Part I.
Rump Songs.
335
Your grand Colledge Butlers, must stoop to your Sutlers,
There’s not a Library living like the Cutlers;
The bloud that is spilt, Sir, hath gain’d all the gilt, Sir,
Thus have you seen me run the Sword up to the hilt, Sir.
There’s not a Library living like the Cutlers;
The bloud that is spilt, Sir, hath gain’d all the gilt, Sir,
Thus have you seen me run the Sword up to the hilt, Sir.
Cromwell’s Coronation.
Oliver, Oliver, take up thy Crown,
For now thou hast made three Kingdoms thine own;
Call thee a Conclave of thy own Creation,
To ride us to ruine, who dare thee oppose;
Whilst we thy good people are at thy Devotion,
To fall down and worship thy terrible Nose.
For now thou hast made three Kingdoms thine own;
Call thee a Conclave of thy own Creation,
To ride us to ruine, who dare thee oppose;
Whilst we thy good people are at thy Devotion,
To fall down and worship thy terrible Nose.
To thee and thy Mermydons, Oliver, we,
Do tender our homage as fits thy degree,
We’ll pay the Excise and Taxes, God blesse us,
With fear and contrition, as penitents should,
Whilst you, great Sir, vouchsafe to oppresse us,
Not daring so much as in private to scold.
Do tender our homage as fits thy degree,
We’ll pay the Excise and Taxes, God blesse us,
With fear and contrition, as penitents should,
Whilst you, great Sir, vouchsafe to oppresse us,
Not daring so much as in private to scold.
We bow down, as cow’d down, to thee and thy Sword,
For now thou hast made thy self Englands sole Lord,
By Mandate of Scripture, and Heavenly warrant,
The Oath of Allegiance, and Covenant too;
For now thou hast made thy self Englands sole Lord,
By Mandate of Scripture, and Heavenly warrant,
The Oath of Allegiance, and Covenant too;
