Let tyrants wear purple, deep-dy’d in the blood
Of those they have slain, their scepters to sway,
If our conscience be clear, and our title be good,
With the rags that hang on us we are richer than they;
We’ll drink down at night what we beg or can borrow,
And sleep without plotting for more the next morrow.
Then since, etc.
Let the usurer watch o’er his bags and his house,
To keep that from robbers he rak’d from his debtors,
Which at midnight cries thieves at the noise of a mouse,
And he looks if his trunks are fast bound to their fetters;
When once he’s grown rich enough for a State’s plot,
But in one hour plunders what threescore years got.
Then since, etc.
Come, drawer, fill each man a peck of old sherry,
This brimmer shall bid all our senses good-night;
When old Aristotle was frolic and merry,
By the juice of the grape, he stagger’d out-right;
Copernicus once, in a drunken fit, found
By the course of’s brains that the world did turn round.
Then since, etc.
’Tis sack makes our faces like comets to shine,
And gives tincture beyond a complexion mask.
Diogenes fell so in love with his wine,
That when ’twas all out he dwelt in the cask,
And being shut up within a close room,
He, dying, requested a tub for his tomb.
Then since, etc.
Let him never so privately muster his gold,
His angels will their intelligence be;
How closely they’re prest in their canvas hold,
And they want the State-souldier to set them all free:
Let them pine and be hanged, we’ll merrily sing,
Who hath nothing to lose, may cry, God bless the King.
Then since, etc.
CANARY’S CORONATION.
From the Loyal Garland.
Come, let’s purge our brains
From ale and grains,
That do smell of anarchy;
Let’s chuse a King
From whose blood may spring
Such a sparkling progeny;
It will be fit, strew mine in it,
Whose flames are bright and clear;
We’ll not bind our hands with drayman’s bands,
When as we may be freer;
Why should we droop, or basely stoop
To popular ale or beer?
Who shall be King? how comes the thing
For which we all are met?
Claret is a prince that hath long since
In the royal order set:
His face is spread with a warlike seed,
And so he loves to see men;
When he bears the sway, his subjects they
Shall be as good as freemen;
But here’s the plot, almost forgot,
’Tis too much burnt with women.
By the river of Rhine is a valiant wine
That can all other replenish;
Let’s then consent to the government
And the royal rule of Rhenish:
The German wine will warm the chine,
And frisk in every vein;
’Twill make the bride forget to chide,
And call him to’t again:
But that’s not all, he is too small
To be our sovereign.