Among the rest a grazier, who
Had lately been at town
To sell his oxen and his sheep,
Brim-full of news came down.
Quoth he, The priests have preach’d and pray’d,
And made so damn’d a pother,
That all the people are run mad
To murther one another.
By their contrivances and arts
They’ve play’d their game so long,
That no man knows which side is right,
Or which is in the wrong.
I’m sure I’ve Smithfield market used
For more than twenty year,
But never did such murmurings
And dreadful outcries hear.
Some for a church, and some a tub,
And some for both together;
And some, perhaps the greater part,
Have no regard for either.
Some for a king, and some for none;
And some have hankerings
To mend the Commonwealth, and make
An empire of all kings.
What’s worse, old Noll is marching off,
And Dick, his heir-apparent,
Succeeds him in the government,
A very lame vicegerent.
He’ll reign but little time, poor fool,
But sink beneath the State,
That will not fail to ride the fool
’Bove common horseman’s weight.
And rulers, when they lose the power,
Like horses overweigh’d,
Must either fall and break their knees,
Or else turn perfect jade.
The vicar to be twice rebuked
No longer could contain;
But thus replies,—To knaves like you
All arguments are vain.