Methinks I hear one say to me,Pray why may not a brewer beLord Chancellor o’ the University?Which nobody, etc.

A brewer may be as bold as Hector,When as he had drank his cup o’ Nectar,And a brewer may be a Lord Protector;Which nobody, etc.

Now here remains the strangest thing,How this brewer about his liquor did bringTo be an emperor or a king;Which nobody, etc.

A brewer may do what he will,And rob the Church and State, to sellHis soul unto the devil in hell;Which nobody, etc.

John Bradshaw, who had presided over the court of justice which condemned Charles I. to the scaffold, and who by his extreme republican principles had rendered himself obnoxious to Cromwell, began again to be distinguished in public affairs after the Protector’s death, and was elected President of the Council of State. He did not live long to enjoy this honour, but died, according to some authorities, on the 31st October, 1659. Chalmers places his death on the 22nd of November in that year.

To the tune of “Well-a-day, well-a-day.”

Ifyou’ll hear news that’s ill,Gentlemen, gentlemen,Against the devil, I willBe the relator;Arraigned he must be,For that feloniously,’Thout due solemnity,He took a traitor.

John Bradshaw was his name,How it stinks! how it stinks!Who’ll make with blacker famePilate unknown.This worse than worse of thingsCondemn’d the best of kings,And, what more guilt yet brings,Knew ’twas his own.

Virtue in Charles did seemEagerly, eagerly,And villainy in himTo vye for glory.Majesty so compleatAnd impudence so greatTill that time never met:—But to my story.

Accusers there will be,Bitter ones, bitter ones,More than one, two, or three,All full of spight;Hangman and tree so tall,Bridge, tower, and city-wall,Kite and crow, which were allRobb’d of their right.

But judges none are fit,Shame it is, shame it is,That twice seven years did sitTo give hemp-string dome;The friend they would befriend,That he might in the endTo them like favour lend,In his own kingdome.

Sword-men, it must be you,Boldly to’t, boldly to’t,Must give the diver his due;Do it not faintly,But as you raised by spellLast Parliament from hell,And it again did quellOmnipotently.

The charge they wisely frame(On with it, on with it)In that yet unknown nameOf supream power;While six weeks hence by voteShall be or it shall not,When Monk’s to London got[48]In a good hour.

But twelve good men and true,Caveliers, Caveliers,He excepts against you;Justice he fears.From bar and pulpit heeCraves such as do for feeServe all turns, for he’l beTry’d by his peers.

Satan, y’ are guilty foundBy your peers, by your peers,And must die above ground!Look for no pity;Some of our ministry,Whose spir’ts with yours comply,As Owen, Caryl, Nye,[49]For death shall fit ’ee.

Dread judges, mine own limbI but took, I but took,I was forced without himTo use a crutch;Some of the robe can tellHow to supply full wellHis place here, but in hellI had none such.

Divel, you are an asse,Plain it is, plain it is,And weakly plead the case;Your wits are lost.Some lawyers will outdo’t,When shortly they come to’t;Your craft, our gold to boot,They have ingross’d.

Should all men take their right,Well-a-day, well-a-day,We were in a sad plight,O’ th’ holy party!Such practise hath a scentOf kingly government,Against it we are bent,Out of home char’ty.

But if I die, who amKing of hell, King of hell,You will not quench its flame,But find it worse:Confused anarchyWill a new torment be;Ne’r did these kingdoms threeFeel such a curse.

To our promotion, sir,There as here, there as here,Through some confused stirDoth the high-road lie;In hell we need not fearNor King nor Cavalier,Who then shall dominereBut we the godly?

Truth, then, sirs, which of oldWas my shame, was my shame,Shall now to yours be told:You caused his death;The house being broken byYourselves (there’s burglary),Wrath enter’d forcibly,And stopt his breath.

Sir, as our president,Taught by you, taught by you,’Gainst the King away wentMost strange and new;Charging him with the guiltOf all the blond we spilt,With swords up to the hilt,So we’le serve you.

For mercy then I call,Good my lords, good my lords,And traytors I’le leave allDuly to end it;Sir, sir, ’tis frivolous,As well for you as us,To beg for mercy thus,—Our crimes transcend it.

You must die out of hand,Satanas, Satanas:This our decree shall standWithout controll;And we for you will pray,Because the Scriptures say,When some men curse you, theyCurse their own soul.

The fiend to Tiburn’s gone,There to die, there to die;Black is the north, anonGreat storms will be;Therefore together nowI leave him and th’ gallow,—So, newes-man, take ’em now,Soon they’l take thee.

Finis, Fustis, Funis.

January 17th, 1659.—From the King’s Ballads, British Museum.

Makeroom for an honest red-coat(And that you’ll say’s a wonder),The gun and the bladeAre the tools, and his tradeIs, forpay, tokillandplunder.Then away with the laws,And the “Good old Cause;”Ne’er talk of the Rump or the Charter;’Tis the cash does the feat,All the rest’s but a cheat,Withoutthatthere’s no faith nor quarter.

’Tis the mark of our coin “God with us,”And the grace of the Lord goes along with’t.When theGeorgesare flownThen the Cause goes down,For the Lord has departed from it.Then away, etc.

For Rome, or for Geneva,For the table or the altar,This spawn of a vote,He cares not a groat—For thepencehe’s your dog in a halter,Then away, etc.

Tho’ the name of King or BishopTo nostrils pure may be loathsome,Yet many there areThat agree with the May’r,That their lands are wondrous toothsome.Then away, etc.

When our masters are poor we leave ’em,’Tis the Golden Calf we bow to;We kill and we slayNot for conscience, but pay;Give usthat, we’ll fight for you too.Then away, etc.

’Twasthatfirst turn’d the King out;The Lords next; then the Commons:’Twas that kept up Noll,Till the Devil fetch’d his soul,And then it set theRumpon’s.Then away, etc.

Drunken Dick was a lame Protector,And Fleetwood a back-slider;These we served as the rest,But the City’s the beastThat will never cast her rider.Then away, etc.

When the Mayor holds the stirrupAnd the Shrieves cry, God save your honours;Then ’tis but a jumpAnd up goes the Rump,That will spur to the Devil upon us.Then away, etc.

And now for fling at your thimbles,Your bodkins, rings, and whistles;In truck for your toysWe’ll fit you with boys(’Tis the doctrine of Hugh’sEpistles).Then away, etc.

When your plate is gone, and your jewels,You must be next entreatedTo part with your bags,And to strip you to rags,And yet not think you’re cheated.Then away, etc.

The truth is, the town deserves it,’Tis a brainless, heartless monster:At a club they may bawl,Or declare at their hall,And yet at a push not one stir.Then away, etc.

Sir Arthur vow’d he’ll treat ’emFar worse than the men of Chester;He’s bold now they’re cow’d,But he was nothing so loudWhen he lay in the ditch at Lester.Then away, etc.

The Lord has left John Lambert,And the spirit, Feak’s anointed;But why, O Lord,Hast thou sheath’d thy sword?Lo! thy saints are disappointed.Then away, etc.

Though Sir Henry be departed,Sir John makes good the place now;And to help out the workOf the glorious Kirk,Our brethren march apace too.Then away, etc.

Whilst divines and statesmen wrangle,Let the Rump-ridden nation bite on’t;There are none but weThat are sure to go free,For the soldier’s still in the right on’t.Then away, etc.

If our masters won’t supply usWith money, food, and clothing,Let the State look to’t,We’ll find one that will do’t,Let him live—we will not damn.Then away, etc.

“The following ballad,” says Mr Wright in the Political Ballads of the Commonwealth, published for the Percy Society, “was written on the occasion of the overthrow of the Rump by Monck. He arrived in London on the third of February, and professed himself a determined supporter of the party then uppermost. On the ninth and tenth he executed their orders against the city; but suddenly on the eleventh he joined the city and the Presbyterian party, and demanded the readmissionof the members who were secluded formerly from the Long Parliament. This measure put an end to the reign of the Rump, and immediately afterwards the Parliament dissolved itself, and a new one was called.—(February 28th, 1659.)”—All the notes to this Ballad are from the pen of Mr Wright.

To the tune of “The Old Courtier of the Queen’s,” etc.

News! news! here’s the occurrences and a new Mercurius,A dialogue betwixt Haselrigg the baffled and Arthur the furious;With Ireton’s[50]readings upon legitimate and spurious,Proving that a saint may be the son of a whore, for the satisfaction of the curious.From a Rump insatiate as the sea,Libera nos, Domine.

Here’s the true reason of the citie’s infatuation,Ireton has made it drunk with the cup of abomination;That is, the cup of the whore, after the Geneva Interpretation,Which with the juyce of Titchburn’s grapes[51]must needs cause intoxication.From a Rump, etc.

Here’s the Whipper whipt by a friend to George, that whipp’d Jack,[52]that whipp’d the breech,That whipp’d the nation as long as it could stand over it—after whichIt was itself re-jerk’d by the sage author of this speech:“Methinks a Rump should go as well with a Scotch spur as with a switch.”From a Rump, etc.

This Rump hath many a rotten and unruly member;“Give the generall the oath!” cries one (but his conscience being a little tender);“I’ll abjure you with a pestilence!” quoth George, “and make you rememberThe ’leaventh of February[53]longer than the fifth of November!”From a Rump, etc.

With that, Monk leaves (in Rump assembled) the three estates,But oh! how the citizens hugg’d him for breaking down their gates,For tearing up their posts and chaynes, and for clapping up their mates[54](When they saw that he brought them plasters for their broken pates).From a Rump, etc.

In truth this ruffle put the town in great disorder,Some knaves (in office) smiled, expecting ’twould go furder;But at the last, “My life on’t! George is no Rumper,” said the Recorder,“For there never was either honest man or monk of that order.”From a Rump, etc.

And so it proved; for, “Gentlemen,” says the general, “I’ll make you amends;Our greeting was a little untoward, but we’ll part friends;A little time shall show you which way my design tends,And that, besides the good of Church and State, I have no other ends.”From a Rump, etc.

His Excellence had no sooner pass’d this declaration and promise,But in steps Secretary Scot, the Rump’s man Thomas,With Luke, their lame evangelist (the Devil keep ’um from us!)[55]To shew Monk what precious members of Church and State the Bumm has.From a Rump, etc.

And now comes the supplication of the members under the rod:“Nay, my Lord!” cryes the brewer’s clerk; “good, my Lord, for the love of God!Consider yourself, us, and this poor nation, and that tyrant abroad;Don’t leave us:”—but George gave him a shrugg instead of a nodd.From a Rump, etc.

This mortal silence was followed with a most hideous noyse,Of free Parliament bells and Rump-confounding boyes,Crying, “Cut the rogues! singe their tayles!” when, with a low voyce,“Fire and sword! by this light,” cryes Tom, “Lets look to our toyes!”From a Rump, etc.

Never were wretched members in so sad a plight;Some were broyl’d, some toasted, others burnt outright;[56]Nay against Rumps so pittylesse was their rage and spite,That not a citizen would kisse his wife that night.From a Rump, etc.

By this time death and hell appear’d in the ghastly looksOf Scot and Robinson (those legislative rooks);And it must needs put the Rump most damnably off the hooksTo see that when God has sent meat the Devil should send cooks.From a Rump, etc.

But Providence, their old friend, brought these saints off at last,And through the pikes and the flames undismember’d they past,Although (God wet) with many struglings and much hast,—For, members, or no members, was but a measuring cast.From a Rump, etc.

Being come to Whitehall, there’s the dismal mone,“Let Monk be damn’d!” cries Arthur in a terrible tone[57]—“That traytor, and those cuckoldy rogues that set him on!”(But tho’ the knight spits blood, ’tis observed that he draws none.)From a Rump, etc.

“The plague bawle you!” cries Harry Martin, “you have brought us to this condition,[58]You must be canting and be plagued, with your Barebones petition,[59]And take in that bull-headed, splay-footed member of the circumcision,That bacon-faced Jew, Corbet,[60]that son of perdition!”From a Rump, etc.

Then in steps driv’ling Mounson to take up the squabble,That lord which first taught the use of the woodden dagger and ladle:[61]He that out-does Jack Pudding[62]at a custard or a caudle,And were the best foole in Europe but that he wants a bauble.From a Rump, etc.

More was said to little purpose,—the next news is, a declarationFrom the Rump, for a free state according to the covenant of the nation,And a free Parliament under oath and qualification,Where none shall be elect but members of reprobation.From a Rump, &c.

Here’s the tail firk’d, a piece acted lately with great applause,With a plea for the prerogative breech and the Good old Cause,Proving that Rumps and members are antienter than laws,And that a bumme divided is never the worse for the flawes.From a Rump, etc.

But all things have their period and fate,An Act of Parliament dissolves a Rump of state,Members grow weak, and tayles themselves run out of date,And yet thou shalt not dye (dear breech), thy fame I’ll celebrate.From a Rump, etc.

Here lies a pack of saints that did their souls and country sellFor dirt, the Devil was their good lord, him they served well;By his advice they stood and acted, and by his president they fell(Like Lucifer), making but one step betwixt heaven and hell.From a Rump insatiate as the seaLiberasti nos, Domine.

To the tune of “To drive the cold winter away.”(March 7, 1659.)

Nowthe Rump is confoundedThere’s an end of the Roundhead,Who hath been such a bane to our nation;He hath now play’d his part,And’s gone out like a f—,Together with his reformation;For by his good favourHe hath left a bad savour;But’s no matter, we’ll trust him no more.Kings and queens may appearOnce again in our sphere,Now the knaves are turn’d out of door,And drive the cold winter away.

Scot, Nevil, and Vane,With the rest of that train,Are into Oceana[63]fled;Sir Arthur the brave,That’s as arrant a knave,Has Harrington’s Rota in’s head;[64]But hee’s now full of caresFor his foals and his mares,As when he was routed before;But I think he despairs,By his arms or his prayers,To set up the Rump any more,And drive the cold winter away.

I should never have thoughtThat a monk could have wroughtSuch a reformation so soon;That House which of lateWas the jakes of our stateWill ere long be a house of renown.How good wits did jumpIn abusing the Rump,Whilst the House was prest by the rabble;But our Hercules, Monk,Though it grievously stunk,Now hath cleansed that Augean stable,And drive the cold winter away.

And now Mr Prynne[65]With the rest may come in,And take their places again;For the House is made sweetFor those members to meet,Though part of the Rump yet remain;Nor need they to fear,Though his breeches be there,Which were wrong’d both behind and before;For he saith ’twas a chance,And forgive him this once,And he swears he will do so no more,And drive the cold winter away.

’Tis true there are someWho are still for the Bum;Such tares will grow up with the wheat;And there they will be, till a Parliament comeThat can give them a total defeat.But yet I am toldThat the Rumpers do holdThat the saints may swim with the tyde;Nor can it be treason,But Scripture and reason,Still to close with the stronger side,And drive the cold winter away.

Those lawyers o’ th’ House—As Baron Wild-goose,[66]With Treason Hill, Whitlock, and Say—Were the bane of our lawsAnd our Good old Cause,And ’twere well if such were away.Some more there are to blame,Whom I care not to name,That are men of the very same ranks;’Mongst whom there is one,That to Devil BareboneFor his ugly petition gave thanks,And drive the cold winter away.

But I hope by this timeHe’ll confess ’twas a crimeTo abet such a damnable crew;Whose petition was drawnBy Alcoran Vane,Or else by Corbet the Jew.[67]By it you may knowWhat the Rump meant to do,And what a religion to frame;So ’twas time for St GeorgeThat Rump to disgorge,And to send it from whence it first came;Then drive the cold winter away.

(January 1659–60.)—From a broadside, vol. xv. in the King’s Pamphlets.

“The condition of the State was thus: viz. the Rump, after being disturbed by my Lord Lambert, was lately returned to sit again. The officers of the army all forced to yield. Lawson lies still in the river, and Monk is with his army in Scotland. Only my Lord Lambert is not yet come in to the Parliament, nor is it expected that he will without being forced to it. The new Common Council of the city do speak very high; and had sent to Monk their sword-bearer to acquaint him with their desires for a free and full Parliament, which is at present the desires, and the hopes, and the expectations of all. Twenty-two of the old secluded members having been at the House-door the last week to demand entrance, but it was denied them; and it is believed that neither they nor the people will be satisfied till the House be filled.” Pepys’ Diary, January, 1660.

Youmay have heard of the politique snout,Or a tale of a tub with the bottom out,But scarce of a Parliament in a dirty clout,Which no body can deny.

’Twas Atkins[68]first served this Rump in with mustard—The sauce was a compound of courage and custard;Sir Vane bless’d the creature, Noll snuffled and bluster’d,Which no body can deny.

The right was as then in old Oliver’s nose;But when the Devil of that did dispose,It descended from thence to the Rump in the close,Which no body can deny.

Nor is it likely there to stay long,The retentive faculties being gone,The juggle is stale, and money there’s none,Which no body can deny.

The secluded members made a trialTo enter, but them the Rump did defy allBy the ordinance of self-denial,Which no body can deny.

Our politique doctors do us teachThat a blood-sucking red-coat’s as good as a leechTo relieve the head, if applied to the breech,Which no body can deny.

But never was such a worm as Vane;When the State scour’d last, it voided him then,Yet now he’s crept into the Rump again,Which no body can deny.

Ludlow’s f— was a prophetique trump[69](There never was anything so jump),’Twas the very type of a vote of this Rump,Which no body can deny.

They say ’tis good luck when a body risesWith the rump upward, but he that advisesTo live in that posture is none of the wisest,Which no body can deny.

The reason is worse, though the rime be untoward,When things proceed with the wrong end forward;But they say there’s sad news to the Rump from the Nor’ward;[70]Which no body can deny.

’Tis a wonderfull thing, the strength of that part;At a blast it will take you a team from a cart,And blow a man’s head away with a f—,Which no body can deny.

When our brains are sunck below the middle,And our consciences steer’d by the hey-down-diddle,Then things will go round without a fiddle,Which no body can deny.

You may order the city with hand-granado,Or the generall with a bastonado,—But no way for a Rump like a carbonado,Which no body can deny.

To make us as famous in council as wars,Here’s Lenthal a speaker for mine—And Fleetwood is a man of Mars,Which no body can deny.

’Tis pitty that Nedham’s[71]fall’n into disgrace,For he orders a bum with a marvellous grace,And ought to attend the Rump by his place,Which no body can deny.

Yet this in spight of all disasters,Although he hath broken the heads of his masters,’Tis still his profession to give ’em all plasters,Which no body can deny.

The Rump’s an old story, if well understood;’Tis a thing dress’d up in a Parliament’s hood,And like ’t, but the tayl stands where the head should,Which no body can deny.

’Twould make a man scratch where it does not itch,To see forty fools’ heads in one politique breech,And that, hugging the nation, as the devil did the witch;Which no body can deny.

From rotten members preserve our wives!From the mercy of a Rump, our estates and our lives!For they must needs go whom the Devil drives,Which no body can deny.

To the tune of

“Hei ho, my honey, my heart shall never rue,Four-and-twenty now for your mony, and yet a hard penny-worth too.”

(Dec. 11th, 1659.)—From the King’s Pamphlets, British Museum.

“The events which gave occasion to the following ballad,” says Mr T. Wright in his Political Ballads, published for the Percy Society, “may be summed up in a few words. After the death of Cromwell, his son Richard was without opposition raised to the Protectorate; but his weak and easy character gave an opening to the intrigues of the Royalists, and the factious movement of the Republican party. Fleetwood, who had been named commander-in-chief of the army under the Protector, plotted to gain the chief power in the State, and was joined by Lambert, Desborough, and others. The Republicans were strengthened by the return of Vane, Ludlow, and Bradshaw, to the Parliament called by the new Protector. Lambert, the Protector’s brother-in-law, was the ostensible head of a party, and seems to have aimed at obtaining the power which had been held by Oliver. They formed a council of officers, who met at Wallingford House; and on the 20th April, 1659, havinggained the upper hand, and having obtained the dissolution of the Parliament, they determined to restore the old Long Parliament, which they said had only been interrupted, and not legally dissolved, and to set aside the Protector, who soon afterwards resigned. On the 21st April, Lenthall, the old Speaker, with as many members of the Long Parliament as could be brought together, met in the House, and opened their session. The Parliament thus formed, as being the fag-end of the old Long Parliament, obtained the name of the Rump Parliament. Lambert’s hopes and aims were raised by his success against Sir George Booth in the August following, and jealousies soon arose between his party in the army and the Rump. The Parliament would have dismissed him, and the chief officers in the cabal with him, but Lambert with the army in October hindered their free meeting, and took the management of the government into the hands of a council of officers, whom they called the Committee of Safety. Towards the latter end of the year, the tide began to be changed in favour of the Parliament, by the declaration of Monk in Scotland, Henry Cromwell with the army in Ireland, and Hazelrigge and the officers at Portsmouth, in favour of the freedom of the Parliament. This ballad was written at the period when Lambert’s party was uppermost.”

The tune of “Hei ho, my honey,” may be found in Playford’s edition of “The English Dancing Master,” printed in 1686, but in no earlier edition of the same work.

Good-morrow, my neighbours all, what news is this I heard tellAs I past through Westminster-hall by the House that’s neck to hell?They told John Lambert[72]was there with his bears, and deeply he swore(As Cromwell had done before) those vermin should sit there no more.Sing hi ho, Wil. Lenthall,[73]who shall our general be?For the House to the Devil is sent all, and follow, good faith, mun ye!Sing hi ho, my honey, my heart shall never rue,Here’s all pickt ware for the money, and yet a hard pennyworth too.

Then, Muse, strike up a sonnet, come, piper, and play us a spring,For now I think upon it, these R’s turn’d out their King;But now is come about, that once again they must turn out,And not without justice and reason, that every one home to his prison.Sing hi ho, Harry Martin,[74]a burgess of the bench,There’s nothing here is certain, you must back and leave your wench.Sing, hi ho, etc.

He there with the buffle head is called lord and of the same House,Who (as I have heard it said) was chastised by his ladye spouse;Because he ran at sheep, she and her maid gave him the whip,And beat his head so addle, you’d think he had a knock in the cradle.Sing hi ho, Lord Munson,[75]you ha’ got a park of the King’s;One day you’l hang like a hounson, for this and other things,Sing hi, ho, etc.

It was by their master’s orders at first together they met,Whom piously they did murder, and since by their own they did set.The cause of this disaster is ’cause they were false to their master;Nor can they their gens-d’armes blame for serving them the same.Sing hi ho, Sir Arthur,[76]no more in the House you shall prate;For all you kept such a quarter,[77]you are out of the councell of state.Sing hi ho, etc.

Old Noll once gave them a purge (forgetting OCCIDISTI),(The furies be his scourge!) so of the cure must he;And yet the drug he well knew it, for he gave it to Dr Huit;[78]Had he given it them, he had done it, and they had not turn’d out his son yet;Sing hi ho, brave Dick, Lenthall, and Lady Joane,Who did against lovalty kick is now for a new-year’s gift gone.Sing hi ho, etc.

For had Old Noll been alive, he had pull’d them out by the ears,Or else had fired their hive, and kickt them down the staires;Because they were so bold to vex his righteous soul,When he so deeply had swore that there they should never sit more.But hi ho, Noll’s dead, and stunk long since above ground,Though lapt in spices and lead that cost us many a pound.Sing hi ho, etc.

Indeed, brother burgess, your ling did never stink half so bad,Nor did your habberdin when it no pease-straw had;Ye both were chose together, ’cause ye wore stuff cloaks in hard weather,And Cambridge needs would have a burgess fool and knave.Sing hi ho, John Lowry,[79]concerning habberdin,No member spake before ye, yet you ne’re spoke againe.Sing hi, ho, etc.

Ned Prideaux[80]he went post to tell the Protector the news,That Fleetwood ruld the rost, having tane off Dicke’s shoes.And that he did believe, Lambert would him deceiveAs he his brother had gull’d, and Cromwell Fairfax bull’d.Sing hi ho, the attorney was still at your command;In flames together burn ye, still dancing hand in hand!Sing hi ho, etc.

Who’s that would hide his face, and his neck from the collar pull?He must appear in this place, if his cap be made of wool.Who is it? with a vengeance! it is the good Lord St Johns,[81]Who made God’s house to fall, to build his own withall.Sing hi ho, who comes there? who ’tis I must not say;But by his dark lanthorn, I sweare he’s as good in the night as day.Sing hi ho, etc.

Edge, brethren, room for one that looks as big as the best;’Tis pity to leave him alone, for he is as good as the rest;No picklock of the laws, he builds among the daws,If you ha’ any more kings to murder, for a President look no further.Sing hi ho, John Bradshaw, in blood none further engages;The Devil from whom he had’s law, will shortly pay him his wages.Sing hi ho, etc.

Next, Peagoose Wild,[82]come in to show your weesle face,And tell us Burley’s sin, whose blood bought you your place;When loyalty was a crime, he lived in a dangerous time,Was forced to pay his neck to make you baron of the cheque.Sing hi ho, Jack Straw, we’ll put it in the margent,’Twas not for justice or law that you were made a sergeant.Sing hi ho, etc.

Noll served not Satan faster, nor with him did better accord;For he was my good master, and the Devil was his good lord.Both Slingsby, Gerard, and Hewet,[83]were sure enough to go to it,According to his intent, that chose me President.Sing hi ho, Lord Lisle,[84]sure law had got a wrench,And where was justice the while, when you sate on the bench.Sing hi ho, etc.

Next comes the good Lord Keble, of the Triumvirate,Of the seal in the law but feeble, though on the bench he sate;For when one puts him a case, I wish him out of the place,And, if it were not a sin, an able lawyer in.Sing, give the seal about, I’de have it so the rather,Because we might get out the knave, my lord, my father.Sing hi ho, etc.

Pull out the other three, it is Nathaniel Fines[85](Who Bristol lost for fear), we’ll not leave him behind’s;’Tis a chip of that good old block, who to loyalty gave the first knock,Then stole away to Lundey, whence the foul fiend fetches him one day.Sing hi ho, canting Fines, you and the rest to mend ’um,Would ye were served in your kinds with anense rescidendum.Sing hi ho, etc.

He that comes down-stairs, is Lord Chief Justice Glin;[86]If no man for him cares, he cares as little again:The reason too I know’t, he helpt cut Strafford’s throat,And take away his life, though with a cleaner knife.Sing hi ho, Britain bold, straight to the bar you get,Where it is not so cold as where your justice set.Sing hi ho, etc.

He that will next come in, was long of the Council of State,Though hardly a hair on his chin when first in the council he sate;He was sometime in Italy, and learned their fashions prettily,Then came back to’s own nation, to help up reformation.Sing hi ho, Harry Nevil,[87]I prythee be not too rashWith atheism to court the Divel, you’re too bold to be his bardash.Sing hi ho, etc.

He there with ingratitude blackt is one Cornelius Holland,[88]Who, but for the King’s house, lackt wherewith to appease his colon;The case is well amended since that time, as I think,When at court gate he tended with a little stick and a short link.Sing hi ho, Cornelius, your zeal cannot delude us;The reason pray now tell ye us why thus you play’d the Judas.Sing hi ho, etc.

At first he was a grocer who now we Major call,Although you would think no, Sir, if you saw him in Whitehall,Where he has great command, and looks for cap in hand,And if our eggs be not addle, shall be of the next new moddel.Sing hi ho, Mr Salloway,[89]the Lord in heaven doth knowWhen that from hence you shall away, where to the Devil you’l go.Sing hi ho, etc.

Little Hill,[90]since set in the House, is to a mountain grown;Not that which brought forth the mouse, but thousands the year of his own.The purchase that I mean, where else but at Taunton Dean;Five thousand pounds per annum, a sum not known to his grannam.Sing hi, the Good old Cause,[91]’tis old enough not trueYou got more by that then the laws, so a good old cause to you.Sing hi ho, etc.

Master Cecil,[92]pray come behind, because on your own accordThe other House you declined, you shall be no longer a lord;The reason, as I guess, you silently did confess,Such lords deserved ill the other House to fill.Sing hi ho, Mr Cecil, your honour now is gone;Such lords are not worth a whistle, we have made better lords of our own.Sing hi ho, etc.

Luke Robinson[93]shall go before ye, that snarling northern tyke;Be sure he’ll not adore ye, for honour he doth not like;He cannot honour inherit, and he knows he can never merit,And therefore he cannot bear it that any one else should wear it.Sing hi ho, envious lown, you’re of the beagle’s kind,Who always bark’d at the moon, because in the dark it shined.Sing hi ho, etc.

’Tis this that vengeance rouses, that, while you make long prayers,You eat up widows’ houses, and drink the orphan’s tears;Long time you kept a great noise, of God and the Good old Cause;But if God to you be so kind, then I’me of the Indian’s mind.Sing hi ho, Sir Harry,[94]we see, by your demeanour,If longer here you tarry, you’ll be Sir Harry Vane, Senior.Sing hi ho, etc.

Now if your zeal do warme ye, pray loud for fairer weather;Swear to live and die with the army, for these birds are flown together;The House is turn’d out a doe, (and I think it was no sin, too);If we take them there any more, we’ll throw the House out of the window.Sing hi ho, Tom Scot,[95]you lent the Devil your hand;I wonder he helpt you not, but suffred you t’ be trapand.Sing hi ho, etc.

They’re once again conduced, and we freed from the evilTo which we long were used; God blesse us next from the Devil!If they had not been outed the array had been routed,And then this rotten Rump had sat until the last trump.But, hi ho, Lambert’s here, the Protector’s instrument bore,And many there be who swear that he will do it no more.Sing hi ho, etc.

Come here, then, honest Peters,[96]say grace for the second course,So long as these your betters must patience have upon force,Long time he kept a great noise with God and the Good old Cause,But if God own such as these, then where’s the Devil’s fees?Sing hi ho, Hugo, I hear thou art not dead;Where now to the Devil will you go, your patrons being fled?Sing hi ho, my honey, my heart shall never rue,Four-and-twenty now for a penny, and into the bargain Hugh.

Rara est concordia fratrum. Ovid.

By Samuel Butler.

The “Sir Samuel” of this Ballad is the same person—Sir Samuel Luke of Bedfordshire—who is supposed to have been the unconscious model of the portrait which is drawn so much more fully in the inimitable Hudibras. Ralph is also the well-known Squire in the same poem. The Ballad, though published in Butler’s “Posthumous Works,” 1724, was rejected by Thyer in the edition of 1784, and is not included in the “Genuine Remains,” published from the original manuscripts, formerly in the possession of William Longueville, Esq. If not by Butler, it is a successful imitation of his style, and abounds in phrases of sturdy colloquial English, and is of a date long anterior to the popular song, “The Vicar of Bray.”

InBedfordshire there dwelt a knight,Sir Samuel by name,Who by his feats in civil broilsObtain’d a mighty fame.

Nor was he much less wise and stout,But fit in both respectsTo humble sturdy Cavaliers,And to support the sects.

This worthy knight was one that sworeHe would not cut his beardTill this ungodly nation wasFrom kings and bishops clear’d:

Which holy vow he firmly kept,And most devoutly woreA grizly meteor on his faceTill they were both no more.

His worship was, in short, a manOf such exceeding worth,No pen or pencil can describe,Or rhyming bard set forth.

Many and mighty things he didBoth sober and in liquor,—Witness the mortal fray betweenThe Cobbler and the Vicar;

Which by his wisdom and his powerHe wisely did prevent,And both the combatants at onceIn wooden durance pent.

The manner how these two fell outAnd quarrell’d in their ale,I shall attempt at large to showIn the succeeding tale.

A strolling cobbler, who was wontTo trudge from town to town,Happen’d upon his walk to meetA vicar in his gown.

And as they forward jogg’d along,The vicar, growing hot,First asked the cobbler if he knewWhere they might take a pot?

Yes, marry that I do, quoth he;Here is a house hard by,That far exceeds all BedfordshireFor ale and landlady.

Thither let’s go, the vicar said;And when they thither came,He liked the liquor wondrous well,But better far the dame.

And she, who, like a cunning jilt,Knew how to please her guest,Used all her little tricks and artsTo entertain the priest.

The cobbler too, who quickly sawThe landlady’s design,Did all that in his power wasTo manage the divine.

With smutty jests and merry songsThey charm’d the vicar so,That he determined for that nightNo further he would go.

And being fixt, the cobbler thought’Twas proper to go tryIf he could get a job or twoHis charges to supply.

So going out into the street,He bawls with all his might,—If any of you tread awryI’m here to set you right.

I can repair your leaky boots,And underlay your soles;Backsliders, I can underpropAnd patch up all your holes.

The vicar, who unluckilyThe cobbler’s outcry heard,From off the bench on which he satWith mighty fury rear’d.

Quoth he, What priest, what holy priestCan hear this bawling slave,But must, in justice to his coat,Chastise the saucy knave?

What has this wretch to do with souls,Or with backsliders either,Whose business only is his awls,His lasts, his thread, and leather?

I lose my patience to be madeThis strolling varlet’s sport;Nor could I think this saucy rogueCould serve me in such sort.

The cobbler, who had no designThe vicar to displease,Unluckily repeats again,—I’m come your soals to ease:

The inward and the outward tooI can repair and mend;And all that my assistance want,I’ll use them like a friend.

The country folk no sooner heardThe honest cobbler’s tongue,But from the village far and nearThey round about him throng.

Some bring their boots, and some their shoes,And some their buskins bring:The cobbler sits him down to work,And then begins to sing.

Death often at the cobbler’s stallWas wont to make a stand,But found the cobbler singing still,And on the mending hand;

Until at length he met old Time,And then they both togetherQuite tear the cobbler’s aged soleFrom off the upper leather.

Even so a while I may old shoesBy care and art maintain,But when the leather’s rotten grownAll art and care is vain.

And thus the cobbler stitched and sung,Not thinking any harm;Till out the angry vicar cameWith ale and passion warm.

Dost thou not know, vile slave! quoth he,How impious ’tis to jestWith sacred things, and to profaneThe office of a priest?

How dar’st thou, most audacious wretch!Those vile expressions use,Which make the souls of men as cheapAs soals of boots and shoes?

Such reprobates as you betrayOur character and gown,And would, if you had once the power,The Church itself pull down.

The cobbler, not aware that heHad done or said amiss,Reply’d, I do not understandWhat you can mean by this.

Tho’ I but a poor cobbler be,And stroll about for bread,None better loves the Church than IThat ever wore a head.

But since you are so good at names,And make so loud a pother,I’ll tell you plainly I’m afraidYou’re but some cobbling brother.

Come, vicar, tho’ you talk so big,Our trades are near akin;I patch and cobble outward soalsAs you do those within.

And I’ll appeal to any manThat understands the nation,If I han’t done more good than youIn my respective station.

Old leather, I must needs confess,I’ve sometimes used as new,And often pared the soal so nearThat I have spoil’d the shoe.

You vicars, by a different way,Have done the very same;For you have pared your doctrines soYou made religion lame.

Your principles you’ve quite disown’d,And old ones changed for new,That no man can distinguish rightWhich are the false or true.

I dare be bold, you’re one of thoseHave took the Covenant;With Cavaliers are Cavalier,And with the saints a saint.

The vicar at this sharp rebukeBegins to storm and swear;Quoth he, Thou vile apostate wretch!Dost thou with me compare?

I that have care of many souls,And power to damn or save,Dar’st thou thyself compare with me,Thou vile, ungodly knave!

I wish I had thee somewhere else,I’d quickly make thee knowWhat ’tis to make comparisons,And to revile me so.

Thou art an enemy to the State,Some priest in masquerade,That, to promote the Pope’s designs,Has learnt the cobbling trade:

Or else some spy to Cavaliers,And art by them sent outTo carry false intelligence,And scatter lies about.

But whilst the vicar full of ireWas railing at this rate,His worship, good Sir Samuel,O’erlighted at the gate.

And asking of the landladyTh’ occasion of the stir;Quoth she, If you will give me leaveI will inform you, Sir.

This cobbler happening to o’ertakeThe vicar in his walk,In friendly sort they forward march,And to each other talk.

Until the parson first proposedTo stop and take a whet;So cheek by jole they hither cameLike travellers well met.

A world of healths and jests went round,Sometimes a merry tale;Till they resolved to stay all night,So well they liked my ale.

Thus all things lovingly went on,And who so great as they;Before an ugly accidentBegan this mortal fray.

The case I take it to be this,—The vicar being fixt,The cobbler chanced to cry his trade,And in his cry he mixt

Some harmless words, which I supposeThe vicar falsely thoughtMight be design’d to banter him,And scandalize his coat.

If that be all, quoth he, go outAnd bid them both come in;A dozen of your nappy aleWill set ’em right again.

And if the ale should chance to fail,For so perhaps it may,I have it in my powers to tryA more effectual way.

These vicars are a wilful tribe,A restless, stubborn crew;And if they are not humbled quite,The State they will undo.

The cobbler is a cunning knave,That goes about by stealth,And would, instead of mending shoes,Repair the Commonwealth.

However, bid ’em both come in,This fray must have an end;Such little feuds as these do oftTo greater mischiefs tend.

Without more bidding out she goesAnd told them, by her troth,There was a magistrate withinThat needs must see ’em both.

But, gentlemen, pray distance keep,And don’t too testy be;Ill words good manners still corruptAnd spoil good company.

To this the vicar first replies,I fear no magistrate;For let ’em make what laws they will,I’ll still obey the State.

Whatever I can say or do,I’m sure not much avails;I stall still be Vicar of BrayWhichever side prevails.

My conscience, thanks to Heaven, is comeTo such a happy pass,That I can take the CovenantAnd never hang an ass.

I’ve took so many oaths before,That now without remorseI take all oaths the State can make,As meerly things of course.

Go therefore, dame, the justice tellHis summons I’ll obey;And further you may let him knowI Vicar am of Bray.

I find indeed, the cobbler said,I am not much mistaken;This vicar knows the ready wayTo save his reverend bacon.[97]

This is a hopeful priest indeed,And well deserves a rope;Rather than lose his vicarageHe’d swear to Turk or Pope.

For gain he would his God deny,His country and his King;Swear and forswear, recant and lye,Do any wicked thing.

At this the vicar set his teeth,And to the cobbler flew;And with his sacerdotal fistGave him a box or two.

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