Now for these prudent things that sit

Without end and to none,
And their committees, that towns and cities

Fill with confusion ;
For the bold troops of sectaries,

The Scots and their partakers,
Our new British states, Colonel Burges and his mates,

The covenant and its makers ;
For all these we'll pray, and in such a way

As, if it might granted be,
Jack and Gill, Matt and Will,

And all the world would agree. “A plague take them all!” says Bess ;

And a pestilence too !” says Margery: “ The devil!” says Dick; “ And his dam, too !" says Nick;

“Amen! and Amen !" say I.

THERE were six jovial tradesmen,

And they all set down to drinking,

For they were a jovial crew;
They sat themselves down to be merry,
And they called for a bottle of sherry.
“You're welcome as the hills,” says Nolly,

“While Joan's ale is new, brave boys,

While Joan's ale is new.”
The first that came in was a soldier,
With his firelock over his shoulder;
Sure no one could be bolder,

And a long broad-sword he drew :
He swore he would fight for England's ground,
Before the nation should be run down ;
He boldly drank their healths all round,

While Joan's ale was new.
The next that came in was a hatter,
Sure no one could be blacker,
And he began to chatter,

Among the jovial crew :
He threw his hat upon the ground,
And swore every man should spend his pound,
And boldly drank their healths all round,

While Joan's ale was new.
The next that came in was a dyer,
And he sat himself down by the fire,
For it was his heart's desire

To drink with the jovial crew :

He told the landlord to his face
The chimney-corner should be his place,
And there he'd sit and dye his face,

While Joan's ale was new.
The next that came in was a tinker,
And he was no small-beer drinker,
And he was no strong-ale shrinker,

Among the jovial crew :
For his brass nails were made of metal,
And he swore he'd go and mend a kettle.
Good heart ! how his hammer and nails did rattle,

When Joan's ale was new !
The next that came in was a tailor,
With his bodkin, shears, and thimble ;
He swore he would be nimble

Among the jovial crew :
They sat and they called for ale so stout,
Till the poor tailor was almost broke,
And was forced to go and pawn his coat,

While Joan’s ale was new.
The next that came in was a ragman,
With his rag-bag over his shoulder ;
Sure no one could be bolder

Among the jovial crew.
They sat and called for pots and glasses,
Till they were all as drunk as asses,
And burnt the old ragman's bag to ashes,

While Joan's ale was new.

Tell me not of Lords and laws,

Rules or reformation;
All that's done not worth two straws

To the welfare of the nation;
If men in power do rant it still,
And give no reason but their will

For all their domination;
Or, if they do an act that's just,
'Tis not because they would, but must,
To gratify some party's lust.
All our expense of blood and purse

Has yet produced no profit;
Men are still as bad or worse,

And will, whate'er comes of it. i This has been ascribed to Butler, I believe, without any reason.

We've shuffled out and shuffled in
The person, but retain the sin,

To make our game the surer ;
Yet, spite of all our pains and skill,
The knaves all in the pack are still,
And ever were, and ever will,

Though something now demurer. And it can never be but so,

Since knaves are still in fashion;
Men of souls so base and low,

Mere bigots of the nation;
Whose designs are power and wealth,
At which, by rapine, power, and stealth,

Audaciously they vent're ye
They lay their consciences aside,
And turn with every wind and tide,
Puffed on by ignorance and pride,

And all to look like gentry.
Crimes are not punished 'cause they're crimes,

But 'cause they're low and little.
Mean men for mean faults in these times

Make satisfaction to a tittle;
While those in office and in power
Boldly the underlings devour,-

Our cobweb laws can't hold 'em ; They sell for many a thousand crown Things which were never yet their own; And this is law and custom grown,

'Cause those do judge who sold 'em. Brothers still with brothers brawl,

And for trifles sue 'em ;
For two pronouns that spoil all,

Contentious meum and tuum.
The wary lawyer buys and builds,
While the client sells his fields

To sacrifice his fury;
And, when he thinks to obtain his right,
He's baffled off or beaten quite
By the judge's will or lawyer's sleight,

Or ignorance of the jury.
See the tradesman how he thrives

With perpetual trouble :
How he cheats and how he strives,

His estate to enlarge and double ;
Extort, oppress, grind, and encroach,
To be a squire and keep a coach,

And to be one o' the quorum,

Who may with his brother worships sit,
And judge, without law, fear, or wit,
Poor petty thieves that nothing get,

And yet are brought before 'em.
And his way to get all this

Is mere dissimulation;
No factious lecture does he miss,

And scape no schism that's in fashion:
But, with short hair and shining shoes,
He with two pens and note-book goes,

And winks and writes at random;
Thence with short meal and tedious grace,
In a loud tone and public place,
Sings wisdom's hymns, that trot and pace

As if Goliah scanned 'em.
But, when Death begins his threats,

And his conscience struggles
To call to mind his former cheats,

Then at Heaven he turns and juggles :
And out of all's ill-gotten store
He gives a dribbling to the poor,

An hospital or school-house;
And the suborned priest for his hire
Quite frees him from the infernal fire,
And places him in the angels', choir :

Thus these Jack-puddings fool us !
All he gets by his pains, i' the close,

Is that he died worth so much; Which he on his doubtful seed bestows,

That neither care nor know much.
Then fortune's favourite, his heir,
Bred base and ignorant and bare,

Is blown up like a bubble :
Who, wondering at's own sudden rise,
By pride, simplicity, and vice,
Falls to his sports, drink, drabs, and dice,

And makes all fly like stubble.
And the Church, the other twin

Whose mad zeal enraged us, Is not purified a pin

By all those broils in which they engaged us.
We our wives turned out of doors,
And took in concubines and whores,

To make an alteration.
Our pulpitors are proud and bold;
They their own wills and factions hold,
And sell salvation still for gold ;-

And here's our reformation!

'Tis a madness then to make

Thriving our employment,
And lucre love for lucre's sake,

Since we've possession, not enjoyment.
Let the times run on their course,
For oppression makes them worse, -

We ne'er shall better find 'em ;
Let grandees wealth and power engross,
And honour too,--while we sit close,
And laugh, and take our plenteous dose

Of sack, and never mind 'em.


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 cleaned, I declare,
Whereas it was fouler than fitting.

Says old Simon the King,

Says old Simon the King,
With his ale-dropped 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 'em ;
They are made of the presbyter's lungs,
To blow up the coals of rebellion..

Says old Simon, &c.
I had thought to have given them once

To some blacksmith for his forge ;
But, now I have considered on't,

They are consecrate to the Church.
So I'll give them unto some choir ;

They will make the big organs roar,
And the little pipes to squeak 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;

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