Now the times are turn’d about,
And the rebels’ race is run;
That many-headed beast the Rout,
That did turn the Father out,
When they saw they were undone,
Were for bringing in the son.
That phanatical crew,
Which made us all rue,
Have got so much wealth
By their plunder and stealth
That they creep into profit and power:
And so come what will,
They’ll be uppermost still;
And we that are low
Shall still be kept so,
While those domineer and devour.
Yet we will be loyal still,
And serve without reward or hire:
To be redeem’d from so much ill,
May stay our stomachs, though not still,
And if our patience do not tire,
We may in time have our desire.
THE LAMENTATION OF A BAD MARKET,
OR
THE DISBANDED SOULDIER.
(July 17th, 1660.)—From the King’s Pamphlets, British Museum.
This ballad relates to the disbanding of the Parliamentary army. Contrary, however, to what is pretended in it, says Mr. Wright, in his volume printed for the Percy Society, the writers of the time mention with admiration the good conduct of the soldiers after they were disbanded, each betaking himself to some honest trade or calling, with as much readiness as if he had never been employed in any other way. Not many weeks before the date of the present ballad, a prose tract had been published, with the same title, “The Lamentation of a Bad Market, or Knaves and Fools foully foyled, and fallen into a Pit of their own digging,” &c. March 21st, 1659–60.
In red-coat raggs attired,
I wander up and down,
Since fate and foes conspired,
Thus to array me,
Or betray me
To the harsh censure of the town.
My buffe doth make me boots, my velvet coat and scarlet,
Which used to do me credit with many a wicked harlot,
Have bid me all adieu, most despicable varlet!
Alas, poor souldier, whither wilt thou march?
I’ve been in France and Holland,
Guided by my starrs;
I’ve been in Spain and Poland,
I’ve been in Hungarie,
In Greece and Italy,
And served them in all their wars.
Britain these eighteen years has known my desperate slaughter,
I’ve killed ten at one blow, even in a fit of laughter,
Gone home again and smiled, and kiss’d my landlor’s daughter;
Alas! poor souldier, etc.
My valour prevailed,
Meeting with my foes,
Which strongly we assailed;
Oh! strange I wondred,
They were a hundred;
Yet I routed them with few blowes.
This fauchion by my side has kind more men, I’ll swear it,
Than Ajax ever did, alas! he ne’er came near it,
Yea, more than Priam’s boy, or all that ere did hear it.
Alas! poor souldier, etc.
For King and Parliament
I was Prester John.
Devout was my intent;
I haunted meetings,
Used zealous greetings,
Crept full of devotion;
Smectymnuus won me first, then holy Nye prevail, [111]
Then Captain Kiffin [112] slops me with John of Leyden’s tail,
Then Fox and Naylor bangs me with Jacob Beamond’s flail. [113]
Alas! poor souldier, etc.
I did about this nation
Hold forth my gifts and teach,
Maintained the tolleration
The common story
And Directory
I damn’d with the word “preach.”
Time was when all trades failed, men counterfeitly zealous
Turn’d whining, snievling praters, or kept a country ale-house,
Got handsome wives, turn’d cuckolds, howe’er were very jealous.
Alas! poor souldier, etc.