The ROYAL GENERAL
Or the Camp at
PUTNEY HEATH
To the Tune of State and Ambition etc.
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NOw the great Monarch of England's bright Splendor,
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doth shine over Europe like Jove in his Throne
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Makes France to the Empire, & Spanierd surrender,
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The peace and the plenty of what is their own;
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The Turk and the Teiklites thereby are o're powerd
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And crusht by the conduct of Christians strong Arms,
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Such successful blessing the heavens have showred,
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The Turks and the Tartars are lost in the Storms.
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II.
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Great Charles and his Highness they bravly have Conquer'd
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Our pretended Protestant Turks of the Race,
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Of Haslrig, Bradshaw and Tapskie who Scamper'd,
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And left his desciples to hang in disgrace:
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With pollitick prudence and mercy they've turned
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The Sceam of the Kingdom as it was before,
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The saucy proud Presbyter formerly scorned,
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Are forc't to their Sovereign to whine and adore.
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III.
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Come brave daring Tories that's warlike affected,
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O'th offspring of Mars and delights in a Drum;
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At which the Phanaticks are vex't and affrighted;
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Where none but Heroick brave souls are to come:
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At Putney you'l see his brave Highness restored
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Chief General by Land as well as by Sea,
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His Merits deserving the god's have implored,
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That none but the right in succession shou'd sway.
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IV.
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Great Charles more than Cesar an Army hath raised
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To protect his Friends, and keep Rebells in awe,
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Not to be disbanded at Parliament pleasure;
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Wee'l make those damd'd hot-spurs Alegeance to know;
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The Hoboys and trumpets sounds tan, ta, ra, ra, ra,
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The Colours do flourish Drums beat dub, a dub;
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Each loyal Commander his Souldiers doth cherish
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They'le make Jack Presbyter fly from his tub.
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V.
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No Theatre, Opera nor garden of pleasure,
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Can equal the harmony of English Camp;
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Three Kingdom's Protection and Monarchs chief Treasure,
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A terror to our English Turks o' th' same stamp:
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Our New-Castle Rebells and Scotch apprehended,
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Must lay by their hopes of rasing the Croude;
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Rumbold now taken shall be recommended,
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With Argile on Gibbet as high as a Cloud.
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VI.
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The Guards and Malitia in real Emulation,
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Each Souldier deserving Commissioners place;
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Their souls are aspir'd above Elevation,
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And e'ry Commander Achilless grace:
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The King & the Duke & Prince are Triumphant,
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With loud Acclamations, and Trophies of joys,
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To see proud opposers subdu'd that were Rampant.
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With huzza's let's drink their health Tory-Boys.
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VII.
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All that in war-like Disciplin delighteth,
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Pray for the success of the Christians Arms,
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And for all that contribut's to pay those that fighteth
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In the Holy Wars & their Duty performs;
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And those that discover'd the last Plot in Scotlland,
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Wherein Sterling-Castle was to be surpris'd;
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And for the preservation of peace in old England,
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And let those be hang'd that trims in disguise.
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