VIII.

But when the fatal hour arriv'd

In which his stars began to frown,

And had in close cabals contriv'd

To pull him from his height of glory down,
And he, by num'rous foes opprest,

Was in th' enchanted dungeon cast,

Secur'd with mighty guards,

Lest he by force or stratagem

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Might prove too cunning for their chains and them, And break through all their locks, and bolts, and

wards;

Had both his legs by charms committed

To one another's charge,

That neither might be set at large,

And all their fury and revenge outwitted.

As jewels of high value are

Kept under locks with greater care

Than those of meaner rates,

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So he was in stone walls, and chains, and iron grates.

IX.

Thither came ladies from all parts,

To offer up close prisoners their hearts,

Which he receiv'd as tribute due,

And made them yield up love and honour too, 165

But in more brave heroic ways

Than e'er were practis'd yet in plays :

For those two spiteful foes, who never meet
But full of hot contests and piques

About punctilios and mere tricks,

Did all their quarrels to his doom submit,
And, far more generous and free,

In contemplation only of him did agree :

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the one

Both fully satisfy'd;

With those fresh laurels he had won,

And all the brave renowned feats

He had perform'd in arms;

The other with his person and his charms:
For, just as larks are catch'd in nets

By gazing on a piece of glass,

So while the ladies view'd his brighter eyes,
And smoother polish'd face,

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Their gentle hearts, alas! were taken by surprise.

X.

Never did bold knight, to relieve

Distressed dames, such dreadful feats achieve 185 As feeble damsels, for his sake,

Would have been proud to undertake;

And, bravely ambitious to redeem

The world's loss and their own,

Strove who should have the honour to lay down 190 And change a life with him;

But, finding all their hopes in vain

To move his fixt determin'd fate,
Their life itself began to hate,

As if it were an infamy

To live, when he was doom'd to die;
Made loud appeals and moans,

To less hard-hearted grates and stones;

Came, swell'd with sighs, and drown'd in tears,
To yield themselves his fellow-sufferers,
And follow'd him, like prisoners of war,

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Chain'd to the lofty wheels of his triumphant car

Will serve to be queen of a May-pole ; Two princes of Wales,

For Whitsun-ales,

And her Grace Maid-Marian Clay-pole.

In a robe of cow-hide

Sat yeasty Pride,

With his dagger and his sling;

He was the pertinent'st peer
Of all that were there,

T'advise with such a king.

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* This Ballad refers to the Parliament, as it was called, which deliberated about making Oliver king, and petitioned him to accept the title; which he, out of fear of some republican zealots in his party, refused to accept, and contented himself with the power, under the name of 'Protector.'

A great philosopher

Had a goose for his lover,

That follow'd him day and night : If it be a true story

Or but an allegory,

It may be both ways right.

Strickland and his son,

Both cast into one,

Were meant for a single baron;

But when they came to sit,

There was not wit

Enough in them both, to serve for one.

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Wherefore 'twas thought good

To add Honeywood;

But when they came to trial,

Each one prov'd a fool,

Yet three knaves in the whole,

And that made up a Pair-royal.

A BALLAD,

IN TWO PARTS, CONJECTURED TO BE ON

DRA

OLIVER CROMWELL.

PART I.

*

RAW near, good people all, draw near,
And hearken to my ditty;

A stranger thing

✦ To this humorous ballad Butler had prefixed this title 'The Privileges of Pimping'-but afterwards crossed it out. for which reason it is not inserted here.

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Than this I sing

Came never to this city.

Had you

but seen this monster,
You would not give a farthing

For the lions in the grate,
Nor the mountain-cat,
Nor the bears in Paris-garden.

You would defy the pageants
Are borne before the mayor;
The strangest shape
You e'er did gape

Upon at Bart'lmy fair!

His face is round and decent,
As is your dish or platter,
On which there grows
A thing like a nose,

But, indeed, it is no such matter.

On both sides of th' aforesaid

Are eyes, but they're not matches,
On which there are

To be seen two fair

And large well-grown moustaches.

Now this with admiration

Does all beholders strike,

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16 From the medals, and original portraits, which are left of Oliver Cromwell, one may probably conjecture, if not positively affirm, that this droll picture was designed for him. The roundness of the face, the oddness of the nose, and the remarkable largeness of the eyebrows, are particulars which correspond exactly with them.