and manner of a precentor at a Presbyterian church.
There was a Cameronian cat
Was hunting for a prey,
And in the house she catch’d a mouse
Upon the Sabbath-day.
The Whig, being offended
At such an act profane,
Laid by his book, the cat he took,
And bound her in a chain.
Thou damn’d, thou cursed creature,
This deed so dark with thee,
Think’st thou to bring to hell below
My holy wife and me?
Assure thyself that for the deed
Thou blood for blood shalt pay,
For killing of the Lord’s own mouse
Upon the Sabbath-day.
The presbyter laid by the book,
And earnestly he pray’d
That the great sin the cat had done
Might not on him be laid.
And straight to execution
Poor pussy she was drawn,
And high hang’d up upon a tree—
The preacher sung a psalm.
And when the work was ended,
They thought the cat near dead,
She gave a paw, and then a mew,
And stretched out her head.
Thy name, said he, shall certainly
A beacon still remain,
A terror unto evil ones
For evermore, Amen.
THE ROYAL FEAST.
A Loyall Song of the Royall Feast kept by the Prisoners in the Towre, August last, with the Names, Titles, and Characters of every Prisoner. By Sir F. W., Knight and Baronet, Prisoner. (Sept. 16th, 1647.)
“In the negotiations between the King and the Parliament during the summer and autumn of this year,” says Mr. Thomas Wright in his Political Ballads of the Commonwealth, published for the Percy Society, “the case of the royalist prisoners in the Tower was frequently brought into question. The latter seized the occasion of complaining against the rigours (complaints apparently exaggerated) which were exerted against them, and on the 16th June, 1647, was published ‘A True Relation of the cruell and unparallel’d Oppression which hath been illegally imposed upon the Gentlemen Prisoners in the Tower of London.’ The several petitions contained in this tract have the signatures of Francis Howard, Henry Bedingfield, Walter Blount, Giles Strangwaies, Francis Butler, Henry Vaughan, Thomas Lunsford, Richard Gibson, Tho. Violet, John Morley, Francis Wortley, Edw. Bishop, John Hewet, Wingfield Bodenham, Henry Warren, W. Morton, John Slaughter, Gilbert Swinhow.”
On the 19th of August (according to the Moderate Intelligencer of that date) the King sent to the royal prisoners in the Tower two fat bucks for a feast. This circumstance was the origin of the present ballad. It was written by Sir Francis Wortley, one of the prisoners. This ballad, as we learn by the concluding lines, was to be sung to the popular tune of “Chevy Chace.”
God save the best of kings, King Charles!
The best of queens, Queen Mary!
The ladies all, Gloster and Yorke,
Prince Charles, so like old harry! [5]
God send the King his own again,
His towre and all his coyners!
And blesse all kings who are to reigne,
From traytors and purloyners!
The King sent us poor traytors here
(But you may guesse the reason)
Two brace of bucks to mend the cheere,
Is’t not to eat them treason?
Let Selden search Cotton’s records,
And Rowley in the Towre,
They cannot match the president,
It is not in their power.
Old Collet would have joy’d to ’ve seen
This president recorded;
For all the papers he ere saw
Scarce such an one afforded.
The King sent us, etc.
But that you may these traytors know,
I’ll be so bold to name them;
That if they ever traytors prove
Then this record may shame them:
But these are well-try’d loyal blades
(If England ere had any),
Search both the Houses through and through
You’ld scarcely finde so many.
The King sent us, etc.
The first and chiefe a marquesse [6] is, Long with the State did wrestle; Had Ogle [7] done as much as he, Th’ad spoyl’d Will Waller’s castle. Ogle had wealth and title got, So layd down his commissions; The noble marquesse would not yield, But scorn’d all base conditions. The King sent us, etc.
The next a worthy bishop [8] is, Of schismaticks was hated; But I the cause could never know, Nor see the reason stated. The cryes were loud, God knowes the cause, They had a strange committee, Which was a-foot well neere a yeare, Who would have had small pitty. The King sent us, etc.
The next to him is a Welsh Judge, [9] Durst tell them what was treason; Old honest David durst be good When it was out of season; He durst discover all the tricks The lawyers use, and knavery, And show the subtile plots they use To enthrall us into slavery. The King sent us, etc.
Frank Wortley [10] hath a jovial soule, Yet never was good club-man; He’s for the bishops and the church, But can endure no tub-man. He told Sir Thomas in the Towre, Though he by him was undone, It pleased him that he lost more men In taking him then London. The King sent us, etc.
Sir Edward Hayles [11] was wond’rous rich, No flower in Kent yields
