COME, Jack, let’s drink a pot of ale, And I shall tell thee such a tale Will make thine ears to ring; My coyne is spent, my time is lost, And I this only fruit can boast, That once I saw my King. But this doth most afflict my mind: I went to Court in hope to find Some of my friends in place; And walking there, I had a sight Of all the crew, but, by this light! I hardly knew one face. ’S’life! of so many noble sparkes, Who on their bodies bear the markes Of their integritie; And suffer’d ruine of estate, It was my damn’d unhappy fate That I not one could see. Not one, upon my life, among My old acquaintance all along At Truro and before; And I suppose the place can show As few of those whom thou didst know At Yorke or Marston-moore. But truly there are swarmes of those Who lately were our chiefest foes, Of pantaloons and muffes; Whilst the old rusty Cavaleer Retires, or dares not once appear, For want of coyne and cuffes. When none of these I could descry, Who better far deserv’d then I, Calmely I did reflect; “Old services (by rule of State) Like almanacks grow out of date,— What then can I expect?” Troth! in contempt of Fortune’s frown, I’ll get me fairly out of town, And in a cloyster pray; That since the starres are yet unkind To Royalists, the King may find More faithfull friends than they. AN ECHO TO THE CAVALIER’S COMPLAINT. I MARVEL, Dick, that having been So long abroad, and having seen The world as thou hast done, Thou should’st acquaint mee with a tale As old as Nestor, and as stale As that of Priest and Nunne. {100} Are we to learn what is a Court? A pageant made for fortune’s sport, Where merits scarce appear; For bashfull merit only dwells In camps, in villages, and cells; Alas! it dwells not there. Desert is nice in its addresse, And merit ofttimes doth oppresse Beyond what guilt would do; But they are sure of their demands That come to Court with golden hands, And brazen faces, too. The King, they say, doth still professe To give his party some redresse, And cherish honestie; But his good wishes prove in vain, Whose service with his servants’ gain Not alwayes doth agree. All princes (be they ne’er so wise) Are fain to see with others’ eyes, But seldom hear at all; And courtiers find their interest In time to feather well their nest, Providing for their fall. Our comfort doth on time depend, Things when they are at worst will mend; And let us but reflect On our condition th’ other day, When none but tyrants bore the sway, What did we then expect?