They thought the trumps would ever Turn on rebellion’s side, But kinder power deliver Us from their foolish pride; For see, they are deceived, And can no more prevail; Those who the Rump believed, Ashamed are of the tale. THE LOYALIST’S ENCOURAGEMENT. From the Loyal Garland. To the tune of “Now, now the fight’s done.” YOU Royalists all, now rejoice and be glad, The day is our own, there’s no cause to be sad, The tumult of faction is crush’d in its pride, And the grand promoters their noddles all hide, For fear of a swing, which does make it appear Though treason they loved yet for hemp they don’t care. Then let us be bold still, and baffle their plots, That they in the end may prove impotent sots; And find both their wit and their malice defeated, Nay, find how themselves and their pupils they cheated, By heaping and thrusting to unhinge a State, Of which Heaven’s guardian fixt is by fate. Though once they the rabble bewitch’d with their cant, Whilst cobler and weaver set up for a saint; Yet now the stale cheat they can fasten no more, The juggle’s discover’d and they must give o’er; Yet give them their due that such mischief did work, Who revile Christian princes and pray for the Turk. Oh! give them their due, and let none of ’em want A cup of Geneva or Turkish turbant, That, clad in their colours, they may not deceive The vulgar, too prone and too apt to believe The fears they suggest on a groundless pretence, On purpose to make ’em repine or their prince. THE TROUPER. From the Loyal Garland. A pleasant song revived. COME, come, let us drink, ’Tis vain to think Like fools of grief or sadness; Let our money fly And our sorrows dye, All worldly care is madness; But wine and good cheer Will, in spite of our fear, Inspire us all with gladness. Let the greedy clowns, That do live like hounds, They know neither bound nor measure, Lament every loss, For their wealth is their cross, Whose delight is in their treasure; Whilst we with our own Do go merrily on, And spend it at our leisure. Then trout about the bowl To every loyal soul, And to his hand commend it. A fig for chink, ’Twas made to buy drink, Before we depart we’ll end it. When we’ve spent our store, The nation yields no more, And merrily we will spend it. ON THE TIMES, OR THE GOOD SUBJECT’S WISH. From the Loyal Garland. To the tune of “Young Phaon.” GOOD days we see, let us rejoice, In peace and loyalty, And still despise the factious noise Of those that vainly try To undermine our happiness, That they may by it get; Knavery has great increase When honesty does set.