THE
CITIES FEAST
TO THE
LORD PROTECTOR.
To the Tune of Cooke Lorrell.
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SIR Mayor invites his Highnesse his guest
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And bids him to Grocers-Hall to dinner,
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There never was Saint at so great a Feast
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Provided him at the Charge of a Sinner.
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With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
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And what was the day do you think, without jesting,
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Of all the year it was Ash wednesday
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This pious Reformer set apart for his Feasting,
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When all good Christians should fast and pray.
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With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
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The Souldiers in clusters throng'd for place,
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To see this Monster of their own making,
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And said it was a Protectors grace,
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But that it wanted not much of A King.
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With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
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The Bucks of the City in herds were met,
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And were paled in with a very good fence,
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But what their Doe's did, I cannot tell yet,
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Of that ye may here three quarters hence.
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With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
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With that the Recorder marcht up to the Hall
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With a dish of divinity drest for his pallate,
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And laid before him a shoulder of Saul,
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With a savory simily by for a salate
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With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
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His Highness commanded to lay it by,
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Twas fit for his people hee'd make it known,
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And they should have it, good reason why,
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For they wanted more shoulders than their own.
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With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
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A dish of Delinquents heads in a Charger
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Was sent as a present from Goldsmiths-Hall,
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He wisht his stomak ten times larger,
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Yet made a long neck and poach'd them all.
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With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
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A Prelate was next, and to him he buckles,
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With a Bishoprick truss'd before and behinde,
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His Highness was in with him up to the knuckles,
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And to his own kitchin the skuers assign'd.
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With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
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His Highness then call'd for a boule of Canary,
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And drank so deep that it made him reel,
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He toss'd it to Lambert, and Lambert to Harry,
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And Harry to the Mayor, and the Mayor to Steel.
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With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
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When dinner was ended, away to the banquet,
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Where snatching of Sugar-plums one from another,
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Hal fill'd up his pockets, and said God be thanked,
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And carried them home to his Lady-mother.
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With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
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Then His Highness commanded the Mayor to kneel,
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The Beast of the City was soon on his knees,
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He made him a Knight with Iron and steel,
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And bid him rise up, and pay him his fees.
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With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
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Up rose my Lords worship and made him a leg,
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With that the Knight-maker did give him the Sword,
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His Highness did spice him without a nutmeg,
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When he made a bad Knight of a pitifull Lord.
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With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
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When he left the City he broke a jest.
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His words were pithy, and Ile repeat them,
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Farewell (quoth his Highness) thou spurgall'd beast,
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Fools make the feasts, and wise men eat them.
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