Poem by Alexander Brome

The New Courtier

          Written in 1648.

1.

SInce it must be so,
Then so let it go,
Let the Giddy-brain'd times turn round;
Since we have no King let the goblet be crown'd,
Our Monarchy thus we'l recover;
While the pottles are weeping, we'l drench our sad souls
In big-bellied bowles,
Our sorrows in Sack shall lye steeping,
And we'l drink till our eyes do run over;
And prove it by reason,
That it can be no Treason
To drink and to sing
A mournival of healths to our new-crown'd King.

2.

Let us all stand bare,
In the presence we are;
Let our noses like bonfires shine,
In stead of the Conduits, let the pottles run wine,
To perfect this new Coronation;
And we that are loyal,
In drink, shall be Peers,
While that face, that wears
Pure Claret, looks like the bloud-royal,
And out-stares the Bores of the Nation:
In sign of obedience,
Our oaths of Allegiance
Beer-glasses shall be,
And he that tipples ten, ▪s of the Nobility.

3.

But if in this Raign,
The Halberted train
Or the Constable should rebel,
And should make their twy-bill'd militia to swell,
And against the Kings party raise arms,
Then the Drawers like Yeomen
Of the Guard, with quart-pots,
Shall fuddle the sots,
While we make 'um both cuckolds and freemen,
And on their wives be up alarums.
Thus as each health passes,
We'l tripple the glasses,
And hold it no sin,
To be loyal and drink in defence of our King.

1. To his Mistress (LAdy you'l wonder when you see)
2. On the Kings Return
3. Plain Dealing
4. The Wary Woer
5. The Damosel

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