Come, drawer, fill each man a peck of old sherry, This brimmer shall bid all our senses good-night; When old Aristotle was frolic and merry, By the juice of the grape, he stagger'd out-right; Copernicus once, in a drunken fit, found By the course of's brains that the world did turn round.

Then since, etc.

'Tis sack makes our faces like comets to shine, And gives tincture beyond a complexion mask.

Diogenes fell so in love with his wine, That when 'twas all out he dwelt in the cask, And being shut up within a close room, He, dying, requested a tub for his tomb.

Then since, etc.

Let him never so privately muster his gold, His angels will their intelligence be; How closely they're prest in their canvas hold, And they want the State-souldier to set them all free: Let them pine and be hanged, we'll merrily sing, Who hath nothing to lose, may cry, G.o.d bless the King.

Then since, etc.

Ballad: Canary's Coronation

From the Loyal Garland.

Come, let's purge our brains From ale and grains, That do smell of anarchy; Let's chuse a King From whose blood may spring Such a sparkling progeny; It will be fit, strew mine in it, Whose flames are bright and clear; We'll not bind our hands with drayman's bands, When as we may be freer; Why should we droop, or basely stoop To popular ale or beer?

Who shall be King? how comes the thing For which we all are met?

Claret is a prince that hath long since In the royal order set: His face is spread with a warlike seed, And so he loves to see men; When he bears the sway, his subjects they Shall be as good as freemen; But here's the plot, almost forgot, 'Tis too much burnt with women.

By the river of Rhine is a valiant wine That can all other replenish; Let's then consent to the government And the royal rule of Rhenish: The German wine will warm the chine, And frisk in every vein; 'Twill make the bride forget to chide, And call him to't again: But that's not all, he is too small To be our sovereign.

Let us never think of a n.o.ble drink, But with notes advance on high, Let's proclaim good Canary's name, - Heaven bless his Majesty!

He is a King in everything, Whose nature doth renounce all, He'll make us skip and nimbly trip From ceiling to the groundsil; Especially when poets be Lords of the Privy Council.

But a vintner will his taster be, Here's nothing that can him let; A drawer that hath a good palat Shall be squire of the gimblet.

The bar-boys shall be pages all, A tavern well-prepared, And nothing shall be spared; In jovial sort shall be the court, Wine-porters that are soldiers tall Be yeomen of the guard.

But if a cooper we with a red nose see In any part of the town; The cooper shall, with his aids-royal, Bear the sceptre of the crown; Young wits that wash away their cash In wine and recreation, Who hates ale and beer, shall be welcome here To give their approbation; So shall all you that will allow Canary's recreation.

Ballad: The Mournful Subjects,

Or The Whole Nation's Lamentation, From The Highest To The Lowest.

The Mournful Subjects, or the Whole Nation's Lamentation, from the Highest to the Lowest; who did with brinish tears (the true signs of sorrow) bewail the death of their most gracious Soveraign King Charles the Second, who departed this life Feb. 6th, 1684, and was interred in Westminster Abbey, in King Henry the Seventh's Chapel, on Sat.u.r.day night last, being the 14th day of the said month; to the sollid grief and sorrow of all his loving subjects.

From vol. i. of the Roxburgh Ballads in Brit. Mus.

Tune, "Troy Town, or the d.u.c.h.ess of Suffolk."

True subjects mourn, and well they may, Of each degree, both lords and earls, Which did behold that dismal day, The death of princely pious Charles; Some thousand weeping tears did fall At his most sollid funeral.

He was a prince of clemency, Whose love and mercy did abound; His death may well lamented be Through all the nations Europe round; Unto the ears of Christian kings His death unwelcome tidings brings.

All those that ever thought him ill, And did disturb him in his reign, - Let horrour now their conscience fill, And strive such actions to restrain; For sure they know not what they do, The time will come when they shall rue.

How often villains did design By cruelty his blood to spill, Yet by the Providence divine G.o.d would not let them have their will, But did preserve our gracious King, Under the shadow of his wing.

We grieved his soul while he was here, When we would not his laws obey; Therefore the Lord he was severe, And took our gracious prince away: We were not worthy to enjoy The prince whom subjects would annoy.

In peace he did lay down his head, The sceptre and the royal crown; His soul is now to heaven fled, Above the reach of mortal frown, Where joy and glory will not cease, In presence with the King of Peace.

Alas! we had our liberty, He never sought for to devour By a usurping tyranny, To rule by arbitrary power; No, no, in all his blessed reign We had no cause for to complain.

Let mourners now lament the loss Of him that did the scepter sway, And look upon it as a cross That he from us is s.n.a.t.c.h'd away; Though he is free from care or woe, Yet we cannot forget him so.

But since it was thy blessed will To call him from a sinful land, Oh let us all be thankful still That it was done by thine own hand: No pitch of honour can be free From Death's usurping tyranny.

The fourteen day of February They did interr our gracious Charles; His funeral solemnity, Accompanied with lords and earls, Four Dukes, I, and Prince George by name, Went next the King with all his train.

And thus they to the Abbey went To lay him in his silent tomb, Where many inward sighs were spent To think upon their dismal doom.

Whole showers of tears afresh then fell When they beheld his last farewell.

Since it is so, that all must die, And must before our G.o.d appear, Oh let us have a watchful eye, Over our conversation here; That like great Charles, our King and friend, We all may have a happy end.

Let England by their loyalty Repair the breach which they did make; And let us all united be To gracious James, for Charles his sake; And let there be no more discord, But love the King and fear the Lord.

Printed for F. Deacon in Guilt-Spur Street.

Ballad: "Memento Mori"

An elogy on the death of his sacred Majesty King Charles II., of blessed memory.

From the King's Pamphlets, British Museum.

Unwelcome news! Whitehall its sable wears, And each good subject lies dissolved in tears!

Justly indeed; for Charles is dead, the great, (Who can so much as such great griefs repeat?) King Charles the good, in whom that day there fell More than one tribe in this our Israel!

Ah! cruel Death! we find thy fatal sting In losing him who was so good a King, - A King so wise, so just, and he'd great part In Solomon's wisdom and in David's heart; A King! whose virtues only to rehea.r.s.e Rather requires a volume than a verse.

Sprung from the loyns of Charles of blessed fame, A worthy son of his great father's name, His parent's and his grandsire's virtues he, As h' did their crown, enjoy'd EX TRADUCE, Of th' best and greatest of Kings the epitome.

His justice such as him none could affright From doing t'all to G.o.d and subjects right.

Punish he could, but, like Heaven's Majesty, Would that a traitor should repent, not die.

His prudence to the laws due vigour gave, He saved others and himself did save.

His valour and his courage, write who can?

Being a good souldier ere he was a man.

Wrestling with sorrows in a land unknown, Whilst Herod did usurp his royal throne, Banish'd his native country, every day, Like Moses, at the brink of death he lay.