The Cavaleers Complaint.
To the Tune of, I tell Thee DICK, etc.
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The Cavaleer's Complaint.
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COme Jack, let's drink a Pot of Ale,
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And I shall tell Thee such a Tale
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Will make thine Eares to ring:
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My Coyne is spent, my Time is lost,
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And I this Only Fruit can boast,
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That Once I saw my KING.
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But This doth most afflict my mind,
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I went to Court, in hope to find
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Some of my Friends in Place;
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And walking There, I had a sight
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Of all the Crew: But, by this Light,
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I hardly knew One Face!
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S'life, of so many Noble Sparkes,
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Who, on their Bodies, bear the Markes
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Of their Integritie,
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And suffer'd Ruine of Estate;
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It was my damn'd unhappy Fate,
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That I not One could see!
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Not One, upon my Life, among
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My old Acquaintance, all along
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At Truro, and before;
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And, I suppose, the Place can shew
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As few of Those, whom Thou didst know
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At Yorke, or Marston-moore.
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But, truly, There are swarmes of Those,
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Who lately were our chiefest Foes,
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Of Pantaloons and Muffes;
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Whilst the Old rusty Cavaleer
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Retires, or dares not once appear
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For want of Coyne, and Cuffes.
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When none of These I could descry,
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Who, better far deserv'd; Then I
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Calmely did reflect;
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Old Services, (by Rule of State)
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Like Almanacks, grow out of Date,
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What then can I expect?
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Troth, In contempt of Fortunes frown,
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I'll get me fairly out of Town,
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And, in a Cloyster, pray,
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That, since the Starres are yet unkind
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To Royallists, the King may find
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More Faithfull Friends than They.
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An Eccho to the Cavaleers Complaint.
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I Marvell Dick, That having been
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So long abroad, and having seen
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The World, as Thou hast done,
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Thou should'st acquaint Mee with a Tale
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As old as Nestor, and as stale
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As That of Priest and Nunne!
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Are We to learn what is a Court?
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A Pageant, made for Fortunes sport,
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Where Merits scarce appear:
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For bashfull Merit only dwells
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In Camps, in Villages, and Cells;
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Alas! it dwells not There.
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Desert is nice in its Addresse,
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And Merit oftimes doth oppresse
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Beyond what Guilt would do:
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But They are sure of Their Demands,
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That come to Court with Golden-hands
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And Brazen-faces too.
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The King, They say, doth still professe
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To give His Party some Redresse,
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And cherish Honestie:
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But His good Wishes prove in vain,
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Whose Service, with His Servants gain,
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Not alwayes doth agree.
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All Princes, (be They ne're so wise)
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Are fain to see with Others Eyes,
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But, seldom hear at all;
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And Courtiers find Their interest,
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In Time to feather well Their Nest,
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Providing for Their Fall.
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Our Comfort doth on Time depend;
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Things, when They are at worst, will mend:
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And let Us but reflect
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On our Condition th'other Day,
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When None but Tyrants bore the sway,
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What did We Then expect?
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Meanwhile, a calm Retreat is best:
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But Discontent, (if not supprest)
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Will breed Disloyaltie.
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This is the constant Note I sing,
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I have been Faithfull to the KING,
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And so shall ever be.
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