A CHRISTMAS SONG WHEN THE RUMP WAS FIRST DISSOLVED.
From the King’s Pamphlets, British Museum. The Rump Parliament, in an excess of Puritanic acerbity, had abolished the observance of Christmas, and forbidden the eating of puddings and pies, as savouring of Popery.
Tune—“I tell thee, Dick.”
This Christmas time ’tis fit that we
Should feast, and sing, and merry be.
It is a time of mirth;
For never since the world began
More joyful news was brought to man
Than at our Saviour’s birth.
But such have been these times of late,
That holidays are out of date,
And holiness to boot;
For they that do despise and scorn
To keep the day that Christ was born,
Want holiness no doubt.
That Parliament that took away
The observation of that day,
We know it was not free;
For if it had, such acts as those
Had ne’er been seen in verse or prose,
You may conclude with me.
’Twas that Assembly did maintain
’Twas law to kill their sovereign,
Who by that law must die;
Though God’s anointed ones are such,
Which subjects should not dare to touch,
Much less to crucify.
’Twas that which turn’d our bishops out
Of house and home, both branch and root,
And gave no reason why;
And all our clergy did expel,
That would not do like that rebel—
This no man can deny.
It was that Parliament that took
Out of our churches our Service book,
A book without compare;
And made God’s house (to all our griefs),
That house of prayer, a den of thiefs’
Both here and everywhere.
They had no head for many years,
Nor heart (I mean the House of Peers),
And yet it did not die;
Of these long since it was bereft,
And nothing but the tail was left,
You know as well as I.
And in this tail was a tongue,
Lenthal [42] I mean, whose fame hath rung
In country and in city;
Not for his worth or eloquence,
But for a rebel to his prince,
And neither wise nor witty.
This Speaker’s words must needs be wind,
Since they proceeded from behind;
Besides, you way remember,
From thence no act could be discreet,
Nor could the sense o’ the House be sweet
Where Atkins was a member.
This tale’s now done, the Speaker’s dumb,
Thanks to the trumpet and the drum;
And now I hope to see
A Parliament that will restore
All things that were undone before,
That we may Christians be.
A FREE PARLIAMENT LITANY.
From the King’s Pamphlets, British Museum.—(A. D. 1655.)
To the tune of “An Old Courtier of the Queen’s.”
More ballads!—here’s a spick and span new supplication,
By order of a Committee for the Reformation,
To be read in all churches and chapels of this nation,
Upon pain of slavery and sequestration.
From fools and knaves in our Parliament free,
Libera nos, Domine.
From those that ha’ more religion and less conscience than their fellows;
From a representative that’s fearful and zealous;
From a starting jadish people that is troubled with the yellows,
And a priest that blows the coal (a crack in his bellows);
From fools and knaves, etc.
From shepherds that lead their flocks into the briars,
And then fleece ’em; from vow-breakers and king-tryers;
Of Church and Crown lands, from both sellers and buyers;
From the children of him that is the father of liars;
From fools and knaves, etc.
From the doctrine and discipline of now and anon,
Preserve us and our wives from John T. and Saint John,
Like master like man, every way but one,—
The master has a large conscience, and the man has none;
From fools and knaves, etc.
From major-generals, army officers, and that phanatique crew;
From the parboil’d pimp Scot, and from Good-face the Jew;
From old Mildmay, that in Cheapside mistook his queu,
And from him that won’t pledge—Give the devil his due;
From fools and knaves, etc.
From long-winded speeches, and not a wise word;
From a gospel ministry settled by the sword;
From the act of a Rump, that stinks when ’tis stirr’d;
From a knight of the post, and a cobbling lord;
From fools and knaves, etc.
From all the rich people that ha’ made us poor;
From a Speaker that creeps to the House by a back-door;
From that badger, Robinson (that limps and bites sore);
And that dog in a doublet, Arthur—that will do so no more;
From fools and knaves, etc.
From a certain sly knave with a beastly name;
From a Parliament that’s wild, and a people that’s tame;
From Skippon, Titchbourne, Ireton,—and another of the same;
From a dung-hill cock, and a hen of the game;
From fools and knaves, etc.
From all those that sat in the High Court of Justice;
From usurpers that style themselves the people’s trustees;
From an old Rump, in which neither profit nor gust is,
And from the recovery of that which now in the dust is;
From fools and knaves, etc.
From a backsliding saint that pretend t’ acquiesce;
From crossing of proverbs (let ’um hang that confess);
From a sniveling cause, in a pontificall dress,
And two lawyers, with the devil and his dam in a mess;
From fools and knaves, etc.
From those that trouble the waters to mend the fishing,
And fight the Lord’s battles under the devil’s commission,
Such as eat up the nation, whilst the government’s a-dishing;
And from a people when it should be doing, stands wishing;
From fools and knaves, etc.
From an everlasting mock-parliament—and from none;
From Strafford’s old friends—Harry, Jack, and John;
From our solicitor’s wolf-law deliver our King’s son;
And from the resurrection of the Rump that is dead and gone;
From fools and knaves, etc.
From foreign invasion and commotions at home;
From our present distraction, and from work to come;
From the same hand again Smectymnus, or the bum,
And from taking Geneva in our way to Rome;
From fools and knaves, etc.
From a hundred thousand pound tax to keep knaves by the score
(But it is well given to these that turn’d those out of door);
From undoing ourselves in plaistering old sores;
He that set them a-work, let him pay their scores;
From fools and knaves, etc.
From saints and tender consciences in buff;
From Mounson in a foam, and Haslerig in a huff;
From both men and women that think they never have enough;
And from a fool’s head that looks through a chain and a duff;
From fools and knaves, etc.
From those that would divide the gen’ral and the city;
From Harry Martin’s girl, that was neither sweet nor pretty;
From a faction that has neither brain nor pity:
From the mercy of a phanatique committee;
From fools and knaves, etc.
Preserve us, good Heaven, from entrusting those
That ha’ much to get and little to lose;
That murther’d the father, and the son would depose
(Sure they can’t be our friends that are their country’s foes);
From fools and knaves, etc.
From Bradshaw’s presumption, and from Hoyle’s despairs;
From rotten members, blind guides, preaching aldermen, and false may’rs;
From long knives, long ears, long parliaments, and long pray’rs;
In mercy to this nation—Deliver us and our heirs;
From fools and knaves, etc.