Part 10

But now your holy cheat Is known throughout the nation; And a Whig is known to be A thing quite out of fashion. And a Tory I will be, etc.

A NEW GAME AT CARDS: OR, WIN AT FIRST AND LOSE AT LAST.

A popular ballad, written immediately after the restoration of Charles II.; and in which the victorious Cavaliers render honour to General Monk, Duke of Albemarle.

Tune, “Ye gallants that delight to play.”

YE merry hearts that love to play At cards, see who hath won the day; You that once did sadly sing The knave of clubs hath won the king; Now more happy times we have, The king hath overcome the knave.

Not long ago a game was play’d, When three crowns at the stakes were laid; England had no cause to boast, Knaves won that which kings had lost: Coaches gave the way to carts, And clubs were better cards than hearts.

Old Noll was the knave o’ clubs, And dad of such as preach in tubs; Bradshaw, Ireton, and Pride Were three other knaves beside; And they play’d with half the pack, Throwing out all cards but black.

But the just Fates threw these four out, Which made the loyal party shout; The Pope would fain have had the stock, And with these cards have whipt his dock. But soon the Devil these cards snatches To dip in brimstone, and make matches.

But still the sport for to maintain, Bold Lambert, Haslerigg, and Vane, With one-eyed Hewson, took their places, Knaves were better cards than aces; But Fleetwood he himself did save, Because he was more fool than knave.

Cromwell, though he so much had won, Yet he had an unlucky son; He sits still, and not regards, Whilst cunning gamesters set the cards; And thus, alas! poor silly Dick, He play’d awhile, and lost his trick.

The Rumpers that had won whole towns, The spoils of martyrs and of crowns, Were not contented, but grew rough, As though they had not won enough; They kept the cards still in their hands, To play for tithes and college lands.

The Presbyters began to fret That they were like to lose the sett; Unto the Rump they did appeal, And said it was their turn to deal; Then dealt with Presbyterians, but The army swore that they would cut.

The foreign lands began to wonder, To see what gallants we lived under, That they, which Christians did forswear, Should follow gaming all the year,— Nay more, which was the strangest thing, To play so long without a king.

The bold phanatics present were, Like butlers with their boxes there, Not doubting but that every game Some profit would redound to them; Because they were the gamesters’ minions, And every day broach’d new opinions.

But Cheshire men (as stories say) Began to show them gamester’s play; Brave Booth and all his army strives To save the stakes, or lose their lives; But, oh sad fate! they were undone By playing of their cards too soon.

Thus all the while a club was trump, There’s none could ever beat the Rump, Until a noble general came, And gave the cheaters a clear slam; His finger did outwit their noddy, And screw’d up poor Jack Lambert’s body.

Then Haslerigg began to scowl, And said the general play’d foul. Look to him, partners, for I tell ye, This Monk has got a king in’s belly. Not so, quoth Monk, but I believe Sir Arthur has a knave in’s sleeve.

When General Monk did understand The Rump were peeping into’s hand, He wisely kept his cards from sight, Which put the Rump into a fright; He saw how many were betray’d That show’d their cards before they play’d.

At length, quoth he, some cards we lack, I will not play with half a pack; What you cast out I will bring in, And a new game we will begin: With that the standers-by did say They never yet saw fairer play.

But presently this game was past, And for a second knaves were cast; All new cards, not stain’d with spots, As was the Rumpers and the Scots,— Here good gamesters play’d their parts And turn’d up the king of hearts.

After this game was done, I think The standers-by had cause to drink, And all loyal subjects sing, Farewell knaves, and welcome King; For, till we saw the King return’d, We wish’d the cards had all been burn’d.

THE CAVALEERS LITANY.

(March 25th, 1660.)—From the King’s Pamphlets, British Museum.

FROM pardons which extend to woods, Entitle thieves to keep our goods, Forgive our rents as well as bloods, God bless, etc.

From judges who award that none Of our oppressours should attone (The losses sure were not their own), God bless, etc.

From Christians which can soon forget Our injuries, but not one bit Of self-concernment would remit, God bless, etc.

From duresse, and their dolefull tale, Who, famisht by a lawless sale, Compounded it for cakes and ale, God bless, etc.

From persons still to tread the stage, Who did the drudgeries of our age (Such counsells are, I fear, too sage), God bless, etc.

From maximes which (to make all sure) With great rewards the bad allure, ’Cause of the good they are secure, God bless, etc.

From cunning gamesters, who, they say, Are sure to winne, what-e’re they play; In April Lambert, Charles in May, God bless, etc.

From neuters and their leven’d lump, Who name the King and mean the Rump, Or care not much what card is trump, God bless, etc.

From midnight-birds, who lye at catch Some plume from monarchy to snatch, And from fond youths that cannot watch, God bless, etc.

From brethren who must still dissent, Whose froward gospell brooks no Lent, And who recant, but ne’er repent, God bless, etc.

From Levites void of truth and shame, Who to the time their pulpits frame, And keep the style but change the name, God bless, etc.

From men by heynous crimes made rich, Who (though their hopes are in the ditch) Have still th’ old fornicatours itch, God bless, etc.

From such as freely paid th’ arrears Of the State-troops for many years, But grudge one tax for Cavaleers, God bless, etc.

THE SECOND PART.

A CROWN of gold without allay, Not here provided for one day, But framed above to last for aye! God send, etc.

A Queen to fill the empty place, And multiply his noble race, Wee all beseech the throne of grace To send, etc.

A people still as true and kind As late (when for their King they pin’d), Not fickle as the tide or wild, God send, etc.

A fleet like that in fifty-three, To re-assert our power at sea, And make proud Flemings bend their knee, God send, etc.

Full magazines and cash in store, That such as wrought his fate before May hope to do the same no more, God send, etc.

A searching judgement to divine, Of persons whether they do joyn For love, for fear, or for design, God send, etc.

A well-complexion’d Parliament, That shall (like Englishmen) resent What loyall subjects underwent, God send, etc.

Review of statutes lately past, Made in such heat, pen’d in such hast, That all events were not forecast, God send, etc.

Dispatch of businesse, lawes upright, And favour where it stands with right, (Be their purses ne’er so light), God send, etc.

A raven to supply their need, Whose martyrdom (like noble seed) Sprung up at length and choak’t the weed, God send, etc.

The King and kingdom’s debts defray’d, And those of honest men well pay’d, To which their vertue them betray’d, God send, etc.

Increase of customes to the King May our increase of traffick bring, ’Tis that will make the people sing Long live, etc.

London, printed for Robert Crofts, at the Crown, in Chancery Lane, 1661.

THE CAVALIER’S COMPLAINT.

This and the following ballad, from the King’s Pamphlets, British Museum, express the discontent of the Cavaliers at the ingratitude of King Charles to the old supporters of the fortunes of his family.—(March 15th, 1660.)

To the tune of “I tell thee, Dick.”

COME, Jack, let’s drink a pot of ale, And I shall tell thee such a tale Will make thine ears to ring; My coyne is spent, my time is lost, And I this only fruit can boast, That once I saw my King.

But this doth most afflict my mind: I went to Court in hope to find Some of my friends in place; And walking there, I had a sight Of all the crew, but, by this light! I hardly knew one face.

’S’life! of so many noble sparkes, Who on their bodies bear the markes Of their integritie; And suffer’d ruine of estate, It was my damn’d unhappy fate That I not one could see.

Not one, upon my life, among My old acquaintance all along At Truro and before; And I suppose the place can show As few of those whom thou didst know At Yorke or Marston-moore.

But truly there are swarmes of those Who lately were our chiefest foes, Of pantaloons and muffes; Whilst the old rusty Cavaleer Retires, or dares not once appear, For want of coyne and cuffes.

When none of these I could descry, Who better far deserv’d then I, Calmely I did reflect; “Old services (by rule of State) Like almanacks grow out of date,— What then can I expect?”

Troth! in contempt of Fortune’s frown, I’ll get me fairly out of town, And in a cloyster pray; That since the starres are yet unkind To Royalists, the King may find More faithfull friends than they.

AN ECHO TO THE CAVALIER’S COMPLAINT.

I MARVEL, Dick, that having been So long abroad, and having seen The world as thou hast done, Thou should’st acquaint mee with a tale As old as Nestor, and as stale As that of Priest and Nunne. {100}

Are we to learn what is a Court? A pageant made for fortune’s sport, Where merits scarce appear; For bashfull merit only dwells In camps, in villages, and cells; Alas! it dwells not there.

Desert is nice in its addresse, And merit ofttimes doth oppresse Beyond what guilt would do; But they are sure of their demands That come to Court with golden hands, And brazen faces, too.

The King, they say, doth still professe To give his party some redresse, And cherish honestie; But his good wishes prove in vain, Whose service with his servants’ gain Not alwayes doth agree.

All princes (be they ne’er so wise) Are fain to see with others’ eyes, But seldom hear at all; And courtiers find their interest In time to feather well their nest, Providing for their fall.

Our comfort doth on time depend, Things when they are at worst will mend; And let us but reflect On our condition th’ other day, When none but tyrants bore the sway, What did we then expect?

Meanwhile a calm retreat is best, But discontent (if not supprest) Will breed disloyaltie; This is the constant note I sing, I have been faithful to the King, And so shall ever be.

London, printed for Robert Crofts, at the Crown, in Chancery Lane, 1661.

A RELATION.

Of Ten grand infamous Traytors, who, for their horrid murder and detestable villany against our late soveraigne Lord King Charles the First, that ever blessed martyr, were arraigned, tryed, and executed in the moneth of October, 1660, which in perpetuity will be had in remembrance unto the world’s end.

This is one of the Six Ballads of the Restoration found in a trunk, and sent by Sir W. C. Trevelyan to the British Museum. “No measure threw more disgrace on the Restoration,” says Mr Wright, “than the prosecution of the regicides; and the heartless and sanguinary manner in which it was conducted tended more than any other circumstance to open the eyes of the people to the real character of the government to which they had been betrayed.” Pepys observes on the 20th Oct., “A bloody week this and the last have been; there being ten hanged, drawn, and quartered.”

The tune is “Come let us drinke, the time invites.”

HEE that can impose a thing, And shew forth a reason For what was done against the King, From the palace to the prison; Let him here with me recite, For my pen is bent to write The horrid facts of treason.

Since there is no learned scribe Nor arithmaticion Ever able to decide The usurp’d base ambition, Which in truth I shall declare, Traytors here which lately were, Who wanted a phisitian.

For the grand disease that bred Nature could not weane it; From the foot unto the head, Was putrefacted treason in it; Doctors could no cure give, Which made the squire then beleeve That he must first begin it.

And the phisick did compose, Within a pound of reason; First to take away the cause, Then to purge away the treason, With a dosse of hemp made up, Wrought as thickly as a rope, And given them in due season.

The doctors did prescribe at last To give ’um this potation, A vomit or a single cast, Well deserved, in purgation; After that to lay them downe, And bleed a veine in every one, As traytors of the nation.

So when first the physicke wrought, The thirteenth of October, {101} The patient on a sledge was brought, Like a rebell and a rover, To the execution tree; Where with much dexterity Was gently turned over.

THE SECOND PART.

To the same tune.

MONDAY was the fifteenth day, As Carew then did follow, {102} Of whom all men I thinke might say In tyranny did deeply wallow; Traytor proved unto the King, Which made him on the gallowes swing, And all the people hallow.

Tuesday, after Peters, Cooke, {103} Two notorious traytors, That brought our soveraigne to the blocke, For which were hang’d and cut in quarters; ’Twas Cooke which wrought the bloody thing To draw the charge against our King, That ever blessed martyr.

Next, on Wednesday, foure came, For murthur all imputed, There to answer for the same, Which in judgement were confuted. Gregorie Clement, Jones, and Scot, And Scroop together, for a plot, {104} Likewise were executed.

Thursday past, and Friday then, To end the full conclusion, And make the traytors just up ten, That day were brought to execution, Hacker and proud Axtell he, {105} At Tyburne for their treachery Received their absolution.

Being against the King and States, The Commons all condemn’d ’um, And their quarters on the gates Hangeth for a memorandum ’Twixt the heavens and the earth; Traytors are so little worth, To dust and smoake wee’l send ’um.

Let now October warning make To bloody-minded traytors, That never phisicke more they take, For in this moneth they lost their quarters; Being so against the King, Which to murther they did bring, The ever blessed martyr.

London, printed for Fr. Coles, T. Vere, M. Wright, and W. Gilbertson.

THE GLORY OF THESE NATIONS;

OR, KING AND PEOPLES HAPPINESSE. BEING A BRIEF RELATION OF KING CHARLES’S ROYALL PROGRESSE FROM DOVER TO LONDON, HOW THE LORD GENERALL AND THE LORD MAYOR, WITH ALL THE NOBILITY AND GENTRY OF THE LAND, BROUGHT HIM THOROW THE FAMOUS CITY OF LONDON TO HIS PALLACE AT WESTMINSTER, THE 29TH OF MAY LAST, BEING HIS MAJESTIES BIRTH-DAY, TO THE GREAT COMFORT OF HIS LOYALL SUBJECTS.

One of the six curious broadsides found by Sir W. C. Trevelyan in the lining of a trunk, and now in the British Museum.

The new Parliament met on the twenty-fifth of April, and on the first of May the King’s letter from Breda was read, and the Restoration determined by a vote of the House. The King immediately repaired to the coast, and, after meeting with some obstruction from the roughness of the weather, went on board the _Nazeby_ on the 23rd of May. On the 25th he landed at Dover. He made his entry into London on the 29th.

To the tune of “When the King enjoys his own again.”

WHERE’S those that did prognosticate, And did envy fair England’s state, And said King Charles no more should reign? Their predictions were but in vain, For the King is now return’d, For whom fair England mourn’d; His nobles royally him entertain. Now blessed be the day! Thus do his subjects say, That God hath brought him home again.

The twenty-second of lovely May At Dover arrived, fame doth say, Where our most noble generall Did on his knees before him fall, Craving to kiss his hand, So soon as he did land. Royally they did him entertain, With all their pow’r and might, To bring him to his right, And place him in his own again.

Then the King, I understand, Did kindly take him by the hand And lovingly did him embrace, Rejoycing for to see his face. Hee lift him from the ground With joy that did abound, And graciously did him entertain; Rejoycing that once more He was o’ th’ English shore, To enjoy his own in peace again.

From Dover to Canterbury they past, And so to Cobham-hall at last; From thence to London march amain, With a triumphant and glorious train, Where he was received with joy, His sorrow to destroy, In England once more for to raign; Now all men do sing, God save Charles our King, That now enjoyes his own again.

At Deptford the maidens they Stood all in white by the high-way Their loyalty to Charles to show, They with sweet flowers his way to strew. Each wore a ribbin blew, They were of comely hue, With joy they did him entertain, With acclamations to the skye As the King passed by, For joy that he receives his own again.

In Wallworth-fields a gallant band Of London ’prentices did stand, All in white dublets very gay, To entertain King Charles that day, With muskets, swords, and pike; I never saw the like, Nor a more youthfull gallant train; They up their hats did fling, And cry, “God save the King! Now he enjoys his own again.”

At Newington-Buts the Lord Mayor willed A famous booth for to be builded, Where King Charles did make a stand, And received the sword into his hand; Which his Majesty did take, And then returned back Unto the Mayor with love again. A banquet they him make, He doth thereof partake, Then marcht his triumphant train.

The King with all his noblemen, Through Southwark they marched then; First marched Major Generall Brown, {106} Then Norwich Earle of great renown, {107} With many a valiant knight And gallant men of might, Richly attired, marching amain, There Lords Mordin, Gerard, and The good Earle of Cleavland, {108} To bring the King to his own again.

Near sixty flags and streamers then Was born before a thousand men, In plush coats and chaines of gold, These were most rich for to behold; With every man his page, The glory of his age; With courage bold they marcht amain, Then with gladnesse they Brought the King on his way For to enjoy his own again.

Then Lichfields and Darbyes Earles, {109} Two of fair England’s royall pearles; Major Generall Massey then Commanded the life guard of men, The King for to defend, If any should contend, Or seem his comming to restrain; But also joyfull were That no such durst appear, Now the King enjoyes his own again.

Four rich maces before them went, And many heralds well content; The Lord Mayor and the generall Did march before the King withall. His brothers on each side Along by him did ride; The Southwark-waits did play amain, Which made them all to smile And to stand still awhile, And then they marched on again.

Then with drawn swords all men did side, And flourishing the same, then cryed, “Charles the Second now God save, That he his lawfull right may have! And we all on him attend, From dangers him to defend, And all that with him doth remain. Blessed be God that we Did live these days to see, That the King enjoyes his own again!”

The bells likewise did loudly ring, Bonefires did burn and people sing; London conduits did run with wine, And all men do to Charles incline; Hoping now that all Unto their trades may fall, Their famylies for to maintain, And from wrong be free, ’Cause we have liv’d to see The King enjoy his own again.

London, printed for Charles Tyns, on London Bridge.

THE NOBLE PROGRESS, OR, A TRUE RELATION OF THE LORD GENERAL MONK’S POLITICAL PROCEEDINGS.

The Noble Progresse, or a True Relation of the Lord General Monk’s Political Proceedings with the Rump, the calling in the secluded Members, their transcendant vote for his sacred Majesty, with his reception at Dover, and royal conduct through the City of London to his famous Palace at Whitehall. One of the broadsides in the British Museum, found in the lining of an old trunk by Sir W. C. Trevelyan.

Tune—“When first the Scottish wars began.”

GOOD people, hearken to my call, I’le tell you all what did befall And hapned of late; Our noble valiant General Monk Came to the Rump, who lately stunk With their council of state. Admiring what this man would doe, His secret mind there’s none could know, They div’d into him as much as they could,— George would not be won with their silver nor gold: The sectarian saints at this lookt blew, With all the rest of the factious crew, They vapour’d awhile, and were in good hope, But now they have nothing left but the rope.

Another invention then they sought, Which long they wrought for to be brought To claspe him with they; Quoth Vane and Scot, I’le tell you what, Wee’l have a plot and he shall not, Wee’l carry the sway: Let’s vote him a thousand pound a yeare, And Hampton Court for him and his Heire. Indeed, quoth George, ye’re Free Parliament men To cut a thong out of another man’s skin. The sectarian, etc.

They sent him then with all his hosts To break our posts and raise our ghosts, Which was their intent; To cut our gates and chain all downe Unto the ground—this trick they found To make him be shent: This plot the Rump did so accord To cast an odium on my lord, But in the task he was hard put untoo’t, ’Twas enough to infect both his horse and his foot, The sectarian, etc.

But when my lord perceived that night What was their spight, he brought to light Their knaveries all; This Parliament of forty-eight, Which long did wait, came to him straight, To give them a fall, And some phanatical people knew That George would give them their fatall due; Indeed he did requite them agen, For he pul’d the Monster out of his den. The sectarian, etc.

To the House our worthy Parliament With good intent they boldly went To vote home the King, And many hundred people more Stood at the doore, and waited for Good tidings to bring; Yet some in the House had their hands much in blood, And in great opposition like traytors they stood; But yet I believe it is very well known That those that were for him were twenty to one. But the sectarian, etc.