Poem by Alexander Brome

The Cavalier

WE have ventur'd our estates,
And our liberties and lives,
For our Master and his mates,
And been toss'd by cruel fates,
Where the rebellious Devil drives,
So that not one of ten survives.
We have laid all at stake
For his Majesty's sake,
We have fought, we have paid,
We've been sold and betray'd.
And tumbled from nation to nation,
But now those are thrown down
That usurped the Crown,
Our hopes were that we
All rewarded should be,
But we're paid with a Proclamation.

Now the times are turn'd about,
And the Rebels race is run:
That many headed beast, the Rout,
Who did turn the Father out
When they saw they were undon,
Were for bringing in the Son.
That phanatical crue
Which made us all rue,
Have got so much wealth,
By their plunder and stealth,
That they creep into profit and power:
And so come what will,
They'll be uppermost still;
And we that are low,
Shall still be kept so
While those domineer and devour.

Yet we will be loyal still,
And serve without reward or hire,
To be redeem'd from so much ill,
May stay our stomacks, though not fill;
And if our patience do not tire,
We may in time have our desire.

1. To his Mistress (LAdy you'l wonder when you see)
2. The Leveller
3. Copernicus
4. To a Widow
5. The Hard Heart

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