Cavalier Songs and Ballads of England from 1642 to 1684 Part 35

From "Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge Melancholy; being a Collection of the best merry Ballads and Songs, old and new."

London, 1714.

Come buy my new ballad, I have't in my wallet, But 'twill not I fear please every pallate; Then mark what ensu'th, I swear by my youth That every line in my ballad is truth.

A ballad of wit, a ballad of worth, 'Tis newly printed and newly come forth; 'Twas made of a cloak that fell out with a gown, That cramp'd all the kingdom and crippled the crown.

I'll tell you in brief A story of grief, Which happen'd when Cloak was Commander-in-chief; It tore common prayers, Imprison'd lord mayors, In one day it voted down prelates and prayers; It made people perjured in point of obedience, And the Covenant did cut off the oath of allegiance.

Then let us endeavour to pull the Cloak down That cramp'd all the kingdom and crippled the crown.

It was a black Cloke, In good time be it spoke, That kill'd many thousands but never struck stroke; With hatchet and rope The forlorn hope Did join with the Devil to pull down the Pope; It set all the sects in the city to work, And rather than fail 'twould have brought in the Turk.

Then let us endeavour, etc.

It seized on the tower-guns, Those fierce demi-gorgons, It brought in the bag-pipes, and brought in the organs; The pulpits did smoke, The churches did choke, And all our religion was turn'd to a cloak.

It brought in lay-elders could not write nor read, It set public faith up and pull'd down the creed.

Then let us endeavour, etc.

This pious impostor Such fury did foster, It left us no penny nor no PATER-NOSTER; It threw to the ground The commandments down, And set up twice twenty times ten of its own; It routed the King and villains elected, To plunder all those whom they thought disaffected.

Then let us endeavour, etc.

To blind people's eyes This Cloak was so wise, It took off ship-money, but set up excise; Men brought in their plate For reasons of state, And gave it to Tom Trumpeter and his mate.

In pamphlets it writ many specious epistles, To cozen poor wenches of bodkins and whistles.

Then let us endeavour, etc.

In pulpits it moved, And was much approved For crying out, FIGHT THE LORD'S BATTLES, BELOVED; It bob-tayled the gown, Put Prelacy down, It trod on the mitre to reach at the crown; And into the field it an army did bring, To aim at the council but shoot at the King.

Then let us endeavour, etc.

It raised up States Whose politic fates Do now keep their quarters on the city gates.

To father and mother, To sister and brother, It gave a commission to kill one another.

It took up men's horses at very low rates, And plunder'd our goods to secure our estates.

Then let us endeavour, etc.

This Cloak did proceed To d.a.m.nable deed, It made the best mirror of majesty bleed; Tho' Cloak did not do't, He set it on foot, By rallying and calling his journeymen to't.

For never had come such a b.l.o.o.d.y disaster, If Cloak had not first drawn a sword at his master.

Then let us endeavour, etc.

Tho' some of them went hence By sorrowful sentence, This lofty long Cloak is not moved to repentance; But he and his men, Twenty thousand times ten, Are plotting to do their tricks over again.

But let this proud Cloak to authority stoop, Or DUN will provide him a b.u.t.ton and loop.

Then let us endeavour to pull the Cloak down That basely did sever the head from the crown.

Let's pray that the King And his Parliament In sacred and secular things may consent; So righteously firm, And religiously free, That Papists and Atheists suppressed may be.

And as there's one Deity does over-reign us, One faith and one form and one Church may contain us.

Then peace, truth, and plenty our kingdom will crown, And all Popish plots and their plotters shall down.

Ballad: The Time-Server, Or A Medley

From the Loyal Garland, 1686. Reprinted for the Percy Society, and edited by J. O. Halliwell.

Room for a gamester that plays at all he sees, Whose fickle fancy suits such times as these, One that says Amen to every factious prayer, From Hugh Peters' pulpit to St Peter's chair; One that doth defy the Crozier and the Crown, But yet can house with blades that carouse, Whilst pottle pots tumble down, derry down, One that can comply with surplice and with cloak, Yet for his end can independ Whilst Presbyterian broke Brittain's yoke.

This is the way to trample without trembling, Tis the sycophant's only secure.

Covenants and oaths are badges of dissembling, 'Tis the politick pulls down the pure.

To profess and betray, to plunder and pray, Is the only ready way to be great; Flattery doth the feat; Ne'er go, ne'er stir, sir - will venture further Than the greatest dons in the town, From a coffer to a crown.

I'm in a temperate humour now to think well, Now I'm in another humour for to drink well, Then fill us up a beer-bowl, boys, that we May drink it, drink it merrily; No knavish spy shall understand, For, if it should be known, 'Tis ten to one we shall be trepanned.

I'll drink to them a brace of quarts, Whose anagram is call'd true hearts; If all were well, as I would ha't, And Britain cured of its tumour, I should very well like my fate, And drink my sack at a cheaper rate, Without any noise or rumour, Oh then I should fix my humour.

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

We must be like the Scottish man, Who, with intent to beat down schism, Brought in the Presbyterian With canon and with catechism.

If beuk wont do't, then Jockey shoot, For the Church of Scotland doth command; And what hath been since they came in I think we have cause to understand.

Ballad: The Soldier's Delight

(Made in the late times.)

From the Loyal Garland, 1686. Reprinted for the Percy Society, and edited by J. O. Halliwell.

Fair Phydelia, tempt no more, I may not now thy beauty so adore, Nor offer to thy shrine; I serve one more divine And greater far than you: Hark! the trumpet calls away, We must go, lest the foe Get the field and win the day; Then march bravely on, Charge them in the van, Our cause G.o.d's is, though the odds is Ten times ten to one.

Tempt no more, I may not yield, Although thine eyes a kingdom may surprise; Leave off thy wanton tales, The high-born Prince of Wales Is mounted in the field, Where the loyal gentry flock, Though forlorn, n.o.bly born, Of a ne'er-decaying stock; Cavaliers, be bold, ne'er let go your hold, Those that loiters are by traitors Dearly bought and sold.

PHYDELIA. - One kiss more, and so farewell.

SOLDIER. - Fie, no more! I prithee fool give o'er; Why cloud'st thou thus thy beams?

I see by these extremes, A woman's heaven or h.e.l.l.

Pray the King may have his own, That the Queen may be seen With her babes on England's throne; Rally up your men, one shall vanquish ten, Victory, we come to try our valour once again.

Ballad: The Loyal Soldier

From the Loyal Garland, 1686. Reprinted for the Percy Society, and edited by J. O. Halliwell.

When in the field of Mars we lie, Amongst those martial wights, Who, never daunted, are to dye For King and countrie's rights; As on Belona's G.o.d I wait, And her attendant be, Yet, being absent from my mate, I live in misery.

When lofty winds aloud do blow, It snoweth, hail, or rain, And Charon in his boat doth row, Yet stedfast I'll remain; And for my shelter in some barn creep, Or under some hedge lye; Whilst such as do now strong castles keep Knows no such misery.