But soon the Devil these cards s.n.a.t.c.hes 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 d.i.c.k, 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 t.i.thes 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 n.o.ble 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.

Ballad: The Cavaleers Litany

(March 25th, 1660.) - From the King's Pamphlets, British Museum.

From pardons which extend to woods, Ent.i.tle thieves to keep our goods, Forgive our rents as well as bloods, G.o.d bless, etc.

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

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

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

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

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

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

From midnight-birds, who lye at catch Some plume from monarchy to s.n.a.t.c.h, And from fond youths that cannot watch, G.o.d bless, etc.

From brethren who must still dissent, Whose froward gospell brooks no Lent, And who recant, but ne'er repent, G.o.d bless, etc.

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

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

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

THE SECOND PART.

A crown of gold without allay, Not here provided for one day, But framed above to last for aye!

G.o.d send, etc.

A Queen to fill the empty place, And multiply his n.o.ble 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, G.o.d send, etc.

A fleet like that in fifty-three, To re-a.s.sert our power at sea, And make proud Flemings bend their knee, G.o.d send, etc.

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

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

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

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

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

A raven to supply their need, Whose martyrdom (like n.o.ble seed) Sprung up at length and choak't the weed, G.o.d 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, G.o.d 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.

Ballad: The Cavalier's Complaint