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Alexander Brome (Александр Бром)

A New Ballad


A Ballad, a Ballad, a new one and true,
And such are seldom seen;
He that wont write Ballads, and sing 'um too,
Has neither Wit nor Spleen:
For a man may be furnished with so much matter,
That he need not lie, or rail, or flatter;
'Twill run from his tongue as easie as water,
And as swiftly, though not so clean.


To see how the times are twirled about,
Would make a dog laugh, 'tis true;
But to see those turn with 'um, that had the Rump∣gout,
Would make a cat to spew.
Those Knaves that have lived upon sequestration,
And sucked the bloud of the best of the Nation,
Are all for the King by a new translation;
He that won't believe't is a Jew.


The poor Caveliers thought all was their own,
And now was their time to sway;
But friends they have few, and money they've none,
And so they mistook their way.
When they seek for preferments the Rebels do rout 'um.
And having no money, they must go without 'um,
The Courtiers do carry such stomachs about 'um:
They speak no English but PAY:


And those very rebels that hated the King,
And no such office allow;
By the help of their boldness, and one other thing,
Are brought to the King to bow:
And there both pardons, and honours they have,
with which they think, they're secure and brave,
But the title of Knight, on the back of a Knave,
〈…〉's like a saddle upon a sow.


Those men are but fools as matters now stand,
That would not be Rebels and Traytors,
To grow rich and rant o'r the best of the land,
And tread on the poor Cinque Quaters;
To do what they list, and none dare complain,
To rise from a cart and drive Charles his wain,
And for this be made Lords and Knights in grain;
O 'tis sweet to ambitious natures!


If the times turn about 'tis but to comply,
And make a formal submission;
And with every new power to live and die,
Then they are in a safe condition:
For none are condemned but those that are dead,
Nor must be secur'd, but those that are fled,
And none but the poor rogues sequestred:
The great ones buy remission.


The Fortieth part of their riches, will
Secure t'other thirty nine;
And so they will keep above us still;
But hang't, we'l ne'r repine.
The Devil does into their natures creep,
That they can no more from their villany keep,
Then a Wolfe broke loose, can from killing of sheep,
Or a Poet refrain from wine.


Now Heaven preserve our Merciful King,
And continue his grace and pity,
And may his prosperity be like a spring;
And stream from him to the City!
May James and George, those Dukes of renown,
Be the two supporters of Englands Crown!
And may all honest men enjoy what's their own!
And so I conclude my ditty.

Alexander Brome's other poems:
  1. The Cavalier
  2. The Hard Heart
  3. The Reformation
  4. The Libertine
  5. The Prodigal

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