Political Ballads of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries/Volume 1/The Dominion of the Sword
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For other versions of this work, see Law lies a Bleeding.
The Dominion of the Sword.
A song made in the Rebellion.
[This admirable song was written probably in the interval between the murder of King Charles I. and the final triumph of the Independents over the Presbyterians and Royalists, 1649–50.]
Lay by your pleading,
Law lies a-bleeding;
Burn all your studies down, and throw away your reading.
Law lies a-bleeding;
Burn all your studies down, and throw away your reading.
Small pow’r the word has,
And can afford us
Not half so much privilege as the sword does.
And can afford us
Not half so much privilege as the sword does.
It fosters your masters,
It plaisters disasters,
It makes the servants quickly greater then their masters.
It plaisters disasters,
It makes the servants quickly greater then their masters.
It venters, it enters,
It seeks and it centers,
It makes a ’prentice free in spite of his indentures.
It seeks and it centers,
It makes a ’prentice free in spite of his indentures.
It talks of small things,
But it sets up all things;
This masters money, though money masters all things.
But it sets up all things;
This masters money, though money masters all things.
It is not season
To talk of reason,
Nor call it loyalty, when the s}word will have it treason.
To talk of reason,
Nor call it loyalty, when the s}word will have it treason.
It conquers the crown, too,
The grave and the gown, too;
First it sets up a Presbyter, and then it pulls him down too.
The grave and the gown, too;
First it sets up a Presbyter, and then it pulls him down too.
The subtlie disaster
Turns bonnet to beaver;
Down goes a bishop, sirs, and up starts a weaver.
Turns bonnet to beaver;
Down goes a bishop, sirs, and up starts a weaver.
This makes a layman
To preach and to pray, man;
And makes a lord of him that was but a drayman.
To preach and to pray, man;
And makes a lord of him that was but a drayman.
Far from the Gulpit
Of Saxby’s pulpit,
This brought an Hebrew ironmonger to the pulpit.
Of Saxby’s pulpit,
This brought an Hebrew ironmonger to the pulpit.
Such pitiful things be
More happy than kings be;
They get the upper hand of Thimblebee and Slingsbee.
More happy than kings be;
They get the upper hand of Thimblebee and Slingsbee.
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.’
Your brave college-butlers
Must stoop to the sutlers;
There’s ne’er a library like to the cutler’s.
Must stoop to the sutlers;
There’s ne’er a library like to the cutler’s.
The blood that was spilt, sir,
Hath gain’d all the gilt, sir,
Thus have you seen me run my sword up to the hilt, sir.
Hath gain’d all the gilt, sir,
Thus have you seen me run my sword up to the hilt, sir.