THE PEOPLE IN THE PIT.

Yea, powerful fates, haste, haste the time, The most auspicious day, On which these monsters of our time To h.e.l.l must post away.

Meanwhile, so pare their sharpen'd claws, And so impair their stings, We may no more fight for the Cause Or other NOVEL things!

Ballad: A Short Litany For The Year 1649

By Samuel Butler. (From his Posthumous Works.)

From all the mischiefs that I mention here, Preserve us, Heaven, in this approaching year: From civil wars and those uncivil things That hate the race of all our queens and kings; From those who for self-ends would all betray, From saints that curse and flatter when they pray; From those that hold it merit to rebel, In treason, murthers, and in theft excel; From those new teachers have destroy'd the old, And those that turn the gospel into gold; From a High-Court, and that rebellious crew That did their hands in royal blood imbrue, - Defend us, Heaven, and to the throne restore The rightful heir, and we will ask no more.

Ballad: The Sale Of Rebellion's House-Hold Stuff

Printed in "Percy's Reliques," from an old black-letter copy in Mr Pepys' collection, corrected by two others, one of which is preserved in a Choice Collection of 120 Loyal Songs - 1684

To the tune of "Old Sir 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 easy to sit in, And oft has been clean'd, I declare, Whereas it was fouler than fitting.

Says old Simon the King, Says old Simon the King, With his ale-dropt hose, and his Malmsey nose, Sing, hey ding, ding-a-ding, ding.

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

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, They are made of the presbyter's lungs, To blow up the coals of rebellion.

Says old Simon, etc.

I had thought to have given them once To some blacksmith for his forge; But now I have consider'd on't, They are consecrate to the Church: So I'll give them unto some quire, They will make the big organs roar, And the little pipes to squeak higher Than ever they could before.

Says old Simon, etc.

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 State's council-table, Which was made of the good wain-Scot?

The frame was a tottering Babel, To uphold th' Independent plot.

Says old Simon, etc.

Here's the besom 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 state's spinning-wheel, Which spun for the roper's trade?

But better it had stood still, For now it has spun a fair thread.

Says old Simon, etc.

Here's a glyster-pipe well tried, Which was made of a butcher's stump, And has been safely applied To cure the colds of the Rump.

Here's a lump of pilgrim's-salve, Which once was a justice of peace, Who Noll and the devil did serve, But now it is come to this, Says old Simon, etc.

Here's a roll of the State's 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 cook't Up with the abjuration oath, And many of them that have took't Complain it was foul in the mouth.

Says old Simon, etc.

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, etc.

Will you buy the Rump's great saddle, With which it jockey'd the nation?

And here is the bit 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, etc.

Will you buy a conscience oft turn'd, Which served the High-Court of justice, And stretch'd until England it mourn'd, But h.e.l.l will buy that if the worst is.

Here's Joan Cromwell's kitchen-stuff tub, Wherein is the fat of the Rumpers, With which old Noll's horns she did rub, When he was got drunk with false b.u.mbers.

Says old Simon, etc.

Here's the purse of the public faith; Here's the model of the Sequestration, When the old wives upon their good troth Lent thimbles to ruin the nation.

Here's d.i.c.k Cromwell's Protectorship, And here are Lambert's commissions, And here is Hugh Peters his scrip, Cramm'd with tumultuous pet.i.tions.

Says old Simon, etc.

And here are old Noll's brewing vessels, And here are his dray and his flings; Here are Hewson's (36) awl and his bristles, With diverse other odd things: And what is the price doth belong To all these matters before ye?

I'll sell them all for an old song, And so I do end my story.

Says old Simon, etc.

Ballad: The Cavalier's Farewell To His Mistress, Being Called To The Warrs

The following song was extracted from the MS. Diary of the Rev.

John Adamson (afterwards Rector of Burton Coggles, Lincolnshire), commencing in 1658; by a correspondent of Notes and Queries, First Series, Jan. 18, 1851.

Fair Fidelia, tempt no more, I may no more thy deity adore Nor offer to thy shrine, I serve one more divine And farr more great than you: I must goe, Lest the foe Gaine the cause and win the day.

Let's march bravely on, Charge ym in the van, Our cause G.o.d's is, Though their odds is Ten to one.

Tempt no more, I may not yeeld Altho' thine eyes A kingdome may surprize: Leave off thy wanton toiles, The high-borne Prince of Wales Is mounted in the field, Where the royall gentry flocke.

Though alone n.o.bly borne Of a ne're decaying stocke.

Cavaliers, be bold, Bravely keep your hold, He that loyters Is by traytors Bought and sold.

One kisse more, and then farewell; Oh no, no more, I prithee give me o'er, - Why cloudest thou thy beames?

I see by these extreames A woman's heaven or h.e.l.l.

Pray the King may have his owne, And the Queen May be seen With her babes on England's throne.

Rally up your men, One shall vanquish ten, Victory, we Come to try thee Once agen.