Will you buy a conscience oft turn’d, Which served the High-Court of justice, And stretch’d until England it mourn’d, But hell will buy that if the worst is. Here’s Joan Cromwell’s kitchen-stuff tub, Wherein is the fat of the Rumpers, With which old Noll’s horns she did rub, When he was got drunk with false bumbers. Says old Simon, etc. Here’s the purse of the public faith; Here’s the model of the Sequestration, When the old wives upon their good troth Lent thimbles to ruin the nation. Here’s Dick Cromwell’s Protectorship, And here are Lambert’s commissions, And here is Hugh Peters his scrip, Cramm’d with tumultuous petitions. Says old Simon, etc. And here are old Noll’s brewing vessels, And here are his dray and his flings; Here are Hewson’s {36} awl and his bristles, With diverse other odd things: And what is the price doth belong To all these matters before ye? I’ll sell them all for an old song, And so I do end my story. Says old Simon, etc. THE CAVALIER’S FAREWELL TO HIS MISTRESS, BEING CALLED TO THE WARRS. The following song was extracted from the MS. Diary of the Rev. John Adamson (afterwards Rector of Burton Coggles, Lincolnshire), commencing in 1658; by a correspondent of Notes and Queries, First Series, Jan. 18, 1851. FAIR Fidelia, tempt no more, I may no more thy deity adore Nor offer to thy shrine, I serve one more divine And farr more great than you: I must goe, Lest the foe Gaine the cause and win the day. Let’s march bravely on, Charge ym in the van, Our cause God’s is, Though their odds is Ten to one. Tempt no more, I may not yeeld Altho’ thine eyes A kingdome may surprize: Leave off thy wanton toiles, The high-borne Prince of Wales Is mounted in the field, Where the royall gentry flocke. Though alone Nobly borne Of a ne’re decaying stocke. Cavaliers, be bold, Bravely keep your hold, He that loyters Is by traytors Bought and sold. One kisse more, and then farewell; Oh no, no more, I prithee give me o’er,— Why cloudest thou thy beames? I see by these extreames A woman’s heaven or hell. Pray the King may have his owne, And the Queen May be seen With her babes on England’s throne. Rally up your men, One shall vanquish ten, Victory, we Come to try thee Once agen. THE LAST NEWS FROM FRANCE. [From vol. iii. of the Roxburgh Ballads, in the British Museum.]