Like the knight, the chevalier of the Middle Ages, the seventeenth century Cavalier too, as his name implies, was a horseman. Rupert’s cavalry was the strongest arm of the King’s service. Prince Rupert or Ruprecht, the nephew of the King, was the son of that Elizabeth Stuart, nicknamed the Queen of Hearts, whom Sir Henry Wotton celebrated in his lofty lines “On his Mistress, the Queen of Bohemia,” You meaner beauties of the night That poorly satisfy our eyes, More by your number than your light; You common people of the skies; What are you when the moon shall rise? The impetuous charges of Rupert’s cavalry won the day at Edgehill and all but won it at Marston Moor. But they were an undisciplined troop and much given to plunder—a German word, by the way, which Prince Rupert introduced into England. Perhaps you have seen the once popular engraving entitled “The Cavalier’s Pets.” A noble staghound is guarding a pair of riding boots, a pair of gauntlets, a pair of cavalry pistols and a wide hat with sweeping plume. The careless Cavalier songs have the air of being composed on horseback and written down on the saddle leather: riding ballads in a very different sense from the old riding ballads of the Scottish Border. Robert Browning has reproduced very exactly the characteristics of the species in his “Cavalier Tunes.” In “Give a Rouse” he presents the Cavalier drinking; in “Boot and Saddle” the Cavalier riding, and in all of them the Cavalier swearing, laughing, and cheering for the King. Kentish Sir Byng stood for his King, Bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing; And, pressing a troop unable to stoop And see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop, Marched them along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. God for King Charles! Pym and such carles To the Devil that prompts ’em their treasonous parles! Hampden to hell, and his obsequies’ knell Serve Hazelrig, Fiennes, and young Harry as well! Hold by the right, you double your might; So, onward to Nottingham, fresh for the fight. Indeed many modern poets, such as Burns, Scott, Browning, George Walter Thornbury, and Aytoun in his “Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers,” have caught and prolonged the ancient note, with a literary skill not often vouchsafed to the actual, contemporary singers. Here, for instance, is a single stanza from Thornbury’s overlong ballad, “The Three Troopers”:— Into the Devil Tavern three booted troopers strode, From spur to feather spotted and splashed With the mud of a winter road. In each of their cups they dropped a crust And stared at the guests with a frown; Then drew their swords and roared, for a toast, “God send this Crum-well-down!”