_Fifth Monarchy-men_ must down, boys, With bulleys of every sect in town, boys; We’ll rally and to ’t again, Give ’em the rout again; Fly like light about, Face to the right-about, Charge them home again When they come on again; _Sing Tantara rara_, _boys_, _Tantara rara_, _boys_, This is the life of an Old Cavalier. A CAVEAT TO THE ROUNDHEADS. From the Posthumous Works of Samuel Butler. I COME to charge ye That fight the clergy, And pull the mitre from the prelate’s head, That you will be wary Lest you miscarry In all those factious humours you have bred; But as for _Brownists_ we’ll have none, But take them all and hang them one by one. Your wicked actions Join’d in factions Are all but aims to rob the King of his due; Then give this reason For your treason, That you’ll be ruled, if he’ll be ruled by you. Then leave these factions, zealous brother, Lest you be hanged one against another. HEY, THEN, UP GO WE. This song, says Mr Chappell, in his Popular Music of the Olden Time, which describes with some humour the taste of the Puritans, might pass for a Puritan song, if it were not contained in the “Shepherds’ Oracles,” by Francis Quarles, 1646. He was cup-bearer to Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia, daughter of James I., and afterwards chronologer to the city of London. He died in 1644, and his Shepherds’ Oracles were a posthumous publication. It was often reprinted during the Restoration, and reproduced and slightly altered by Thomas Durfey, in his “Pills to Purge Melancholy,” where the burthen is, “Hey, boys, up go we.” KNOW this, my brethren, heaven is clear, And all the clouds are gone; The righteous man shall flourish now, Good days are coming on. Then come, my brethren, and be glad, And eke rejoyce with me; Lawn sleeves and rochets shall go down, And hey, then, up go we. We’ll break the windows which the whore Of Babylon hath painted, And when the popish saints are down Then Barrow shall be sainted; There’s neither cross nor crucifix Shall stand for men to see, Rome’s trash and trumpery shall go down, And hey, then, up go we. Whate’er the Popish hands have built Our hammers shall undo; We’ll break their pipes and burn their copes, And pull down churches too; We’ll exercise within the groves, And teach beneath a tree; We’ll make a pulpit of a cask, And hey, then, up go we. We’ll put down Universities, Where learning is profest, Because they practise and maintain The language of the Beast; We’ll drive the doctors out of doors, And all that learned be; We’ll cry all arts and learning down, And hey, then, up go we.