Newes from New-castle with An Advertisement,
To all English men that (for the safety of themselves, their King and Country) they would abandon the fond opinion, (which too many doe conceave) of the Scots good meaning to England, which our fore-fathers have ever experienced to the contrary; they having bin oftentimes found to bee circumventing Machiavillians, and faythles truce breakers. This dity was written upon some occasion of newes from the North; containing the Scots surprizing of New-Castle, where they left three thousand men in Garison, with a briefe touch of some of our brave Cavaleirs who manfully fought in that conflict.
The tune is,
Lets to the Wars againe.
Newcasstle
Scots
English
[...] time,
[...]lime,
[...] your owne,)
[...] knowne,
[...] coaste
[...]lie.
[...] fooles faine,
[...]e
[...]
[...]n,
[...]iefe of men?
[...] know,
[...] so
[...]faine, &c.
[...]
How shall we dare to trust them now,
Vnlesse old time hath tane a course,
To make them better and us wors?
O let not faire words, &c.
How ever they for their owne ends,
Count some their foes, & some their friends,
If we into their hands should fall,
The sword no difference makes at all,
Deare Country men then credit not,
The promise of a flattering
Scot.
O let not not faire words, &c.
They are you see already come,
To séeke us at our native home,
But sure (unlesse my wishes fayles)
They'le ne'r returne to tell more tales,
If God knit English hearts in one,
Jocky will wish that he were gone.
Then let not faire words, &c.
New-Castle they surprised have,
Where certaine of our gallants brave,
Both horse and foote yielding their breath,
Have (with their dying) conquered death,
Others likewise they prisoners tooke,
For a reward they soone must looke.
Then let not faire words, &c.
The Second part,
To the same tune.
THe illustrious vizcount
Conway stout,
Did what man could to keepe them out,
His sword up to the hilts he ran,
In a
Scots heart (some noted man,)
Yet he came off with little harme,
Only a little hurt i'th Arme.
Then let not faire words, make fooles faine,
But let us beate the Scots againe.
That valorous and worthy Knight,
(Whose fame through Christendome shines bright,
Bold S.
John Digby's horse dead shot
Became a prisoner to the
Scot,
The noble Colonell
Willmot shard,
With brave sir
Iohn; both kept in ward.
Then let not faire words, &c.
That hopefull bud of chevalry,
Valiant
Charles Porter manfully,
Being Cornet of a warlike troupe,
Ne'r yielded till death made him stoope,
He seal'd his honor with his blood,
Dying for's King and countries good,
Then let not faire words, &c.
His broken sword in's hand was found,
(When he say grovelling on the ground)
His Cornet colors 'twixt his thighes,
Thus yielded he in sacrifice,
His life and blood in's Countries right,
Making his same in's death shine bright.
Then let not faire words,
Some other of our Cavaleirs,
Were slaine and hurt, as it appears,
About six hundred men outright,
(Of horse and soote) were kil'd i'th fight,
And of the
Scots 'tis iustify'd,
As many if not more then dy'd;
Then let not faire, &c.
When they surprised had the Towne,
(Wherein their minds to us is knowne,)
Three thousand men in Garison:
They left the Towne to luke upon,
They seas'd and seal'd th' warehouses all,
Is this the thing you friendship call?
Then let not faire, &c.
The Country must the Army finde,
Such charge the
Scots have left behind,)
With bread, cheese, butter, drink, and smoke,
All this to doe they did provoke;
At their returne they will pay all,
But that I trust they never shall.
Then let not faire, &c.
Our Lord protect King
Charles; and send.
This war may bring a peacefull end,
Let palms of victory deck his brow,
And having made his foes to how,
Bring him in safety home againe.
Alwayes in peace heere to remains,
Then let not faire words, &c.
M. P.
FINIS.
Printed at London, by E.G. and are to be sold at the Horse-shooe in Smith-field.