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Xv.

THE DOWNFALL OF CHARING-CROSS,

Charing-cross, as it food before the civil wars, was ont of those beautiful Gothic obelisks erected to conjugal affection by Edward I, who built such a , one wherever the herse of his beloved Eleanor refied in its way from Lincolnshire to Wij minster. But neither its ornamental

situation, the beauty of its fructure, nor the noble defign of its erection (which did honour to humanity) could preserve it from the merciless zeal of the times : For in 164.. it was demolished by order: of the House of Commons, as popish and superstitious. This occasioned the following not-unhumorous sarcasm, which has been often printed among the popular fonnets of these times.

The plot referred to in ver. 179. was that entered into by Mr. Waller the poet, and others, with a view to reduce the sity and tower to the service of the king; for which two of them, Nath. Tomkins, and Rich. Chaloner, suffered death July 5. 1643. Vid. Ath. Ox. II. 24.

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Ndone, undone the lawyers are,

They wander about the towne,
Nor can find the way to Westminster,

Now Charing-cross is downe :
At the end of the Strand, they make a stand,

Swearing they are at a loss,
And chaffing say, that's not the way,

'They must go by Charing-cross,
VOL. II.

X 4

S

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The parliament to vote it down

Conceived it very fitting,
For fear it should fall, and kill them all,

In the house, as they were fitting.
They were told god-wot, it had a plot,

Which made them so hard-hearted, To give command, it should not stand,

But be taken down aud carted.

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Men talk of plots, this might have been worse

For any thing I know,
Than that Tomkins, and Chaloner

Were hang'd for long agoe.
Our parliament did that prevent,

And wisely them defended, For plots they will discover still,

Before they were intended.

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But neither man, woman, nor child,

Will say, I'm confident,
They ever heard it speak one word,

Against the parliament.
An informer swore, it letters bore,

Or else it had been freed,
In troth I'll take my bible oath,

It could neither write, nor read,

The

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The committee faid, that verily

Το popery it was bent;
For ought I know, it might be so,

For to church it never went.
What with excise, and such device,

The kingdom doth begin
To think you'll leave them ne'er a cross,

Without doors nor within.

Methinks the common-council shou'd

Of it have taken pity,
'Cause, good old cross, it always stood,

So firmly to the city.
Since crosses

you

so much disdain,
Faith, if I were as you,
For fear the king should rule again,

I'd pull down Tiburn too.

45

XVI. LOYALTY

XVI.

LOYALTY CONFINED.

This excellent old song is preserved in David Lloyd's Memoires of those that suffered in the cause of Charles I. Lond. 1668. fol

. p. 96. He speaks of it as the composition of, a worthy personage, who suffered deeply in those times, and was Aill living with no other reward than the conscience of having suffered. The author's name be bas not mentioned. Some mistakes in Lloyd's copy are corrected by two others, ore in MS. the other in Westminster Drollery, or a choice collection of ... Songs and poems, 1651. 12mo. +

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BE
EAT on, proud billows ; Boreas blow;

Swell, curled waves, high as Jove's roof;
Your incivility doth show,

That innocence is tempest proof;
Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm ; S
Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds are balm.

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That which the world miscalls a jail,

A private closet is to me :
Whilft a good conscience is my bail,

And innocence my liberty :
Locks, bars, and solitude together met,
Make me no prisoner, but an anchoreta

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I, while

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1, whilft I wifht to be retir'd,

Into this private room was turn'd
As if their wisdoms had conspir'd

The salamander should be burn'd ;
Or like those fophifts, that would drown a fish,
I am constrain’d to suffer what I wilh.

The cynick loves his poverty ;

The pelican her wilderness ; And 'tis the Indian's pride to be

Naked on frozen Caucasus : Contentment cannot smart, stoicks we see Make torments eafie to their apathy,

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These manacles upon my arm

I, as my mistress' favours, wear ;
And for to keep.my ancles warm,

I have some iron shackles there :
These walls are but my garrison ; this cell,
Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel.

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I'm in the cabinet lockt up,

Like fome high-prized margarite,
Or, like the great mogul or pope,

Am cloyster'd up from publick fight :
Retirement is a piece of majesty,
And thus, proud sultan, I'm as great as thee.

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Here

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