My loyal subjects, who in this bad season
Attend me (by the law of God and reason),
They dare impeach, and punish for high treason.

Next at the clergy do their furies frown,
Pious episcopacy must go down,

They will destroy the crosier and the crown.

Churchmen are chain'd, and schismaticks are freed,
Mechanicks preach, and holy fathers bleed,
The crown is crucified with the creed.

The church of England doth all factions foster,
The pulpit is usurpt by each impostor,
Extempore excludes the Paternoster.

The Presbyter and Independent seed

Springs with broad blades. To make religion bleed 35 Herod and Pontius Pilate are agreed.

The corner stone's misplac'd by every pavier:
With such a bloody method and behaviour
Their ancestors did crucifie our Saviour.

My royal consort, from whose fruitful womb
So many princes legally have come,
Is forc'd in pilgrimage to seek a tomb.

Great Britain's heir is forced into France,
Whilst on his father's head his foes advance:
Poor child! he weeps out his inheritance.

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With my own power my majesty they wound,
In the king's name the king himself's uncrown'd:
So doth the dust destroy the diamond.

With propositions daily they enchant

My people's ears, such as do reason daunt,
And the Almighty will not let me grant.

They promise to erect my royal stem,
To make me great, t' advance my diadem,
If I will first fall down, and worship them!

But for refusal they devour my thrones,
Distress my children, and destroy my bones;
I fear they'll force me to make bread of stones.

My life they prize at such a slender rate,
That in my absence they draw bills of hate,
To prove the king a traytor to the state.

Felons obtain more privilege than I, They are allow'd to answer ere they die; "Tis death for me to ask the reason, why.

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But, sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo
Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to

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Such, as thou know'st do not know what they do.

For since they from their lord are so disjointed,
As to contemn those edicts he appointed,
How can they prize the power of his anointed?

Augment my patience, nullifie my hate,
Preserve my issue, and inspire my mate,

Yet, though we perish, BLESS THIS CHURCH and STATE.

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XIV.

THE SALE OF REBELLIOUS HOUSHOLDSTUFF.

This sarcastic exultation of triumphant loyalty, is printed from an old blackletter copy in the Pepys collection, corrected by two others, one of which is preserved in A choice collection of 120 loyal songs, &c.' 1684, 12mo.-To the tune of Old Simon the king.

REBELLION hath broken up house,

And hath left me old lumber to sell;
Come hither, and take your choice,
I'll promise to use you well:
Will you buy the old speaker's chair?
Which was warm and easie to sit in,
And oft hath been clean'd I declare,
When as it was fouler than fitting.
Says old Simon the king, &c.

Will you buy any bacon-flitches,
The fattest, that ever were spent?

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They're the sides of the old committees,
Fed up in the long parliament.

Here's a pair of bellows, and tongs,

And for a small matter I'll sell ye 'um;

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They are made of the presbyters lungs,

To blow up the coals of rebellion.
Says old Simon, &c.

I had thought to have given them once
To some black-smith for his forge;
But now I have considered on 't,

They are consecrate to the church:
So I'll give them unto some quire,
They will make the big organs roar,

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And the little pipes to squeeke higher,
Than ever they could before.
Says old Simon, &c.

Here's a couple of stools for sale,
One's square, and t'other is round;
Betwixt them both the tail

Of the RUMP fell down to the ground.
Will you buy the states council-table,
Which was made of the good wain Scot?
The frame was a tottering Babel
To uphold the Independent plot.
Says old Simon, &c.

Here's the beesom of Reformation,

Which should have made clean the floor,
But it swept the wealth out of the nation,
And left us dirt good store.

Will you buy the states spinning-wheel,
Which spun for the ropers trade?

But better it had stood still,

For now it has spun a fair thread.

Says old Simon, &c.

Here's a glyster-pipe well try'd,

Which was made of a butcher's stump,1

And has been safely apply'd,

To cure the colds of the rump.

Here's a lump of Pilgrims-Salve,
Which once was a justice of
Who Noll and the Devil did serve;

But now it is come to this.

Says old Simon, &c.

peace,

1 Alluding probably to Major-General Harrison a butcher's son, who assisted Cromwell in turning out the long parliament, April 20, 1653.

Here's a roll of the states tobacco,

If any good fellow will take it;
No Virginia had e'er such a smack-o,

And I'll tell you how they did make it:
'Tis th' Engagement, and Covenant cookt
Up with the Abjuration oath;
And many of them, that have took 't,
Complain it was foul in the mouth.
Says old Simon, &c.

Yet the ashes may happily serve

To cure the scab of the nation,
Whene'er 't has an itch to swerve
To Rebellion by innovation.
A Lanthorn here is to be bought,
The like was scarce ever gotten,
For many plots it has found out
Before they ever were thought on.
Says old Simon, &c.

Will you buy the RUMP's great saddle,

With which it jocky'd the nation? And here is the bitt, and the bridle,

And curb of Dissimulation:

And here's the trunk-hose of the RUMP,

And their fair dissembling cloak,

And a Presbyterian jump,

With an Independent smock.
Says old Simon, &c.

Will you buy a Conscience oft turn'd,
Which serv'd the high-court of justice,
And stretch'd until England it mourn'd:

But Hell will buy that if the worst is.

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