The Lamentation of a Bad Market:
OR,
The Disbanded Souldier.
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IN Red-coat Raggs attired,
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I wander up and down,
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Since Fate and Foes conspired,
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thus to array me,
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or betray me,
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to the harsh censure of the Town;
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My Buffe doth make me Boots, my Velvet-coat and Scarlet
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Which us'd to do me credit, with many a Sodom Harlot,
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Have bid me all adieu most despicable Varlet:
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Alas poor Souldier, whither wilt thou march?
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I've been in France and Holland,
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guided by my starrs,
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I've been in Spain and Poland,
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I've been in Hungaria,
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in Greece and Italy,
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and served them in all their Wars;
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Brittain these 18 years has known my desperate slaughter,
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I've killed ten at one blow, even in a fit of laughter,
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Gone home again and smil'd, and kiss'd my Landlords Daughter.
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Alas poor Souldier, etc.
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My valour so prevailed,
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meeting with my Foes,
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Which strongly me assailed;
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Oh! strange I wondred,
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they were a hundred,
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yet I routed them with few blowes;
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This Fauchion by my side, has kill'd more men Ile swear it,
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Then Ajax ever did, alas he ne'er came near it,
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Yea more then Priams Boy, or all that ere did hear it:
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Alas poor Souldier, etc.
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For King and Parliament,
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I was a Praester John,
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Devout was my intent;
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I haunted Meetings,
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used zealous greetings,
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crept full of Devotion;
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Smectymnuus won me first, then holy Nye prevail,
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Then Captain Kiffin flops me with John of Leydons Tail,
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Then Fox and Naylor bangs me with Jacob Beamonds flail:
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Alas poor Souldier, etc.
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I did about this Nation,
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hold forth my gifts and teach,
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Maintained the tolleration;
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the common story,
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and Directory,
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I Damnd with the word (Preach)
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Time was when all Trades failed, men counterfeitly zealous,
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Turn'd Whining Snievling Praters, or kept a country Ale-house,
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Gat handsom Wives turn'd Cuckolds, howe're were very jealous:
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Alas poor Souldier, etc.
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The World doth know me well,
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I ne're did peace desire,
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Because I could not tell,
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of what behaviour,
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I should savour,
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in a Field of Thundring fire;
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When we had murdered King, confounded Church and State,
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Divided Parks and Forests, Houses, Money, Plate,
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We then did Peace desire to keep what we had gat:
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Alas poor Souldier, whither wilt thou march?
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Surplice was surplisage,
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we Voted right or wrong,
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Within that furious Age
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of the Painted Glass,
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oh Pictured Brass,
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and Liturgie we made a Song.
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Bishops and Bishops Lands were superstitious words,
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Until in Souldiers hands, and so were Kings and Lords;
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But in fashion now again in spight of all our Swords:
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Alas poor Souldier, etc.
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Some say I am forsaken
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by the great men of these times,
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And they're no whit mistaken,
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it is my Fate
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to be out of date,
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my Masters most are guilty of such crimes;
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Like an old Almanack I now but represent,
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How long since Edge-hill fight, or the Rising was in Kent,
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Or since the dissolution of the first Long-Parliament.
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Alas poor Souldier, etc.
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Good Sirs what shall I fancie,
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amidst these gloomy dayes?
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Shall I goe Court brown Nancy,
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in a Countrey Town,
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they'l call me Clown,
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If I sing them my Out-landish Playes;
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Let me in inform their Nodle with my Heroick Spirit,
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My Language and worth besides, transcend unto merit,
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They'l not believe one word, what mortal flesh can bear it?
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Alas poor Souldier, etc.
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Into the Countrey places,
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I resolve to goe,
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Amongst those Sun burnt Faces,
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I'le goe to Plough,
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or keep a Cow;
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that my Masters now again must do:
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Souldiers ye see will be of each Religion,
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They're but like Stars, which when the true Sun rise they're gon;
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Ile to the Countrey goe, and there Ile serve Sir John:
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I, I, 'tis thither, and thither will I goe.
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