Chapter I: HAVE been a traveller long, (3)

To be and to be not
At once is in their power;
For when they’re in, they’re guilty,
But clear when out o’ the tower.
And a Tory I will be, etc.

To carry their designs,
Though ’t contradicts their sense;
They’re clear a Whiggish traytor
Against clear evidence.
And a Tory I will be, etc.

The old proverb doth us tell,
Each dog will have his day;
And Whig has had his too,
For which he’ll soundly pay;
And a Tory I will be, etc.

For bodkins and for thimbles
Now let your tubsters cant;
Their confounded tired cause
Had never yet more want.
So a Tory I will be, etc.

For ignoramus Toney
Has left you in the lurch;
And you have spent your money,
So, faith, e’en come to Church;
For a Tory I will be, etc.

They are of no religion,
Be it spoken to their glories,
For St Peter and St Paul
With them both are Tories;
And a Tory I will be, etc.

They’re excellent contrivers,
I wonder what they’re not,
For something they can make
Of nothing and a plot.
And a Tory I will be, etc.

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.