But now your holy cheat Is known throughout the nation; And a Whig is known to be A thing quite out of fashion. And a Tory I will be, etc. A NEW GAME AT CARDS: OR, WIN AT FIRST AND LOSE AT LAST. A popular ballad, written immediately after the restoration of Charles II.; and in which the victorious Cavaliers render honour to General Monk, Duke of Albemarle. Tune, “Ye gallants that delight to play.” YE merry hearts that love to play At cards, see who hath won the day; You that once did sadly sing The knave of clubs hath won the king; Now more happy times we have, The king hath overcome the knave. Not long ago a game was play’d, When three crowns at the stakes were laid; England had no cause to boast, Knaves won that which kings had lost: Coaches gave the way to carts, And clubs were better cards than hearts. Old Noll was the knave o’ clubs, And dad of such as preach in tubs; Bradshaw, Ireton, and Pride Were three other knaves beside; And they play’d with half the pack, Throwing out all cards but black. But the just Fates threw these four out, Which made the loyal party shout; The Pope would fain have had the stock, And with these cards have whipt his dock. But soon the Devil these cards snatches To dip in brimstone, and make matches. But still the sport for to maintain, Bold Lambert, Haslerigg, and Vane, With one-eyed Hewson, took their places, Knaves were better cards than aces; But Fleetwood he himself did save, Because he was more fool than knave. Cromwell, though he so much had won, Yet he had an unlucky son; He sits still, and not regards, Whilst cunning gamesters set the cards; And thus, alas! poor silly Dick, He play’d awhile, and lost his trick. The Rumpers that had won whole towns, The spoils of martyrs and of crowns, Were not contented, but grew rough, As though they had not won enough; They kept the cards still in their hands, To play for tithes and college lands. The Presbyters began to fret That they were like to lose the sett; Unto the Rump they did appeal, And said it was their turn to deal; Then dealt with Presbyterians, but The army swore that they would cut. The foreign lands began to wonder, To see what gallants we lived under, That they, which Christians did forswear, Should follow gaming all the year,— Nay more, which was the strangest thing, To play so long without a king. The bold phanatics present were, Like butlers with their boxes there, Not doubting but that every game Some profit would redound to them; Because they were the gamesters’ minions, And every day broach’d new opinions.