 | A royal arbor (1663) |  |
22
The Souldiers last Farewell.
1
Farewell Fife, Drum and Trumpet,Fortune is grown
A very lazy Strumpet;
She hath left us,
And bereft us
Of a Kingdom and a Throne;
We that were once
As fat as any mullet,
By picking of the bones
Of Plunder'd Pig and Pullet,
May throw away our Guns,
Our Powder, Match and Bullet;
Alas poor Souldier, whither wilt thou go?
2
I that did lead up the Van-guard,And with my Sword
Did many a valiant man guard,
Now am routed,
And am flouted,
Never a man will take my word;
Lame Souldiers may
Seek Hospitals and Spittles,
And (well a day!)
We must throw off our whittles,
23
We shall go beg our Victuals.
Alas, &c.
3
We fought for our ReligionMany a bloudy day,
And killed many a widgeon;
Law we sought for,
And we fought for,
Till we fought it quite away:
We cut down men
As Conies crop up Mallows;
Our Masters then
Did call us valiant fellows,
'Twas time to leave them when
They brought us to the Gallows.
Alas, &c.
4
In Red-coat rags attyredI wander up and down,
Since Fortune so conspired
To array me,
And betray me
To the Censure of the town:
My Buff doth make me boots,
My Velvet Coat and Scarlet
Must turn to Canvas Suits;
For Fortune is a Harlot,
These are the rotten fruits
That attend a fighting Varlet.
Alas, &c.
24
5
I have been in France and in Holland,Guided by my stars,
I have been in Spain and Poland,
Ireland, Scotland,
And what not Land,
Brittain you know
Hath felt my desp'rate slaughter,
I kill'd ten at a blow,
Even in a fit of laughter;
Gone home and made no show,
But kist my Landlords Daughter.
Alas poor Souldier, &c.
6
My Valour so highly prevailed,Meeting with my foes,
Who strongly me assailed;
Though an hundred
Them I plundred,
And receiv'd not many blows;
This Faulcheon by my side
Hath kill'd more men I'le swear it,
Then Guy of Warwick did,
For he could ne're come near it;
And now I shall be chid
In time, if I do wear it.
Alas poor Souldier, &c.
7
For the King and the KingdomI was the man
25
I made Meetings,
Zealous greetings,
When the War at first began:
Jack Lilburn first,
Then holy Nye prevailed,
And I was nurst
By such as often railed,
And pious Preachers curst,
Who were to Prison haled.
Alas poor Souldier, &c.
8
I did about this NationHold forth my gifts, and teach
The wayes of tolleration,
In that season
I spake treason,
And any thing within my reach;
Then every trade
Was counterfeitly zealous,
Preachers were made
Of such as kept an Alehouse,
The Pulpit fitted them
Who were fitter for the Gallows.
Alas poor Souldier, whither wilt thou go?
9
Surplice was SuperstitionVoted right or wrong,
By our Inquisition
26
Tombs and Glasses,
The Liturgy we made a Song;
The Mytre and the Crown
Gave way to private Meeters,
The Riches and Renown
Unto the zealous Greeters,
Pauls Church was tumbled down,
To supply the wants of Peters.
But now poor Souldier, whither wilt thou go?
10
I will go to the VillageWhere I was bred and born,
And deal no more in pillage;
I'le go borrow
Plough and Harrow,
And sow the fruitful fields with Corn:
I'le leave off all
My Quarterings and Billets;
I'le never fall
Into the traps of Zealots;
But with my Sword I shall
Defend both Prince and Prelates:
Into my Countrey I resolve to go.
| A royal arbor (1663) | |