Part 12

John Lilburne {26} is a stirring blade, And understands the matter; He neither will king, bishops, lords, Nor th’ House of Commons flatter: John loves no power prerogative, But that derived from Sion; As for the mitre and the crown, Those two he looks awry on. The King sent us, etc.

Tom Violet {27} swears his injuries Are scarcely to be numbred; He was close prisoner to the State These score dayes and nine hundred; For Tom does set down all the dayes, And hopes he has good debters; ’Twould be no treason (Jenkin sayes) To bring them peaceful letters. The King sent us, etc.

Poore Hudson {28} of all was the last, For it was his disaster, He met a turncoat swore that he Was once King Charles his master; So he to London soon was brought, But came in such a season, Their martial court was then cry’d down, They could not try his treason. The king sent us, etc.

Else Hudson had gone to the pot, Who is he can abide him? For he was master to the King, And (which is more) did guide him. Had Hudson done (as Judas did), Most loyally betray’d him, The Houses are so noble, they As bravely would have paid him. The King sent us, etc.

We’ll then conclude with hearty healths To King Charles and Queen Mary; To the black lad in buff (the Prince), So like his grandsire Harry; To York, to Glo’ster; may we not Send Turk and Pope defiance, Since we such gallant seconds have To strengthen our alliance? Wee’l drink them o’re and o’re again, Else we’re unthankfull creatures; Since Charles, the wise, the valiant King, Takes us for loyall traytors.

This if you will rhyme dogrell call, (That you please you may name it,) One of the loyal traytors here Did for a ballad frame it: Old Chevy Chace was in his minde; If any suit it better, All those concerned in the song Will kindly thank the setter.

UPON HIS MAJESTY’S COMING TO HOLMBY.

Charles I., after his surrender to the English Commissioners by the Scotch, was conveyed to Holmby House, Northamptonshire, 16th February, 1647.

HOLD out, brave Charles, and thou shaft win the field; Thou canst not lose thyself, unless thou yield On such conditions as will force thy hand To give away thy sceptre, crown, and land. And what is worse, to hazard by thy fall, To lose a greater crown, more worth than all.

Thy poor distressed Cavaliers rejoyced To hear thy royal resolution voiced, And are content far more poor to be Than yet they are, so it reflects from thee. Thou art our sovereign still, in spite of hate; Our zeal is to thy person, not thy state.

We are not so ambitious to desire Our drooping fortunes to be mounted higher, And thou so great a monarch, to our grief, Must sue unto thy subjects for relief: And when they sit and long debate about it, Must either stay their time, or go without it.

No, sacred prince, thy friends esteem thee more In thy distresses than ere they did before; And though their wings be clipt, their wishes fly To heaven by millions, for a fresh supply. That as thy cause was so betray’d by men, It may by angels be restored agen.

I THANK YOU TWICE;

The city courting their own ruin, Thank the Parliament twice for their treble undoing.

A street ballad. From a broadside, 1647.

THE hierarchy is out of date, Our monarchy was sick of late, But now ’tis grown an excellent state: Oh, God a-mercy, Parliament!

The teachers knew not what to say, The ’prentices have leave to play, The people have all forgotten to pray; Still, God a-mercy, Parliament!

The Roundhead and the Cavalier Have fought it out almost seven year, And yet, methinks, they are never the near: Oh, God, etc.

The gentry are sequester’d all; Our wives you find at Goldsmith Hall, For there they meet with the devil and all; Still, God, etc.

The Parliament are grown to that height They care not a pin what his Majesty saith; And they pay all their debts with the public faith. Oh, God, etc.

Though all we have here is brought to nought, In Ireland we have whole lordships bought, There we shall one day be rich, ’tis thought: Still, God, etc.

We must forsake our father and mother, And for the State undo our own brother And never leave murthering one another: Oh, God, etc.

Now the King is caught and the devil is dead; Fairfax must be disbanded, Or else he may chance be Hotham-ed. Still, God, etc.

They have made King Charles a glorious king, He was told, long ago, of such a thing; Now he and his subjects have reason to sing, Oh, God, etc.

THE CITIES LOYALTIE TO THE KING.

(Aug. 13th, 1647.)

The city of London made several demonstrations this year to support the Presbyterian party in the Parliament against the Independents and the army. In the latter end of September, after the army had marched to London, and the Parliament acted under its influence, the lord mayor and a large part of the aldermen were committed to the Tower on the charge of high treason; and a new mayor for the rest of the year was appointed by the Parliament.

To the tune of “London is a fine town and a gallant city.”