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And teach my tongue, that ever did confine
Nature and law, by thy divine decree, (The only root of righteous royaltie) With this dim diadem invelted me :
With it, the sacred scepter, purple robe,
The fiercest furies, that do daily tread
They raise a war, and christen it THE CAUSE,
Tyranny bears the title of taxation,
My loyal subjects, who in this bad season
Next at the clergy do their furies frown,
Churchmen are chain'd, and schismaticks are freed,
The church of England doth all factions foster,
The Presbyter, and Independent seed
The corner stone's misplac'd by every pavier :
My royal confort, from whose fruitful womb
Great Britain's heir is forced into France,
With my own power my majesty they wound,
With propositions daily they enchant
They promise to erect my royal item,
But for refusal they devour my thrones,
My life they prize at such a slender rate,
Felons obtain more privilege than I,
But, sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo
For since they from their lord are fo disjointed,
Augment my patience, nullifie my hate,
XIV. THE SALE OF REBELLIOUS HOUSHOLD-STUFF.
This sarcastic exultation of triumphant loyalty, is printed from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, corrected by two others, one of which is preserved in “ A choice collection of 120 loyal songs, &c.” 1684, 12mo.—To the tune of Old Simon the king.
Ebellion hath broken up house,
And hath left ine old lumber to sell;
I'll promise to use you well :
Which was warm and easie to fit in,
Says old Simon the king, &c.
Will you buy any bacon-flitches,
The fatteit, that ever were spent ? They're the Gides 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 fell
ye They are made of the presbyters lungs, To blow up the coals of rebellion,
Says old Simon, &c.
I had thought to have given them once
To some black-smith for his forge ; But now I have considered on't,
They are consecrate to the church : So I'll give them unto fome quire,
They will make the big organs roar, And the little pipes to squeeke 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; Betwixt them both the tail
30 Of the Rump fell down to the ground. Will you buy the states council-table,
Which was made of the good wain Scot?