From all the mischiefs that I mention here,
Preserve us, Heaven, in this approaching year:
From civil wars and those uncivil things
That hate the race of all our queens and kings;
From those who for self-ends would all betray,
From saints that curse and flatter when they pray;
From those that hold it merit to rebel,
In treason, murthers, and in theft excel;
From those new teachers have destroy’d the old,
And those that turn the gospel into gold;
From a High-Court, and that rebellious crew
That did their hands in royal blood imbrue,—
Defend us, Heaven, and to the throne restore
The rightful heir, and we will ask no more.
THE SALE OF REBELLION’S HOUSE-HOLD STUFF.
Printed in “Percy’s Reliques,” from an old black-letter copy in Mr Pepys’ collection, corrected by two others, one of which is preserved in a Choice Collection of 120 Loyal Songs—1684
To the tune of “Old Sir Simon the King.”
Rebellion hath broken up house,
And hath left me old lumber to sell;
Come hither and take your choice,
I’ll promise to use you well.
Will you buy the old Speaker’s chair?
Which was warm and easy to sit in,
And oft has been clean’d, I declare,
Whereas it was fouler than fitting.
Says old Simon the King,
Says old Simon the King,
With his ale-dropt hose, and his Malmsey nose,
Sing, hey ding, ding-a-ding, ding.
Will you buy any bacon flitches,
The fattest that ever were spent?
They’re the sides of the old committees
Fed up in the Long Parliament.
Here’s a pair of bellows and tongs,
And for a small matter I’ll sell ye ’um,
They are made of the presbyter’s lungs,
To blow up the coals of rebellion.
Says old Simon, etc.
I had thought to have given them once
To some blacksmith for his forge;
But now I have consider’d on’t,
They are consecrate to the Church:
So I’ll give them unto some quire,
They will make the big organs roar,
And the little pipes to squeak higher
Than ever they could before.
Says old Simon, etc.
Here’s a couple of stools for sale,
One’s square, and t’other is round;
Betwixt them both, the tail
Of the Rump fell down to the ground.
Will you buy the State’s council-table,
Which was made of the good wain-Scot?
The frame was a tottering Babel,
To uphold th’ Independent plot.
Says old Simon, etc.
Here’s the besom of Reformation,
Which should have made clean the floor;
But it swept the wealth out of the nation,
And left us dirt good store.
Will you buy the state’s spinning-wheel,
Which spun for the roper’s trade?
But better it had stood still,
For now it has spun a fair thread.
Says old Simon, etc.
Here’s a glyster-pipe well tried,
Which was made of a butcher’s stump,
And has been safely applied
To cure the colds of the Rump.
Here’s a lump of pilgrim’s-salve,
Which once was a justice of peace,
Who Noll and the devil did serve,
But now it is come to this,
Says old Simon, etc.