Part 45

THE JUBILEE, OR THE CORONATION DAY.

From Thomas Jordan’s “Royal Arbor of Loyal Poesie,” 12mo, 1664. Mr Chappell states—“As this consists of only two stanzas, and the copy of the book, which is now in the possession of Mr Payne Collier, is probably unique, they are here subjoined.”

LET every man with tongue and pen Rejoice that Charles is come agen, To gain his sceptre and his throne, And give to every man his own; Let all men that be Together agree, And freely now express their joy; Let your sweetest voices bring Pleasant songs unto the King, To crown his Coronation Day.

All that do thread on English earth Shall live in freedom, peace, and mirth; The golden times are come that we Did one day think we ne’er should see; Protector and Rump Did put us in a dump, When they their colours did display; But the time is come about, We are in, and they are out, By King Charles his Coronation Day.

THE KING ENJOYS HIS OWN AGAIN.

(1661.)—From Hogg’s Jacobite Relics.

WHIGS are now such precious things, We see there’s not one to be found; All roar “God bless and save the King!” And his health goes briskly all day round. To the soldier, cap in hand, the sneaking rascals stand, And would put in for honest men; But the King he well knows his friends from his foes, And now he enjoys his own again.

From this plot’s first taking air, Like lightning all the Whigs have run; Nay, they’ve left their topping square, To march off with our eldest son: They’ve left their ’states and wives to save their precious lives, Yet who can blame their flying, when ’Twas plain to them all, the great and the small, That the King would have his own again?

This may chance a warning be (If e’er the saints will warning take) To leave off hatching villany, Since they’ve seen their brother at the stake: And more must mounted be (which God grant we may see), Since juries now are honest men: And the King lets them swing with a hey ding a ding, Great James enjoys his own again.

Since they have voted that his Guards A nuisance were, which now they find, Since they stand between the King And the treason that such dogs design’d; ’Tis they will you maul, though it cost them a fall, In spight of your most mighty men; For now they are alarm’d, and all Loyalists well arm’d, Since the King enjoys his own again.

To the King, come, bumpers round, Let’s drink, my boys, while life doth last: He that at the core’s not sound Shall be kick’d out without a taste. We’ll fear no disgrace, but look traitors in the face, Since we’re case-harden’d, honest men; Which makes their crew mad, but us loyal hearts full glad, That the King enjoys his own again.

A COUNTRY SONG, INTITULED THE RESTORATION.

(May, 1661.)—From the twentieth volume of the folio broadsides, King’s Pamphlets.

COME, come away To the temple, and pray, And sing with a pleasant strain; The schismatick’s dead, The liturgy’s read, And the King enjoyes his own again.

The vicar is glad, The clerk is not sad, And the parish cannot refrain To leap and rejoyce And lift up their voyce, That the King enjoyes his own again.

The country doth bow To old justices now, That long aside have been lain; The bishop’s restored, God is rightly adored, And the King enjoyes his own again.

Committee-men fall, And majors-generall, No more doe those tyrants reign; There’s no sequestration, Nor new decimation, For the King enjoyes the sword again.

The scholar doth look With joy on his book, Tom whistles and plows amain; Soldiers plunder no more As they did heretofore, For the King enjoyes the sword again.

The citizens trade, The merchants do lade, And send their ships into Spain; No pirates at sea To make them a prey, For the King enjoyes the sword again.

The old man and boy, The clergy and lay, Their joyes cannot contain; ’Tis better than of late With the Church and the State, Now the King enjoyes the sword again.

Let’s render our praise For these happy dayes To God and our sovereign; Your drinking give ore, Swear not as before, For the King bears not the sword in vain.

Fanaticks, be quiet, And keep a good diet, To cure your crazy brain; Throw off your disguise, Go to church and be wise, For the King bears not the sword in vain.

Let faction and pride Be now laid aside, That truth and peace may reign; Let every one mend, And there is an end, For the King bears not the sword in vain.

HERE’S A HEALTH UNTO HIS MAJESTY.

There is only one verse to this Song. The music is arranged for three voices in “Playford’s Musical Companion, 1667.”

HERE’S a health unto his Majesty, With a fal la la la la la la, Confusion to his enemies, With a fal lal la la la la la la. And he that will not drink his health, I wish him neither wit nor wealth, Nor but a rope to hang himself. With a fal lal la la la la la la la la, With a fal lal la la la la la.

THE WHIGS DROWNED IN AN HONEST TORY HEALTH.

From Col. 180 Loyal Songs.