“Ye Gypsies of Rome That run up and down, And with miracles the people cozen, By the help of some saint Get the month which you want And make up a baker’s dozen. “You see the old Year Won’t help you ’tis clear, And therefore to save your Honour, Get a new Sun and Moon, And the work may be done, And ’fore _George_ it will never be sooner.” The political squibs of this time are chiefly written by Cavaliers, and give a one-sided view, from which, however, much may be gathered. Though not actually election addresses, they refer to the claims which the electors of the kingdom found themselves constrained to address to the throne. Among the collection of “Bagford Ballads,” so capably edited and illustrated by J. W. Ebsworth, M.A.,[12] is a group of parliamentary election ballads, apparently of the date 1679-80, and relating to Essex, Buckinghamshire, Wiltshire, and the Universities. The Titus Oates plot; the Duke of York and his threatened exclusion from the succession; the impeachment by the Commons of a secretary of State, of Lord Danby, lord-treasurer; with the opposing designs of the Papists and the rabid Dissenters; and, above all, the petitions and the counter-petitions, seem the leading topics of these satires: but they do not contain much enlightenment upon elections, pure and simple. “The Essex Ballad,” humorously explains the _modus operandi_ of the “abhorred” petitions. “In Essex, much renowned for Calves, And giving verdicts in by halves, For Oysters, Agues, and for Knaves Of Faction, One Peer, and men of worship four, With gentlemen some half a score, Did draw in ten Dutch Ells of Bore To Action.[13] The Squire, whose name does famous grow As Marcus Tullius Cicero, And keeps true time with Sir A. Carew And Ashley.[14] As freely gave himself his hand, As once his voice to rule the Land By such as should not understand Too rashly. The Rout, that erst did roar so loud, A Mildmay and a Honeywood,[15] Are of their choice now grown so proud You’d wonder: And these State-Tinkers must be sent To stop the leaks of Government, Grown crazy now, and almost rent In sunder. His Honour first set all his hands, Each member next in order stands; The rabble, without ‘ifs and ands,’ Sub-scratch it. The Cause, not obsolete, though old, Like Insects lay in winter cold, And warm Petitions (they were told) Would hatch it. Corn bore a price in Cromwell’s days, Nor did we want a vent for bays; Nay, even calves were several ways Advanced.