The Cities welcome to Colonell RICH and Colonell BAXTER, with their
solemne Invitation to the Sainted Commanders in the Army,
to come and Quarter amongst them.
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IF we may, dare to say,
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That you most welcome are,
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Most holy, holy, Colonels,
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Great Mogulls of the Warre:
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Our blessed Parliament,
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Most wisely for you sent,
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Your Forces neere to draw
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For to keepe us in awe.
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For we are sure to be
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Your Vassailes, and your Slaves,
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And 'tis but Justice we confesse,
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That Knaves should stoop to Knaves;
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We were the first that strove,
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Such was our Zealous love,
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We are the last shall smart,
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But you shall beare a part.
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Therefore come with Fife and Drum,
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Ye Army that are Sainted,
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And Quarter here amongst us,
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We long to be acquainted:
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O 'twill be very brave,
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Free-Quarter here to have,
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Each house turn'd to an Inne,
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What wonders then begin?
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Hewson, we have beene to thee,
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E're now obliged much,
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For Shoes which thou hast sold us,
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Therefore we shall not grutch.
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Pride, thee we shall not jeere,
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Thou ever brought'st good Beere,
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Measure thou did'st allow,
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Wee'l licour thee I vow.
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Col. Hew-
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son a Sho-
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maker.
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Col. Pride
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sometime
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a Dray-
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man.
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Okey, thou hast e're now,
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Before we were such Noddies,
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Although thou stolest halfe in halfe,
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Made Garments for our boddies.
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Staines, pray be thou not mist,
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Who art an Alchymist,
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When we have spent our store,
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Thy Stone will helpe to more.
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Staines a
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cozening
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Alchymist
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Watson, thee I long to see
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By God, and by the Hallowes,
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We are glad that for embating Coine,
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Thou lately scap'st the Gallowes.
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Come Lambert, there's a Crew
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Would be baptiz'd anew,
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Come with thy Troopes to Towne,
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Helpe Maids and Wives to drowne.
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Oliver, we thee prefer,
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To guide these boyes unto us,
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Thou art the King of our New State,
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And worthy to undoe us:
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Thy Nose and fiery Face,
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Speakes thee a babe of Grace,
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And most regenerate,
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As Sack did e're create.
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There's no such thing as CHARLES our King,
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We here renounce Him ever,
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Wee'le have no King, but thee sweet Nol,
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Or Tom that glorious Feather:
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Our houses wee'le prepare
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For thy brave men of Warre,
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Our Wives we will adorne,
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He's happy weares the Horne.
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Don't you believe we will deceive
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Our trust, or the least harme you,
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Or that we will a rising make,
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And then by force dis-arme you:
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Or that whenas you sleepe,
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Wee'le on your faces peepe,
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And for to gaine your Coats,
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Most wisely cut your throats.
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You cannot sure but be secure
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us that first did raise you,
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Who have allow'd you constant pay,
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And evemore did praise you:
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Doe you not feare to venter
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Amongst us for to enter,
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You know the Danes thriv'd well
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Untill the dismall Knell.
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Alas you know, the case is so,
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We now must be content
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To smart for our base follies,
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Our Trustie Parliament
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(And you) have joyntly now agreed
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To prey on all we have,
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But yet by God wee'le break the rod,
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And fight, our goods to save.
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The Scottish Nation are out of fashion,
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You have no farther need,
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But Jockey is resolved
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To come on this side Tweed:
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They'l now not be content,
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To have their Money sent,
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They'l come themselves and straine,
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And then turne back againe.
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But first those men accurst,
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That have abus'd their King,
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They meane to call to an accompt
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For their good Governing:
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Say must no longer Rule,
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Nor Martin that same Mule,
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And all the Holy Flock
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Must taste the Chopping-block.
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White-hall now I know not how,
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Is topsie-turvey turn'd,
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The Thimble-makers bonney boyes
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Have private Mansions scorn'd:
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Kings Houses onely be
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Fit for our Souldierie,
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Parliament, Army, All,
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Are Kings in Generall.
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Come then deare Bretheren,
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and Fortifie the Citie,
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All that is in't we know is yours,
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Yet pray shew us some pitie;
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Or rather be so wise,
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To follow this advice,
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Keepe yourselves where you are,
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For we your Mart shall marre.
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