I love the King and the Parliament,
But I love them both together:
And when they by division asunder are rent,
I know ’tis good for neither.
Whichsoe’er of those
Be victorious,
I’m sure for us no good ’twill be,
For our plagues will increase
Unless we have peace,
And the King and his realms agree.
The King without them can’t long stand,
Nor they without the King;
’Tis they must advise, and ’tis he must command,
For their power from his must spring.
’Tis a comfortless sway
When none will obey;
If the King han’t his right, which way shall we?
They may vote and make laws,
But no good they will cause
Till the King and his realm agree.
A pure religion I would have,
Not mixt with human wit;
And I cannot endure that each ignorant knave
Should dare to meddle with it.
The tricks of the law
I would fain withdraw,
That it may be alike to each degree:
And I fain would have such
As do meddle so much,
With the King and the church agree.
We have pray’d and pray’d that the wars might cease,
And we be free men made;
I would fight, if my fighting would bring any peace,
But war is become a trade.
Our servants did ride
With swords by their side,
And made their masters footmen be;
But we’ll be no more slaves
To the beggars and knaves
Now the King and the realms do agree.
THE COMMONERS.
Written in 1645 to the Club-men, by Alex. Brome.
Come your ways,
Bonny boys
Of the town,
For now is your time or never:
Shall your fears
Or your cares
Cast you down?
Hang your wealth
And your health,
Get renown.
We are all undone for ever,
Now the King and the crown
Are tumbling down,
And the realm doth groan with disasters;
And the scum of the land
Are the men that command,
And our slaves are become our masters.
Now our lives,
Children, wives,
And estate,
Are a prey to the lust and plunder,
To the rage
Of our age;
And the fate
Of our land
Is at hand;
’Tis too late
To tread these usurpers under.
First down goes the crown,
Then follows the gown,
Thus levell’d are we by the Roundhead;
While Church and State must
Feed their pride and their lust,
And the kingdom and king be confounded.
Shall we still
Suffer ill
And be dumb,
And let every varlet undo us?
Shall we doubt
Of each lout
That doth come,
With a voice
Like the noise
Of a drum,
And a sword or a buff-coat, to us?
Shall we lose our estates
By plunder and rates,
To bedeck those proud upstarts that swagger?
Rather fight for your meat
Which those locusts do eat,
Now every man’s a beggar.