Part 51

A NEW DROLL.

From the Loyal Garland, 1686. Edited by J. O. Halliwell.

COME let’s drink, the time invites, Winter and cold weather; For to spend away long nights, And to keep good wits together. Better far than cards or dice, Isaac’s balls are quaint device, Made up with fan and feather.

Of strange actions on the seas Why should we be jealous? Bring us liquor that will please, And will make us braver fellows Than the bold Venetian fleet, When the Turks and they do meet Within their Dardanellos.

Valentian, that famous town, Stood the French man’s wonder; Water they employ’d to drown, So to cut their troops assunder; Turein gave a helpless look, While the lofty Spaniard took La Ferta and his plunder.

As for water, we disclaim Mankind’s adversary; Once it caused the world’s whole frame In the deluge to miscarry; And that enemy of joy Which sought our freedom to destroy And murder good Canary.

We that drink have no such thoughts, Black and void of reason: We take care to fill our vaults With good wine of every season; And with many a chirping cup We blow one another up, And that’s our only treason.

Hear the squibs and mind the bells, The fifth of November; The parson a sad story tells, And with horror doth remember How some hot-brain’d traitor wrought Plots that would have ruin brought To King and every member.

THE ROYALIST.

A song made in the Rebellion.

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

STAY, shut the gate! T’other quart, boys, ’tis not so late As you are thinking; The stars which you see in the hemisphere be Are but studs in your cheeks by good drinking; The sun’s gone to tipple all night in the sea, boys, To-morrow he’ll blush that he’s paler than we, boys; Drink wine, give him water, ’Tis sack makes us the boys.

Fill up the glass, To the next merry lad let it pass; Come, away wi’t; Let’s set foot to foot and but give our minds to’t, ’Tis heretical sir, that doth slay wit; Then hang up good faces, let’s drink till our noses Give’s freedom to speak what our fancy disposes, Beneath whose protection now under the rose is.

Drink off your bowl, ’Twill enrich both your head and your soul with Canary; For a carbuncled face saves a tedious race, And the Indies about us we carry; No Helicon like to the juice of good wine is, For Phoebus had never had wit that divine is, Had his face not been bow-dy’d as thine is and mine is.

This must go round, Off with your hats till the pavement be crown’d with your beavers; A red-coated face frights a sergeant and his mace, Whilst the constables tremble to shivers. In state march our faces like some of that quorum, While the . . . do fall down and the vulgar adore ’um, And our noses like link-boys run shining before ’um.

THE ROYALIST’S RESOLVE.

From the Loyal Garland, 1686. Reprinted for the Percy Society.

COME, drawer, some wine, Or we’ll pull down the sign, For we are all jovial compounders; We’ll make the house ring With healths to our King, And confusion light on his confounders.

Since former committee Afforded no pity, Our sorrows in wine we will steep ’um; They force us to take Two oaths, but we’ll make A third, that we ne’er mean to keep ’um.

And next, whoe’er sees, We’ll drink on our knees To the King; may he thirst that repines: A fig for those traytors That look to our waters, They have nothing to do with our wines.

And next here’s three bowls To all gallant souls That for the King did and will venture; May they flourish when those That are his and our foes Are hang’d, and ram’d down to the center.

And may they be found In all to abound, Both with Heaven and the country’s anger; May they never want fractions, Doubts, fears, and distractions, Till the gallows-tree frees them from danger.

LOYALTY TURNED UP TRUMP, OR THE DANGER OVER.

From the Loyal Garland, reprinted from a Black-Letter copy, printed 1686. Reprinted for the Percy society, 1850.

IN vain ill men attempt us, Their day is out of date; The fates do now exempt us From what we felt of late. The nation is grown wiser Than to believe their shame; He that was the deviser Themselves begin to blame.

They thought the trumps would ever Turn on rebellion’s side, But kinder power deliver Us from their foolish pride; For see, they are deceived, And can no more prevail; Those who the Rump believed, Ashamed are of the tale.

THE LOYALIST’S ENCOURAGEMENT.

From the Loyal Garland. To the tune of “Now, now the fight’s done.”