A Collection of Loyal Songs Written Against the Rump Parliament/Volume 1/Song 83
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For other versions of this work, see Law lies a Bleeding.
LXXXIII.
The Power of the Sword.
Lay by your Pleading, Law lies a Bleeding,
Burn all your Studies down, and throw away your Reading;
Small Power the Word has, and can afford us
Not half so many Privileges as the Sword has:
It fosters your Masters, it plasters Disasters,
And makes your Servants, quickly greater than their Masters;
It venters, it enters, it circles, it centers,
And makes a Prentice free in spight of his Indentures.
Burn all your Studies down, and throw away your Reading;
Small Power the Word has, and can afford us
Not half so many Privileges as the Sword has:
It fosters your Masters, it plasters Disasters,
And makes your Servants, quickly greater than their Masters;
It venters, it enters, it circles, it centers,
And makes a Prentice free in spight of his Indentures.
This takes off tall Things, and sets up small Things,
This masters Money, though Money Masters all Things;
’Tis not in Season, to talk of Reason,
Or call it Legal, when the Sword will have it Treason;
It conquers the Crown too, the Furs and the Gown too,
This set up a Presbyter, and this pull’d him down too;
This subtil Deceiver, turn’d Bonnet to Beaver,
Down drops a Bishop, and up starts a Weaver.
This masters Money, though Money Masters all Things;
’Tis not in Season, to talk of Reason,
Or call it Legal, when the Sword will have it Treason;
It conquers the Crown too, the Furs and the Gown too,
This set up a Presbyter, and this pull’d him down too;
This subtil Deceiver, turn’d Bonnet to Beaver,
Down drops a Bishop, and up starts a Weaver.
This fits a Lay-man to Preach and to pray Man,
’Tis this can make a Lord of him that was a Dray-man;
Forth from the dull Pit, of Follies full pit;
This brought an Hebrew Iron-monger to the Pulpit:
Such pittiful Things be, more happier then Kings be;
This got the Heraldry of Thimblebee and Slingsbee;
No Gospel can guide it, no Law can decide it,
In Church or State, until the Sword hath sanctify’d it.
’Tis this can make a Lord of him that was a Dray-man;
Forth from the dull Pit, of Follies full pit;
This brought an Hebrew Iron-monger to the Pulpit:
Such pittiful Things be, more happier then Kings be;
This got the Heraldry of Thimblebee and Slingsbee;
No Gospel can guide it, no Law can decide it,
In Church or State, until the Sword hath sanctify’d it.
Down goes the Law-tricks, for from that Matrix
Sprung holy Hewson’s Power, and tumbled down St. Patrick’s.
The Sword prevails so highly in Wales too,
Shinkin ap Powel cries, and swears Cuts-plutter a-nails, too;
In Scotland this Waster, did make such Disaster,
They sent their Money back for which they sold their Master;
It batter’d so their Dunkirk, and did so the Don firk,
That he is fled, and swears the Devil is in Dunkirk.
Sprung holy Hewson’s Power, and tumbled down St. Patrick’s.
The Sword prevails so highly in Wales too,
Shinkin ap Powel cries, and swears Cuts-plutter a-nails, too;
In Scotland this Waster, did make such Disaster,
They sent their Money back for which they sold their Master;
It batter’d so their Dunkirk, and did so the Don firk,
That he is fled, and swears the Devil is in Dunkirk.
He that can tower o’er him that is lower,
would be but thought a Fool to put away his Power;
Take Books and rent ’um, who would invent ’um,
When as the Sword replies, Negatur argumentum:
Your grand College Butlers, must stoop to your Sutlers,
There’s not a Library living like the Cutlers;
The Blood that is spilt, Sir, hath gain’d all the gilt, Sir,
Thus have you seen me run the Sword up to the hilt, Sir.
would be but thought a Fool to put away his Power;
Take Books and rent ’um, who would invent ’um,
When as the Sword replies, Negatur argumentum:
Your grand College Butlers, must stoop to your Sutlers,
There’s not a Library living like the Cutlers;
The Blood that is spilt, Sir, hath gain’d all the gilt, Sir,
Thus have you seen me run the Sword up to the hilt, Sir.