In July, Sixteen hundred sixty and five, (O happy is the Man that’s now alive) When God’s destroying Angel sore did smite us, ’Cause he from sin by no means could invite us; When lovely London was in mourning clad, And not a Countenance appeared but sad; When the Contagion all about was spread; And people in the streets did fall down dead; When Money’d Fugitives away did flee, And took their Heels, in hopes to scape scot-free, Just then we march’t away, the more’s the pitty, And took our farewell of the Doleful City. With heavy hearts into Hide Park we came, To chuse a Place whereas we might remain. Our ground we viewed, then straight to work didfall, And build up Houses without any wall. We pitch’t our Tents in ridges and in Furrows, And there encamp’t, fearing the Almighty’s Arrows. But O, Alas! what did this avail; Our men (ere long) began to droop and quail. Our lodgings cold, and some not us’d thereto, Fell sick and dy’d, and made no more adoe. At length the Plague amongst us ’gan to spread, When ev’ry morning some were found stark dead. Down to another Field the sick were t’ane; But few went down, that e’er came up again. For want of comfort, many I observed, Perished and dy’d, which might have been preserved. But that which most of all did grieve my soul To see poor Christians dragged into a hole. Tye match about them, as they had been Logs, And Draw them into Holes, far worse than Dogs. When each man did expect his turn was next, O then our Hearts with sorrow was perplext. Our officers amazed stood, for dread, To see their men no sooner sick than dead. But that which most of all did grieve them, why? To help the same, there was no remedy. A Pest house was prepared, and means was us’d, That none should be excluded, or refused: Yet all would not avail, they dy’d apace, As one dy’d out, another took his place. A sad and dismal time, as ere was known, When Corps, in the wide fields, about was thrown. * * * * * Methinks I hear some say, Friend, Prithee hark, Where got you drink and victuals in the Park? I, there’s the Query; we shall soon decide it, Why, we had men called Sutlers, provided; Subtle they were, before they drove this Trade, But by this means they all were subtler made. No wind or weather, ere could make them flinch Yet they would have the Souldiers at a pinch. For my part I know little of their way, But what I heard my fellow-Souldiers say: One said, Their Meat and Pottage was too fat; Yes, quoth another, we got none of that: Besides, quoth he, they have a cunning sleight, In selling out their meate by pinching weight, To make us pay sixpence a pound for Beefe, To a poor Souldier, is no little grief.