Where our ditties still be, Give's more drink, give's more drink, boys.

Let those that are frugal take care; Our gaolers and we will live by our c.h.i.n.k, boys, While our creditors live by the air; Here we live at our ease, And get craft and grease, 'Till we've merrily spent all our store; Then, as drink brought us in, 'Twill redeem us agen; We got in because we were poor, And swear ourselves out on the very same score.

Ballad: The Protecting Brewer

This was apparently written as a parody on the Brewer, in Pills to purge Melancholy, 1682. The original was too complimentary to Oliver Cromwell, a.s.serted by the Royalists to have been a brewer in early life, to suit the taste of the Cavaliers, and hence the alteration made in it. Such compliments as the following must have proceeded from a writer of the opposite party.

Some Christian kings began to quake, And said With the brewer no quarrel we'll make, We'll let him alone; as he brews let him bake; Which n.o.body can deny.

He had a strong and a very stout heart, And thought to be made an Emperor for't, * * * * *

Which n.o.body can deny.

A Brewer may be a burgess grave, And carry the matter so fine and so brave, That he the better may play the knave, Which n.o.body can deny.

A brewer may put on a Nabal face, And march to the wars with such a grace That he may get a captain's place; Which n.o.body, etc.

A brewer may speak so wondrous well That he may rise (strange things to tell), And so be made a colonel; Which n.o.body, etc.

A brewer may make his foes to flee, And rise his fortunes, so that he Lieutenant-general may be; Which n.o.body, etc.

A brewer may be all in all, And raise his powers, both great and small, That he may be a lord general; Which n.o.body, etc.

A brewer may be like a fox in a cub, And teach a lecture out of a tub, And give the wicked world a rub; Which n.o.body, etc.

A brewer, by's excise and rate, Will promise his army he knows what, And set upon the college-gate; Which n.o.body, etc.

Methinks I hear one say to me, Pray why may not a brewer be Lord Chancellor o' the University?

Which n.o.body, etc.

A brewer may be as bold as Hector, When as he had drank his cup o' Nectar, And a brewer may be a Lord Protector; Which n.o.body, etc.

Now here remains the strangest thing, How this brewer about his liquor did bring To be an emperor or a king; Which n.o.body, etc.

A brewer may do what he will, And rob the Church and State, to sell His soul unto the devil in h.e.l.l; Which n.o.body, etc.

Ballad: The Arraignment Of The Devil For Stealing Away President Bradshaw

John Bradshaw, who had presided over the court of justice which condemned Charles I. to the scaffold, and who by his extreme republican principles had rendered himself obnoxious to Cromwell, began again to be distinguished in public affairs after the Protector's death, and was elected President of the Council of State. He did not live long to enjoy this honour, but died, according to some authorities, on the 31st October, 1659. Chalmers places his death on the 22nd of November in that year.

To the tune of "Well-a-day, well-a-day."

If you'll hear news that's ill, Gentlemen, gentlemen, Against the devil, I will Be the relator; Arraigned he must be, For that feloniously, 'Thout due solemnity, He took a traitor.

John Bradshaw was his name, How it stinks! how it stinks!

Who'll make with blacker fame Pilate unknown.

This worse than worse of things Condemn'd the best of kings, And, what more guilt yet brings, Knew 'twas his own.

Virtue in Charles did seem Eagerly, eagerly, And villainy in him To vye for glory.

Majesty so compleat And impudence so great Till that time never met:- But to my story.

Accusers there will be, Bitter ones, bitter ones, More than one, two, or three, All full of spight; Hangman and tree so tall, Bridge, tower, and city-wall, Kite and crow, which were all Robb'd of their right.

But judges none are fit, Shame it is, shame it is, That twice seven years did sit To give hemp-string dome; The friend they would befriend, That he might in the end To them like favour lend, In his own kingdome.

Sword-men, it must be you, Boldly to't, boldly to't, Must give the diver his due; Do it not faintly, But as you raised by spell Last Parliament from h.e.l.l, And it again did quell Omnipotently.

The charge they wisely frame (On with it, on with it) In that yet unknown name Of supream power; While six weeks hence by vote Shall be or it shall not, When Monk's to London got (48) In a good hour.

But twelve good men and true, Caveliers, Caveliers, He excepts against you; Justice he fears.

From bar and pulpit hee Craves such as do for fee Serve all turns, for he'l be Try'd by his peers.

Satan, y' are guilty found By your peers, by your peers, And must die above ground!

Look for no pity; Some of our ministry, Whose spir'ts with yours comply, As Owen, Caryl, Nye, (49) For death shall fit 'ee.

Dread judges, mine own limb I but took, I but took, I was forced without him To use a crutch; Some of the robe can tell How to supply full well His place here, but in h.e.l.l I had none such.

Divel, you are an a.s.se, Plain it is, plain it is, And weakly plead the case; Your wits are lost.

Some lawyers will outdo't, When shortly they come to't; Your craft, our gold to boot, They have ingross'd.

Should all men take their right, Well-a-day, well-a-day, We were in a sad plight, O' th' holy party!

Such practise hath a scent Of kingly government, Against it we are bent, Out of home char'ty.

But if I die, who am King of h.e.l.l, King of h.e.l.l, You will not quench its flame, But find it worse: Confused anarchy Will a new torment be; Ne'r did these kingdoms three Feel such a curse.

To our promotion, sir, There as here, there as here, Through some confused stir Doth the high-road lie; In h.e.l.l we need not fear Nor King nor Cavalier, Who then shall dominere But we the G.o.dly?

Truth, then, sirs, which of old Was my shame, was my shame, Shall now to yours be told: You caused his death; The house being broken by Yourselves (there's burglary), Wrath enter'd forcibly, And stopt his breath.

Sir, as our president, Taught by you, taught by you, 'Gainst the King away went Most strange and new; Charging him with the guilt Of all the blond we spilt, With swords up to the hilt, So we'le serve you.

For mercy then I call, Good my lords, good my lords, And traytors I'le leave all Duly to end it; Sir, sir, 'tis frivolous, As well for you as us, To beg for mercy thus, - Our crimes transcend it.

You must die out of hand, Satanas, Satanas: This our decree shall stand Without controll; And we for you will pray, Because the Scriptures say, When some men curse you, they Curse their own soul.

The fiend to Tiburn's gone, There to die, there to die; Black is the north, anon Great storms will be; Therefore together now I leave him and th' gallow, - So, newes-man, take 'em now, Soon they'l take thee.

Finis, Fustis, Funis.