Marching Along (song Robert Browning 1841) (tune a Galliard circa 1612)

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

Chorus

Marching along fifty-score strong

Great-hearted gentlemen singing this song

Marching them along fifty-score strong

Great-hearted gentlemen fifty-score strong

God for King Charles! Pym and such carles

To the Devil that prompts ‘em their treasonous parles

Cavaliers up! Lips from the cup

Hands from the pasty nor bites take nor sup

Chorus

Till your Marching along fifty-score strong

Great-hearted gentlemen singing this song

Marching them along fifty-score strong

Great-hearted gentlemen fifty-score strong

Hampden to hell and his obsequies Nell

Serve Hazelrigg Fiennes and young Harry as well

England good cheer! Prince Rupert is near!

Kentish and loyalists keep we not here

Chorus

But go Marching along fifty-score strong

Great-hearted gentlemen singing this song

Marching them along fifty-score strong

Great-hearted gentlemen fifty-score strong

God for King Charles Pym and his snarles

To the Devil that pricks on such pestilent carles

Hold by the right ou double your might

So onward to Nottingham fresh for the fight

Chorus

Go Marching along fifty-score strong

Great-hearted gentlemen singing this song

Marching them along fifty-score strong

Great-hearted gentlemen fifty-score strong

When Cannons are Roaring (Song and tune John Forbes 1662)

Hark the alarum call war clouds are a-thundering

Foemen in wood and vale through the towns plundering

Then will the brave and true to standards rallying

Fight for their land and laws rushing and sallying

Chorus

When cannons are roaring and bullets are flying

He that would honour win must not fear dying

When cannons are roaring and bullets are flying

He that would honour win must not fear dying

Soldiers with sword in hand to the walls running

Horsemen about the streets riding and running

Sentinels on the wall arm arm a-crying

Petards against the ports wild fire a-flying

Chorus

When cannons are roaring and bullets are flying

He that would honour win must not fear dying

When cannons are roaring and bullets are flying

He that would honour win must not fear dying

Trumpets on turrets high these are a-sounding

Drums beating out aloud echoes resounding

Alarm bells in each place they are a-ringing

Grappling hooks rope-tailed rise to the walls clinging

Chorus

When cannons are roaring and bullets are flying

He that would honour win must not fear dying

When cannons are roaring and bullets are flying

He that would honour win must not fear dying

Captains in open fields on their foes rushing

Gentlemen second them with their pikes pushing

Engineers in the trench earth earth up-rearing

Gunpowder in the mines Pagans up-blowing

Chorus

When cannons are roaring and bullets are flying

He that would honour win must not fear dying

When cannons are roaring and bullets are flying

He that would honour win must not fear dying

The Ballad of William Kidd

My name is William Kidd, as I sailed, as I sailed
My name is William Kidd, as I sailed
My name is William Kidd, God's laws I did forbid
And most wickedly I did, as I sailed, as I sailed

Oh, my parents taught me well, as I sailed, as I sailed
My parents taught me well, as I sailed
My parents taught me well to shun the gates of Hell
But against them I rebelled, as I sailed, as I sailed

Oh, I murdered William Moore, as I sailed, as I sailed
I murdered William Moore, as I sailed
I murdered William Moore and I left him in his gore
Many leagues from shore, as I sailed, as I sailed

Oh, I steered from sound to sound, as I sailed, as I sailed
Oh I steered from sound to sound, as I sailed
I steered from sound to sound, and many ships I found
And all of them I burned as I sailed, as I sailed

And being cruel still, as I sailed, as I sailed
And being cruel still, as I sailed
And being cruel still my gunner I did kill
And his precious blood did spill, as I sailed, as I sailed

I was sick and nigh to death, as I sailed, as I sailed
I was sick and nigh to death, as I sailed
I was sick and nigh to death and I vowed with every breath
To walk in wisdom's ways when I sailed, when I sailed

My repentance lasted not, as I sailed, as I sailed
My repentance lasted not, as I sailed
My repentance lasted not, my vows I soon forgot
Damnation was my lot, as I sailed, as I sailed

To execution dock I must go, I must go
To execution dock I must go
To execution dock, while many thousands flock
But I must bear the shock and must die, and must die,

Take a warning now by me, for I must die, for I must die,
Take a warning now by me for I must die
Take a warning now by me and shun bad company,
Lest you come to hell with me, for I must die, I must die.

John Barleycorn  (circa James II period but with  older  origins)

There was three men came out of the west,
Their fortunes for to try,
And these three men made a solemn vow,
John Barleycorn should die.
They ploughed, they sowed, they harrowed him in,
Throwed clods upon his head,
And these three men made a solemn vow,
John Barleycorn was dead.

Then they let him lie for a very long time
Till the rain from heaven did fall,
Then little Sir John sprung up his head,
And soon amazed them all.
They let him stand till midsummer
Till he looked both pale and wan,
And little Sir John he growed a long beard
And so became a man.

They hired men with the scythes so sharp
To cut him off at the knee,
They rolled him and tied him by the waist,
And served him most barbarously.
They hired men with the sharp pitchforks
Who pricked him to the heart,
And the loader he served him worse than that,
For he bound him to the cart.

They wheeled him round and round the field
Till they came unto a barn,
And there they made a solemn mow
of poor John Barleycorn.
They hired men with the crab-tree sticks
To cut him skin from bone,
And the miller he served him worse than that,
For he ground him between two stones.

Here's little Sir John in a nut-brown bowl,
And brandy in a glass;
And little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl
Proved the stronger man at last.
And the huntsman he can't hunt the fox,
Nor so loudly blow his horn,
And the tinker he can't mend kettles or pots
Without a little John Barleycorn.

Vive Le Roy  (version  1)

What though the Zealots, pull down the Prelates,

Push at the Pulpit, and kick at the Crown,

Shall we not ever, strive to endeavour,

Once more to purchase our Royal Renown?

Shall not the Roundhead first be confounded?

Sa, sa, sa, sa boyes, ha, ha, ha, ha boyes,

Then wee'le return home, with Triumph and Joy,

Thenweel'e be merry, drink Sack and Sherry,

And we will sing Boys, God blesse the King Boys,

Cast up our Caps, and cry, Vive Le Roy.

What though the wise, make Alderman Isaack,

Put us into Prison, and steal our Estates;

Though we are forced, to be un-horsed,

And walk on foot, as it pleaseth the Fates,

In the Kings Army, no man shall harm ye;

Then come along Boyes, valiant and strong Boys,

Fight for your Goods, which the Roundheads enjoyes;

And when you venter, London to enter,

And when you come Boys, with Phife and Drum Boyes,

Isaack himself shall cry, Vive Le Roy.

If not then, chuse him, 'twill not excuse him,

Since honest Paliaments never made them Theeves;

Charles ne're did furder, Theeves dipt in Murder,

Never by Pardon, long Lease, or Reprieves;

For such Conditions, and Propositions

Will not be granted, then be not daunted,

We will our honest old Customes enjoy:

Pauls now rejected, shall be respected,

And in the quire, Voyces sing hire,

Thanks to Jehovah, then Vive Le Roy.

Vive le Roy  (version 2 Song and tune from Loyal Songs circa 1731)

Charles our anointed by God our appointed

Twenty years past to rule over this land

Is now subjected by the disaffected

Preaching rebellion with pikestaff in hand

Can we go down then desert our crown when

He bids us stay boys

Why then cry nay boys

Let us follow he’ll scotch their base ploy

Right on our side will always abide

Then take no alarm boys

Stand to your arms boys

Forward in ranks then cry ‘Vive le Roy’

Now the King’s foemen take honest yeomen

Put them in prison and steal their estates

Though they be forced to go unhorsed

Travel on foot as it pleaseth the fates

In the King’s army no man shall harm ye

Then come along boys

Valiant and strong boys

Fight for your rights, which the Roundheads enjoy

And when you venture London to enter

And when you come boys

With fife and drum boys

London herself shall cry ‘Vive le Roy’

To Charles our king we true hearts must cling

And ‘sunder the armies that strive ‘gainst his name

Ploughboy or Lord sir speak with your sword sir

Fight for your sovereign for God and proclaim

Shall not the Roundhead soon be confounded

Sa sa sa say boys

Ha ha ha hay boys

Then we’ll return with triumph and joy

Then we’ll be merry drink claret and sherry

Then we will sing sir’

God bless the king boys

Cast up your caps and cry ‘Vive le Roy’

The Saints Encouragement (song and tune circa 1643)

Fight on brave soldiers for the cause

Fear not the Cavaliers

Their threatenings are as senseless as

Our jealousies and fears

‘tis we must perfect this great work

And all malignants slay

We must bring back the King again

The clean contrary way

‘Tis for religion that we fight

And for the kingdom’s good

By robbing churches plundering men

And shedding guiltless blood

Down with the orthodoxal train

All loyal subjects say

When these are gone we shall be blest

The clean contrary way

‘Tis to preserve his majesty

That we against him fight

Nor are we ever beaten back

Because our cause is right

If any make a scruple on’t

Our declarations say

Who fight for us fight for the king

The clean contrary way

At Kineton Brentford Plymouth York

And divers places more

What victories we saints obtained

Like never seen before

How often we Prince Rupert killed

And bravely won the day

The wicked Cavaliers did run

The clean contrary way

And though the King be much misled

By that malignant crew

He’ll find us honest and at last

Give all of us our due

But when our faith and works fall down

And all our hopes decay

Our acts will bear us up to heaven

The clean contrary way

Marching Song of the New Model Army (Adapted and collated from two songs Lesley’s March to Scotland and Lesley’s march to Long Marston)

March march army of saints

March in good order where culverin rattle

March march conscience of Parliament

Hold your faith fast in the height of the battle

Scourges of heresy popery’s foemen

Rough-mannered psalmists in God’s name to fight

Puritan tradesman and leveller yeoman

Sustain ye by fervour by righteousness armour

March march blest ragamuffins

Sing as ye go the hymns of rejoicing

March march justified ruffians

Chosen of heaven to glory you’re rising

Humble implacable strong in your faith

Marching invincible into God’s grace

With the fire of the right to bring England to order

March march army of saints

Onward with psalms to the push of the pike now

March march host of the righteous

To triumph or martyrdom so ‘tis your right now

Rustic philosopher farm theologians

Mind-questing pamphleteers to the ranks come

City apprentice and Anglian yokel

Unite with intention Gomorra to level

March march sharp-sworded midwives

Of Gods new millennium born in its glory

March march pikestaffed physicians

To purge Englands ills and an end to outlawry

Marching in ranks to the gospels command

Marching for Commonwealth God and the land

Red-coated prophets you new model come

With the fire of the right to bring England to order

When the King enjoys his own again (Song Martin Parker 1643 tune Elizabeth Rogers 1656)

What Booker can prognosticate

Concerning Kings or Kingdoms fate

I think myself to be as wise

As he that gazeth upon the skies

My skill goes beyond the depths

Or rivers in the greatest rain

Whereby I can tell

That all things will be will

When the king enjoys his own again

There’s neither Swallow, Dove nor Dade (Diving Duck)

Can soar more higher or deeper wade

Nor show a reason from the stars

Which causeth Peace or Civil Wars

The man in the moon may wear out his shoon

By running after Charles his wain

But all’s to no end

For the times will not mend

Till the King enjoys his own again

Though for a time we see Whitehall

With cobwebs hanging on the wall

Instead of silk and silver brave

Which formerly it used to have

With rich perfume in every room

Delightful to that princely train

Which again you shall see

When the time it will be

That the King enjoys his own again

Full forty years the Royal crown hath

Hath been his father’s and his own

And is there any one but he

That in the same should a sharer be?

For who better may the Sceptre sway

Than he that has the right to reign

Then let’s hope for a peace

For the wars will not cease

Till the King enjoys his own again

Till then upon Ararat’s hill

My hope shall cast her anchor still

Until I see some peaceful Dove

Bring home the branch she dearly loves

Then will I wait till the waters abate

Which now disturb my troubled brain

Else never rejoice

Till I hear the voice

That the King enjoys his own again

I live not where I love (Song Peter Lowberry 1638 tune 1850)

You soldiers all now are parted

From your true loves many a mile

That like me lie heavy hearted

Rest with me and talk awhile

Of the brightness sun and summer

When we two are love did prove

That some joy I may discover

Though I live not where I love

In my sleep though yet when waking

Can I take a moments rest

But bewail the fates for making

Love to stand so stern a test

Yet the token we divided

Through dark or day I’ll ne’er remove

While I live not where love

The birds shall leave their airy region

And fishes in the air shall fly

The world shall be of one religion

All living things shall cease to die

The sea shall dry and stars extinguish

Before that I disloyal prove

Or for a moment hope relinquish

Though I live not where I love

So though upon a darkened field

Of a far county now I lie

And though the march seems ever onward

Yet one day for peace I’ll cry

For joy as homeward

I’ll be flying

To her warm arms my pain to soothe

And joined in love with joy loud crying

Then will I live where I love

POETRY OF THE 17TH CENTURY

To Lucasta, Going to the Wars, by Richard Lovelace 1618 -1659

Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
Loved I not Honour more.

Farewell, Ungrateful Traitor! by John Dryden

Farewell, ungrateful traitor!
Farewell, my perjur'd swain!
Let never injur'd woman
Believe a man again.
The pleasure of possessing
Surpasses all expressing,
But 'tis too short a blessing,
And love too long a pain.

'Tis easy to deceive us
In pity of your pain,
But when we love, you leave us
To rail at you in vain.
Before we have descried it,
There is no joy beside it,
But she that once has tried it
Will never love again.

The passion you pretended
Was only to obtain,
But once the charm is ended,
The charmer you disdain.
Your love by ours we measure
Till we have lost our treasure,
But dying is a pleasure
When living is a pain.

On The Lord Gen. Fairfax At The Seige Of Colchester by John Milton

Fairfax, whose name in armes through Europe rings
Filling each mouth with envy, or with praise,
And all her jealous monarchs with amaze,
And rumors loud, that daunt remotest kings,
Thy firm unshak'n vertue ever brings
Victory home, though new rebellions raise
Their Hydra heads, & the fals North displaies
Her brok'n league, to impe their serpent wings,
O yet a nobler task awaites thy hand;
Yet what can Warr, but endless warr still breed,
Till Truth, & Right from Violence be freed,
And Public Faith cleard from the shamefull brand
Of Public Fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed
While Avarice, & Rapine share the land.

Epitaph on Charles II by John Wilmot The Earl of Rochester

Here lies a great and mighty King,
Whose promise none relied on;
He never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one.
 

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