But let us baffle all their tricks,
Our King and country serve;
And may he never thrive that likes
Sedition in reserve:
Then let each in his station rest,
As all good subjects should;
And he that otherwise designs,
May he remain unblest.
May traytors ever be deceived
In all they undertake,
And never by good men believed;
May all the plots they make
Fall heavy on themselves, and may
They see themselves undone,
And never have a happy day,
That would the King dethrone.
THE JOVIALISTS’ CORONATION.
From the Loyal Garland.
Since it must be so, why then so let it go,
Let the giddy-brain’d times turn round;
Now we have our King, let the goblets be crowned,
And our monarchy thus we recover;
Whilst the pottles are weeping
We’ll drench our sad souls
In big-belly’d bowls,
And our sorrows in wine shall lie steeping.
And we’ll drink till our eyes do run over,
And prove it by reason,
It can be no treason
To drink or to sing
A mournifal of healths to our new-crowned King.
Let us all stand bare in the presence we are,
Let our noses like bonfires shine;
Instead of the conduits, let pottles run wine,
To perfect this true coronation;
And we that are loyal, in drink shall be peers;
For that face that wears claret
Can traytors defie all,
And out-stares the bores of our nation;
In sign of obedience
Our oaths of allegiance
Beer glasses shall be,
And he that tipples tends to jollitry.
But if in this reign a halberdly train,
Or a constable, chance to revel,
And would with his twyvels maliciously swell,
And against the King’s party raise arms:
Then the drawers, like yeomen o’ the guard,
With quart-pots
Shall fuddle the sots,
Till they make ’um both cuckolds and freemen,
And on their wives beat up alarms,
Thus as the health passes,
We’ll triple our glasses,
And count it no sin
To drink and be loyal in defence of our King.
THE LOYAL PRISONER.
From the Loyal Garland.
How happy’s that pris’ner that conquers his fate
With silence, and ne’er on bad fortune complains,
But carelessly plays with keys on his grate,
And he makes a sweet concert with them and his chains!
He drowns care in sack, while his thoughts are opprest,
And he makes his heart float like a cork in his breast.
Then since we are slaves, and all islanders be,
And our land a large prison enclosed by the sea,
We’ll drink off the ocean, and set ourselves free,
For man is the world’s epitomy.