428

Colonel Sydney's Overthrow.

Now out of the World I am ready to go,

To bliss or to pain, there is no man doth know;
But I hope that my peace I have now made so well,
That with my Creator I ever may dwell :

But you that desire your lives for to save,

Be true [to your King, never fear for the Grave].
Thrice happy 's the Man that is Loyal and true,
He freely when death comes bids all things adieu;
He
goes to the Grave with such quiet and rest,
Because he believes he shall ever be blest.

That he will not endeavour his life for to save,
Since Loyalty ever will bloom in the Grave.

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60

Finis. Printed for J. Deacon, at the Angel in Guiltspur-street. [In Black-letter. Two woodcuts: Trial, and Execution. Date, December, 1683.]

We give on next page a street-ballad, of "Colonel Sydney's Lamentation." The length of time during which Sydney held his foes at bay during the trial, in contrast with the simple rapidity of dismissal used in William Russell's case, afforded an opportunity to the ballad-mongers, by which they were glad to profit. Hence this variety of Laments and Farewells. As we know not of any ballad beginning with the words "What name?" we are led to the conclusion that the printer misunderstood the MS. enquiry about the tune, and set the question in type. The woodcut of the Trial is left on p. 426; for convenience, the companion woodcut representing the Execution is transferred to p. 429, where it now heads a Trowbesh ballad. Of the Trial itself, wherein Algernon Sydney defended himself, counsel not being at that time allowed to plead for persons in his situation, we give some few particulars on later pages (452 and 453). The one weak point of his defence seems to be his dependence on the Prosecution not having sufficient proof that the alleged treason-papers were composed and written by him. We have no reason to doubt that they were in his actual handwriting and expressed his sentiments in his own language. Their similarity to his handwriting was sworn, and he did not absolutely deny that he had written them, but neither did he admit it. He indicated that they could not have been recent, by the faded ink therefore, he cannot have suspected that they were newly fabricated, to pass forgeries for his genuine autograph and ensure his ruin. Better to have fully admitted his authorship of them, as having been written long ago, consequently pardoned by the act of indemnity. Without papers, Howard alone would have been a powerless witness against ALGERNON SYDNEY.

Collonel Sidney's Lamentation,

and last Farewel to the World.

TUNE OF, What name. [Sic, see Note on p. 428.]

66

N°

E.

[= swollen.

Ow, now, too weak, alas! I find our Cause,
To th' over-ruling Powers, the King and Laws;
The force of our Impregnant Torrent's turn'd,
The Plots and Shams of our Invention's scorn'd.
Now I do fear, what I could ne'r believe,
Some Powers above do all our Wit deceive;
And laugh at our Association's Vow:

Poor Traytors! where's our Ignoramus now?
"These forty years I've reign'd in Roguery,
With kind success, 'gainst Lawful Monarchy;
And now must my gray Head be over-reacht,
And my stiff Neck by strength of halter stretcht.

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430

Colonel Sydney's Lamentation.

In the beginning, Friends, it was not so,
In Forty-One, now Forty Years ago;
I fear'd not then no God, nor King, nor Law:
Poor Traytors! where's our Ignoramus now?
"On the late King I sat as Judge most stout,
By virtue of our Senate, Rump, and Rout;
Saw him condemn'd and murther'd at White-hall:
His Sacred Blood doth now for Vengeance call.
With his own Gold I did command and fight
Against his Son, and all Successive Right;
And ne'r repented yet, nor can I bow.

Poor Traytors! where's our Ignoramus now?

[Shaftesbury.

"This King return'd, which I with Arms pursu'd,
With Tony I for Pardon did intrude;
What e'er we askt, his Grace did freely grant,
Preferment too, which his best friends did want.
My Pride [in] opposition still did shew,
A crooked Plant will never straighter grow;
And now, too late, I grieve, all would not do.
Poor Traytors! where's our Ignoramus now?
"With Tony, Gray, and Russel I Conspir'd
My Prince's death, and many thousands hyr'd
To Arm themselves, in ev'ry Town and Shire,
To Murther this King and [his] Lawful Heir,
And lay it all upon the Papists" backs,

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24

32

Which with the weight of our own Treason cracks;
And for our Crimes to murther them allow.

Poor Traytors! where's our Ignoramus now?

40

"We draw'd in M[onmout]h to advance the Cause,

And made him Popular by Fools' Applause;

We made his Soul swell [high] to be a King,

When we, alas! intended no such thing:

Now all's unravel'd, both Cabals and Plots:

[And we, the would-be Rogues, accounted Sots.] [Dropt line. Zounds! I shou'd still Rebel, did I know how.

Poor Traytors! where's our Ignoramus now?

48

"At Oxford we were Rampant, over-fed,

The Tayl was ten times stronger than the Head;

Yet quite out-witted by too kind a King:

Then we to Rumbold's House our Arms did bring,
Yet all was still prevented by strange Fate;
Had I with Tony made a safe Retreat,
Then Ketch had ne'r held up my Trayterous jaw.
Poor Traytors! where's our Ignoramus now?

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[White-letter. Date, December, 1683.]

IT

Hail to the Shades, Plutonian!

"The long war closing in Defeat-
Defeat serenely borne,-

Thy midnight rest may still be sweet,

And break in glorious morn."

-Emily Brontë's 'Self-Interrogation.'

T was the custom of those who were incapable of reading the heart of Algernon Sydney to speak of him as an atheist. Half-friends and unscrupulous foes thus calumniated the man whose proud and lofty nature scorned to stoop to its defence in words. Seeing the paltry lives of the professedly religious, the shameless immorality and political corruption of those who used their sectarian shibboleth for hatred and intolerance, while "True-blue Protestants" were contented to be hypocrites, misers or profligates, outwardly bigots but inwardly insincere, we can understand the repugnance of Sydney to desecrate the faith which he possessed by vaunting his religion as others did. In his own way, he held more firmly a belief in the Deity than they were capable of doing. Sufficient revelations were made in his own few last words to confirm our knowledge that he held deep within his heart of heart a trust in God, in "the general resurrection," in final retribution, and in the true life beyond the grave. A weary disappointed man, disgusted with sordid baseness of his fellow-creatures, he was not unwilling to welcome a long slumber in the tomb, where the ills of life might fade from memory. "A journey without end, a wakeless sleep

Or some half-joyful place, where feeble ghosts
Wander in dreamy twilight, holds thee now;
Thy joy is done, and thine espousals kept

Down in the dark house of forgetfulness."-Alford's Poems.
"There we shall lie beneath the trodden stone:

Oh, none can tell how dreamless and how deep

Our

peace will be, when the last earth is thrown,

The last notes of the music fallen asleep,

The mourners past away, the tolling done,

The last chink closed, and the long dark begun."-—(Ibid.)

Algernon Sydney was no atheist, no "Pagan suckled in a creed outworn." Little reverence for the sanctities of Death could be expected from those who exulted over the execution of such a man. They were nearly all of them renegades or turncoats, who had recently been the loudest and most mischievous at November "Pope-Burnings," and had made merry at the far worse treatment of the Jesuits, exposed to horrible tortures on the scaffold for gratification of Exclusionist nonconformists. One specimen of their brutal taste is given here, a song of exultation at Pluto's welcome of the slaughtered Republican in the Infernal Regions.

Pluto, the Prince of Darkness, his Entertainment of Colonel Algernon Sidney; upon his arrival at the Infernal Palace.

TUNE OF, Hail to the Myrtle Shades! [See p. 422.]

Pluto.

Room, room, for Great Algernon, You Furies that stand in his way!

Let an Officer unto me come, Who serv'd me every day:

Promoting Sedition and Evil, To alter the Church and the State,
He deserves an Imployment in Hell, He has done great service of late.
He is one of the pumup old Crew, Who voted the death of the King;
At Oxford again he did sue, To be at the self-same thing:

All mischiefs on Earth he devis'd, All hazards he also did run,
To render my name solemniz'd With the Rabble of London Town.

To Monarchy he was a Foe, Religion he always disdain'd,

'Gainst Government and the Laws too, puшe Anarchy he maintain'd. I'll give thee Preferment here, Since England has banish'd thee thence: Brave Sidney, thou need'st not to fear, Thou shalt have great Recompence.

Shaftsbury.

Now Monarchy has prevail'd, Our Fanatickal Plots to defeat:
On whom is the Cause entail'd? Who'l stand it in spight of Fate?
We that maintain'd it so long, From Justice were forced to fly;
If you then had come along, You needed not there to die.

Essex.

The Factious are quite undone, For loss of the Fanatick Peers:
Now Shaftsbury and I are gone, Poor Oates will lose his ears.

For Monmouth our Shams and Intrigues To the World has plainly declar'd;
And Howard our solemn Leagues, In the Plot a long time prepar❜d.

Russel.

I'm glad you are safe arriv'd, Tho' I doubt you met Jack by the way, [J. Ketch. Now Monmout]h is reconcil'd, What a plague is become of Gray?"

Rebellion could ne'r disallow Conspiring against the Prince,

Though I by a Sham-dying-Vow Did plead great Innocence.

[Trowbesh Collection. White-letter. Date, January, 1683.]

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24

8

It is improbable that the same person who had in July written "Oh, the mighty Innocence of Russell, Bedford's Son!" (vide p. 324, ante) was the author of the foregoing calumnious ditty, which is inferior to the Christ Church Bells parody. He was a good hater, whatever else he may have been. This pursuing with obloquy the disembodied spirit of a political foe, into the regions of Pandemonium, was a fashion of the time. We have already given examples here, and in Bagford Ballads. Another is preserved in the Luttrell Collection, ii. 60, "A Dialogue between Anthony, Earl of Shaftsbury, and Captain Thomas Walcot, upon their meeting in Pluto's kingdom." Printed by William Downing, 1683 (marked by Narcissus Luttrell, 13th September "). It begins with Walcot exclaiming, "Curs'd be those eyes that sees him where he stands!"

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