88
Political Ballads.
1649.
No goſpel can guide it,
No law can decide it,
In the Church or State, till the ſword has sanctified it.
No law can decide it,
In the Church or State, till the ſword has sanctified it.
Down goes your law-tricks,
Far from the matricks,
Sprung up holy Hewſson’s power, and pull’d down Saint Patrick’s.
Far from the matricks,
Sprung up holy Hewſson’s power, and pull’d down Saint Patrick’s.
This ſword it prevails, too,
So highly in Wales, too,
Shenkin ap Powel ſwears “Cots-ſplutterer nails, too.”
So highly in Wales, too,
Shenkin ap Powel ſwears “Cots-ſplutterer nails, too.”
In Scotland this faſter
Did make ſuch diſaſter,
That they ſent their money back for which they ſold their maſter.
Did make ſuch diſaſter,
That they ſent their money back for which they ſold their maſter.
It batter’d their Gunkirk,
And ſo it did their Spain-kirk,
That he is fled, and ſwears the devil is in Dunkirk.
And ſo it did their Spain-kirk,
That he is fled, and ſwears the devil is in Dunkirk.
He that can tower,
Or he that is lower,
Would be judg’d a fool to put away his power.
Or he that is lower,
Would be judg’d a fool to put away his power.
Take books and rent ’um,
Who can invent ’um,
When that the ſword replies, “Negatur argumentum.’
Who can invent ’um,
When that the ſword replies, “Negatur argumentum.’
