When all the worthy noble train Came back again with Charlemain, Our sovereign great: The Lord Mayor in his scarlet gown, His chain so long, went through the town In pompe and state. The livery-men each line the way Upon this great triumphant day; Five rich maces carried before, And my Lord himselfe the sword he bore. Then Vive le Roy the gentry did sing, For General Monk rode next to the King; With acclamations, shouts, and cryes, I thought they would have rent the skyes. The conduits, ravished with joy, As I may say, did run all day Great plenty of wine; And every gentleman of note In’s velvet coat that could be got In glory did shine. There were all the peeres and barrons bold, Richly clad in silver and gold, Marched through the street so brave, No greater pompe a king could have. At this, the sacristan, etc. And thus conducted all along Throughout the throng, still he did come Unto White Hall; Attended by those noble-men, Bold heroes’ kin that brought him in With the geneall; Who was the man that brought him home And placed him on his royal throne;— ’Twas General Monk did doe the thing, So God preserve our gracious King, Now the sacristan, etc. ON THE KING’S RETURN. By Alex. Brome. LONG have we waited for a happy end Of all our miseries and strife;— But still in vain;—the swordmen did intend To make them hold for term of life: That our distempers might be made Their everlasting livelihood and trade. They entail their swords and guns, And pay, which wounded more, Upon their daughters and their sons, Thereby to keep us ever poor. But when the Civil Wars were past, They civil government invade, To make our taxes and our slavery last, Both to their titles and their trade. But now we are redeem’d from all By our indulgent King, Whose coming does prevent our fall, With loyal and with joyful hearts we’ll sing: CHORUS, Welcome, welcome, royal May, Welcome, long-desired Spring. Many Springs and Mays we’ve seen, Have brought forth what’s gay and green; But none is like this glorious day, Which brings forth our gracious King. THE BRAVE BARBARY. A Ballad by Alex. Brome. OLD England is now a brave Barbary made, And every one has an ambition to ride her; King Charles was a horseman that long used the trade, But he rode in a snaffle, and that could not guide her. Then the hungry Scot comes with spur and with switch, And would teach her to run a Geneva career; His grooms were all Puritan, Traytor, and Witch, But she soon threw them down with their pedlary geer.