DREGS OF DROLLERY▪ OR OLD POETRY IN ITS RAGGES.

A full cry of Hell-hounds unkennelled to go a King-catching;

To the Tune of Chevy-Chace:

LONDON, Printed in the year 1660.

TO His most Honoured Friend and Cousin, George Lord Monk, Ʋicount Poderidge, Duke of Albemarle, Earl of Essex, Knight of the most No­ble Order of the Garter, Lord Ge­neral of all His Majesties Forces in the three Kingdoms, Master of his Horse, and one of his most Honourable Privy-Council.

DREGS OF DROLLERY, O …

DREGS OF DROLLERY, OR OLD POETRY In its Raggs, &c.

To the Tune of Chevy-Chase.
1.
OF Buck-hunting, and Fox-catching
I have heard; But th'Royal Game,
King-catching, nere was heard of yet,
From the shrill Trumpet of Fame.
2.
Yet this unheard of drerefull sport,
I sadly sit and sing;
By Rebel Rogues acted upon
As gratious, as great King.
3.
His Judas servants first are the [...]
That for unrighteous wages;
Him shamefully into th'hands betray
Of Jewish bloudy Sages.
4.
To him all things presented are,
Disordered in the Nation;
And therefore must a Parliament,
Be call'd for Reformation.
5.
Pembroke the wise, his mouth now ope's,
And telleth him that he's nigh ill;
And that there now remains no hope,
(As he hath heard from Mighill)
6.
To sage advice his eare bow down,
Unless he shall prove willing;
Lose surely he will, his triple Crown,
Call'd alias fifteen Shilling.
7.
A monstrous hand is then held forth
Of one of Anak's sons;
With six Fingers, that their design,
Even he may read that runs.
8.
And that strange antick names be not
Wanting to these Dissemblers;
These signally must now be call'd,
Kimbolton and five Members.
9.
These on a roar the whole house set
Impetuously a crying,
The peoples peace can't be redeem'd
Without great Strafford's dying.
10.
Then tumults raise they such, no sound
Is to be heard to ring,
But first we will no Bishops have,
And then wee'l have no King.
11.
And these like Bull-dogs traind indeed,
First fly't the Bishops head,
And never leave their hot pursuit,
Till Canterbury's dead.
12.
Our blessed brethren then, the Scots,
Must come into our aid;
For which their love they must have Pounds
Three hundred thousand paid.
13.
Horn'd Essex then into Regiments
Divides his City power;
For which horn'd beasts all still shall be
Upon Record i'th Tower.
14.
And Atkins then with his wide stretch
Doth his great Horse bestraddle,
That of the colour of his Chain,
Eftsoons he makes his saddle.
15.
Then's Edge-Hill-Fight, where whil'st is seen
Many a brave soul on the ground,
Stout Wharton with his Morglai keen,
Is in a Saw-pit found.
16.
With more than good speed, then to'th' Town
of Gloster high's our Liege;
And with a courage like himself,
Layeth to it a close Siege
17.
Him after Cuckold Essex Posts,
And close to work he falls;
And with his Rams horns, Josuah-like▪
He bloweth down the City walls.
18.
And thence away with winged speed,
Getteth him into the West:
The King he followeth soon, and chase
Giveth to this Royal Beast▪
19.
Thence to Exon come, and there having chear'd
His Dear, and bless'd his baby;
To Oxon then he hasteth away,
With all the speed that may be.
20.
And now, when Essex had his hire
Of treason, by poison, paid;
And all his valiant traiterous acts,
By th'wall [...] are laid.
21.
Black Tom in this curs'd Cuckolds place,
Being now his Oxcellence grown,
Tamely he hopes the King to seize,
But findes this great Bird flown.
22.
The King is now the Scottish Faith,
For safety, forc'd to sound;
But basely they him deliver up,
For two hundred thousand pound.
23.
Now, for's possession, to Holmeby brought,
One striveth to out-wit another;
But the Independents here's too hard
For his Presbyterian brother.
24.
Thence to Hampton-Court in triumph led,
He's there put in t'a fright,
B' Horse-regiments, and therefore must
Away to th'Isle of Wight.
25.
Cowes Castles first for th' captive King,
Thought a convenient warde;
But then, for more security,
Hurste Castle a stronger guard.
26.
To James then first, thence Westminster,
Where he receives his charge,
From more Tertulluss's than one,
Whereon they boldl' inlarge.
27.
Black Bradshaw then in Bloud-red-robes,
Old Pontius Pilate acts;
And passeth on our Soveraign Lord,
Sentence for traiterous acts.
28.
To White-Hall last, his Royal Seat,
With strong guards they him bring;
To go forth from his Banquetting-house,
To an Heavenly banquetting.
29.
One of's accusers, Dorislaus,
To his place (you know) is gone;
With Hoil, his Judge; and what o'th'rest▪
Becomes, you'l hear anon.
30.
And that all the Kings Enemies,
May prosper as did they,
All Loyal Subjects of the King,
I'm sure, will heart'ly pray.
‘The Wise man dyeth as the Fool;’Eccles. 2. 16.
FINIS.

An Hymne, penned by an old Barde; but set to a new Tune of a latter date (When I came first to Lon­don Town;) and now the rather thus far exposed to publick view; for that it is conceived to have something of a Prophetick Spirit in it.

1.
NOw Counter-march Noll and face about;
The time is at hand of thy fatal rout;
Now the Lords Anointed begins t'appear;
No more room for thy Saints, and Idols is hear:
And now that these cease their phanatick noises,
Gods Preachers spite of thee, shall lift up their voices.
2.
The Souldier may practice now every day,
To trail his Pike a funeral way.
No sound to be heard from the beat of the Drums,
But look about Oliver, Rowland comes:
And all the notes, the clarions sound,
Is Noll must on a dry Hill be drown'd.
3.
'Tis time for thee Oliver to turn Hector,
For General thou maist not be and Protector.
Look well to thy self; since the people all cry,
Noll must a Tibur-Martyr dye.
And 'tis their only unanimous vote,
An Haltar's the knife must cut Nolls throat.
4.
Now plaints of all sorts are entred the ears
Of the Highest, with Widows and Orphants tears;
These unto him will ne'r cease to cry,
Till shamefully Noll there come to dye,
And these such vengeance shall draw down on thine head;
As shall make thy Nose look Hell-fire red.
5.
Now Mopsa must cease to be a Queen,
And lye on her Parsley-bed so green;
And from her high surfet of courtly wishes,
Learn her old trade of washing the dishes.
And since her old Oliver's going to his place,
Finde out a new Traytor, to regain her Grace.
6.
And now her Jone-ship the three Kingdoms sway,
Seeth that no longer she continue may;
That she may yet in some way be serv'd,
Though she nor bread nor water e're deserv'd;
From her new Blackhall time that she address her,
To her old Royal Palace of Gurmunt-Chester.
7.
Now Salisbury and Pembroke, those two lofty Knaves,
That base Lenthals tamely are far baser slaves;
That take't for a character of their noble strain,
Like Hand-men, to bear up this poor Speakers train.
Dove, Garter, as those spurs, shall jointly loose,
Whil'st Oliver's neck's tyed up in a Noose.
8.
Now Pride to his Grain-tub must retire,
And Barksteade to's trying of dross by fire:
The one for his Crest a Thimble shall wear,
The other for his Armes a Sling shall bear.
And Vinour and Pack their spurs shall loose,
Whil'st Oliver's neck's tyed up in a Noose.
9.
Now high time for Prideaux to hye him away
To Black-Hall, where great Abaddon bears sway;
And since that of late he's drop'd into Hell,
Where the Devil on his bones are feasting full well;
And his Soul in the Lake the Saints still see burn,
By Poste 'twill be late to bethink of return.
10.
Now the Eagles chicks, with his wings displaid,
Gins bravely t'appear, by his fast friends aid;
And Coplestone with his sharp edge eyeing,
And the thin skull of his false honour descrying,
On his Cople-crown a stone shall let fall,
And so spoyl a Knight and a General.
11.
Time then Doctor Walker in haste be fetch'd,
To make his last Will, whose neck must be stretch'd,
And thus religiously he begins,
'Tis too late repent me of mine old sins;
And therefore my soul, after its long night,
To him I bequeath, hath to it most right.
12.
To Bradshaw I give my cruelty,
To say and seale mine hypocrisie:
To Commissioner Fines my cowardise,
To Atty Haselrigge my covetise;
Mine heart to my Mistris, Lamberts wife,
When th'Gallows shall me have bereaft of life.
13.
Return shall we to our Trade, Pride thou shalt be
Great Elder of our Swine-Presbytery;
And we having by Money got, and the Law of clubs,
We'l reconverse gladly with our Draugh-tubs;
And the Swine all the week we have fed with Draught
From the same Tubs on the Sabbath shall rarely be taught.
14.
And now, as the Swedes late frantick Queen,
Since no longer I may be what I have been.
O! That I might to Jamaica go!
But that way's obstructed both to and fro:
The place then I finde must, for which I am bent,
Whither mine Harbinger Hannum before I have sent.

Or this mock Mock-panegyrick.

HOw doth the present State towards us abound,
From whom ought nothing, but divine Truth sound?
How do they their late Ancestors out-vie,
Towards our Tribe in works of piety?
The former is confin'd to a petty cure,
And whil'st t'a Directory they us enure;
Though the pains they spar'd us of a studied Prayer,
Yet made they each Pulpit their triumphant Chair.
These our Commission gratiously enlarge,
And grant each of us an Apostles charge.
The former forc'd us with our dawbing praise,
Basely to follow their triumphant Baies.
These, as the purest Gold, trying us by fire,
Their worth constraines in silence to admire:
So that cause it speak to the heigth none can,
We may no longer speak of God, or Man;
And yet, whilst Egypt's Taskmasters did sore
Oppress God's people, as they still the more
Increast; whilst there our Bishops strive to rowt
Both Root and Branch, they thus still thick sprowt.
Each such a Bishop now, as hath no less
Than the whole World for his vast Diocess.
And so are made now, by this blessed Crew;
Thousands of Gentiles for one wandering Jew.
And therefore, when, with brave acts of your glory;
You shall great volumes fill of Ballad-story;
Whilst daily at t' Andrews corner there are sung,
The Ropes shall be yours, wherewith the Bels are rung.

Of Tombs his being Preacher in the Temple, And then afterwards a new Gate made thereinto from the Divel-Tavern.

ONce near the Temples pinacle was seen
A Spirit unclean, and that the like hath been
Mongst Tombs I've heard, so that not strange to see
Tombs and the Divel sweetly to agree.
Tombes was the first, this Divels morrice led;
Since thousands are there, him have followed:
'Twixt the Devil and Temple since such harmony▪
That each to other passeth readily.
Yea, each of these with us hath the same lot,
To each we offer that they hurt us not:
And now the Templers getting where he was▪
The Devil to him's no better than an Asse.
New-gate and Temple are now very near,
To th' Divel fro th' Temple the way now is clear.

Cromwell's march to Grocers-Hall.

ROom, room, make room, for your great General,
That on his march is now to Grocers-Hall:
His Rufties, and his Mufties, making way,
With bare teeth, fore him to a City fray,
And, as he rideth, he ducketh, the boyes to court,
Whilst they of this his courtship make them sport;
Only a Butcher, a true well-bred Lown,
In Wastecoats, red as Bradshaw's Scarlet Gown;
Within a Coach thinking he had seen his Fere,
Would Rumps and Kidneys fain have chang'd with her.
But on they go, and got the Hall within,
Their brains with Sack well warm'd, there doth begin
A Fray, enflam'd with many a well fill'd Glass,
As thereto th'Counter-scuffle is an Asse.
Cushions, their breeches till now ne'r did know;
Now valiantly they at each other throw.
And Atkins hath out-flung with that smart spring,
And its guts 'bouts his eares so fluttering;
That Sack and it, so dye his chops in red,
No guts in's breech he hath left him, less in's head.
And now enough hath each of Pepper-grains,
Whilst [...]ch [...]an [...] Nutmegs yet, to coole his brains.
And in their Lords Coach set is suc [...] a spoak,
That now he needs wheels most, they all are broak.

Grand Signieur and his Bashaws.

GRand Signieur Cromwell now himself bewail [...],
For spreading so fa [...]re's grander Bashaws sailes;
For now, for want of Ballast, every day,
Each the [...]r great Masters threates to over-sway:
Yea so farre are they now with him to bring,
In no wise will they hear of's being King.
Mean time, whilst we in Coffee [...]aily he [...]lth,
To make good w' have a Turkish Common-wealth;
And with our Turkish manners now we see,
This Turkish Phtheseude so well to agree:
Come fort [...], for God's sake, all you Christian Kings:
And clip this great Turks, with his Bashaws wings;
And do a work, may well become you t'own,
Settle an exile brother on his Throne.

Upon the fall of the Stair of the Banquetting-house.

THe Janisaryes to their grand Signieur come,
To visite, as to visite Mecha's Tombe.
No sooner hath the Visier the room entred
Of's great Lords presence, and there boldl'adventred
To make's address, the rest now on the stairs,
To drink in, what he spews with greedy eares:
But now they gotten up unto their height,
Soon sink those stairs under their sinfull weight.
Examine their Religious very winde,
As steady as best of all them shall you find.
Their villany is that, which sinks them dead
To th'deep Abysse, as Talents may of Lead.
And maketh mean time their white, indeed Blacks Hall
No other than a Creeples Hospitall:
Where heads are broak, and arms, and legs, and thighs;
But necks kept for a Tiburn sacrifice.
We cannot of that sad disaster hear
In the Black-Friars, and not shed a tear.
For that, though th' Sufferers were o'th' Romish side,
Yet that they were Christians cannot be deny'd.
Such heathenish Rebels these, whom Bride-well sound,
May in a spittle sick be justly found:
And now may y' see what 'tis to make your King,
From th' same room to pass to his suffering;
And take this for the First-fruits of your doom,
For Crowning thus your King with Martyrdom.

Upon the Authors late less of a Parsonage, for a passage in an Epistle of his to a Sermon lately Printed, pinting [...]he Knaves eve [...]y day turning.

TRuth, as of old, so much more now's become
Of hatred, such a mother unto some,
That, let a man, a Knave, but dare to name,
More wince than that one will, as all the same;
So have I heard it be with many string,
No sooner is one touch'd, but all do ring.
That Cow-babe Fines, Fr' a Towr a shade can fright,
Dares quarrel yet Patrons undoubted sight;
And tender he, the least worm dares not harm,
'Gainst Justice yet will stoutly lift his arme.
And boldly, blindly, sentence give that way,
Gold-weights the scale of Justice he findes sway;
And Lisle, poor Fool, that all th' while Whitlock sate.
His fleering Grinders ne're dust ope to prate,
Now, like a Virginal-jack, he still doth chatter,
Though whether't be in tune, or no, no matter.
Such Gemini-keepers are they for this Isle,
That 'tis Treslisle Fines, as 'tis Fines Trelisle:
So peaceably are these two Consuls bent,
They'l ne're divided be in Argument:
But causes 'twixt them s' order'd may you see,
That 'tis nought else, but K. me, I'l K. thee.
Nor may good men see better dayes e're hope,
Till this their sweet accord end in a Rope.

Amen.

TO his highly esteemed Friend and Cousin, John, Lord Grenvile, Baron of Stow, Earl of Bath and Biddi­forde, Lord-warden of the Stanneryes, and Lord Lieutenant of Devon and Cornwall, and one of his Majesties most Honourable Privy-Council, and one of the Getlemen of his Bed-Chamber.

Gratior est pulchro veniens è corpore virtus;
What by a gracefull is express'd,
Is in mens thoughts more vigorously express'd.

GEORGE THE SECOND, FORERUNNER TO CHARLES The Second.

TO Good King Edgar's never dying praise,
'Tis storied, he to God doth Temples raise,
Monks for the Temples, and that th' Monks abide,
Doth for them liberal maintenance provide.
Loe here a Monk this Edgar doth out-vie,
He breath, without which th' English Church must dye,
Restores unto this Church, in that the King,
Its nostrils breath, he doth home safely bring,
Nay George as well as Monk is he, and hath
Dragon Rumpsters put to endless scath.
Go on Great George, and make truth once more r.
Greater to make tis than to be a King.
And th' reason by every boy is given daily,
Quod tale efficit magis est tale.
And since of late to our great good unthought,
From t' Andrews Cross, thy self George whom th'hast brought,
As Boniface doth on th' Imperial Throne,
Set Phocas, which to give yet's not his own;
Whilst he with universal Bishops name,
Doth Boniface throughout the Worlds fame▪
Our gracious Soveraign to thee prove a Carle,
I would not have, but Duke of Albemarle;
Let him create thee, yea, let him still live,
More honours of thy worth farre short to give,
And the George-Garter let make still appear,
Th' a second English George dosts justly hear.
That lately hast found out a new Charles-Wain,
For transfretating Charles thorough the Main.
Nay then th' Kings Scire more must thy praise times sing,
That but a Prince thee getting, this a King.
Now Rebel-Scot, whose Vice-Roy George did ragin
Of late, too late 'tis to call George again;
Nor may Pharaticks ever hope more quarrels
To raise against our Soveraign Lord King Charles.
Yea this, and much more than I can say,
Was by thee finished, George on Charles Birth-day.
Now Lilly is in his Prognosticks faded,
And Wharton's Almanack true as he that made it;
Even now about much, each with other face,
And th' former take the latters New-Gate place.
And the Fates now observe we may decree,
Climbe Haman shall Mordecay's cursed Tree.
And base Arguile according to his merit,
Shall great Montrosses unjust fate inherit;
And that the Den'shire man's the first day tryed
A Courtier, now's the Proverb verifyed.
Since Grenvile, Monk, and Morris, bear all date,
Fro' th' same Birth-day o' their great Triumvirate.

A knotty Dialogue betwixt the Good Lord Say, and the Good Earl of Northampton.

A Learned speech when many a Peer had made
In their own House, according to th' old trade,
Up crawls old Say, by site of th'Isle of Lundee,
But by Religion of the Town of Dundee,
And clamours Bishops, and th'Book of Common-Prayer,
As th'onely Trumpets to this unhallowed war.
To whom up riseth the compos'd Lord Compton,
And thus (right Son o'th' Church as he is) he mumps him.
Your Lordships farre from being in the right,
That Prayer thus, and Bishops to despite.
For not that Prayer the cause was, nor the Myter,
But only the Hellish Spirit of Jack-Presbyter.
And that this true is, you can't chose but gather,
Peace, Prayer and Miter, being return'd together.
And that our miseries sensibly now slack,
Since rooted out is now New-Elder-Jack.
Now Calvin may go look for his (Obey,)
Since Constantines old Bishops now're to sway:
Nay reason now shall we all have to sing,
We Lawn-sleeves, Surplice, Crosse, we'l have and Ring.
And now our Church to collective old Fines,
Shall say, thou sha'nt profane what ere mine is.
Now Presters teeth so dull'd are, he can't bite,
And th' Mask is pull'd off from this Hypocrite.

Upon some of the late Kings Judges.

ATkins, that hast thought it th'greatest height of art,
To sweeten with the best perfume a Fart.
Thou ne're thought'st of tasting the waters of Marah,
Till the Trump now for Tiburn sounds Tarah, rah, rah, rah.
Lords Tichburn and Ireton, that as sharp were as Verjuice
In shuting up th'Church-doors 'gainst our Christmas ser­vice;
You ne'r thought of tasting the waters of Marah,
Till the Trump now for Tiburn sounds Tarah, rah, rah, rah.

Upon the Author's Twelve pound Bishoprick at Maribone, Given him by John Foreset Esquire.

THe leaness of my Bishoprick let none deride,
Since th' better part by Fore-sets set aside.
This Seas yet pulse, and water, me more clear,
Than th▪richest wines, and all the daintiest fare,
That the most errant, rageing, Tyrants boord.
With all its greatest gayties can afford.
But why the Bishops sea's call'd Maribone,
Mens several fancies are not like, less one.
That Maribones 'tis call'd fro' a bone of Marrow,
Is a conjecture that is much too narrow;
Of all conjectures that is true alone;
From Maria bona tis call'd Marybone.

Scripsit Didimus Bullingerus Episcopus Maribonensis. An­nis, 56, 57, 58, 59. 60. Ipse natus sex plusquam sexaginta.

Now th'Church robbing Major, with his more holy Horse,
Thought y'had made a Covenant with Lady Mors.
You ne're thought of tasting the waters of Marah,
Till the Trump now for Tiburn sounds Tarah, rah, rah, rah.
Thou Lord Say and Seal dost so sharply inveigh
'Gainst the holy Book, whereby daily we pray;
Thou ne're thoughtst of tasting the waters of Marah,
Till the Trump now for Tiburn sounds Tarah, rah, rah, rah.
Let a man for his person be never so bold,
Thou Lambert canst prove he may be a Cuckold;
Whilst thou ne'r thought of tasting the waters of Ma­rah,
Till the Trump now for Tiburn sounds Tarah, rah, rah, rah.
Thou Cromwell hast swallowed the whole World for a time,
And thoughtst in bright lustre th' very Sun to out-shine,
But ne're thoughtst of tasting the waters of Marah,
Till the Trump thee to Tophet call all Tarah, rah, rah, rah.
Go you cursed, &c. Mat. 25. 41.
Nay, but except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish, Luke 13. 3.
Qualis vita, Finis ita.
FINIS.

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