THE GREAT FEAST At the Sheep-shearing of the City and Citizens, on the 7 th. of Iune last: Consecrated for an Holy Thursday in Memorandum of St. Thomas, and St. Oliver; Solemnly holden at the Grocers Hall, London, 1649.
To the Tone or Garb of the Counter Scuffle.
Printed in the Yeare, 1649.
The great Feast, at the Sheep-shearing of the City and Citizens, on Thursday the 7. of Iune last.
MY Reader must not here suppose
That I will waste good Verse or Prose
On
Fairsax face, or
Cromwels nose,
Or
Atkins savoury breech;
Nor
Skippon (that almighty Major)
Or
Ireton (commissary Rager)
Nor will I write (I'le lay a wager)
Like
Pembroks Learned speech.
The famous Acts of Noble
Hero's,
Great
Englands brave Renowned
Nero's,
And all their Stout
Biberius Mero's
Behold their entertainment;
And if with patience you will read,
(If God be pleas'd to send good speed)
'Tis thought the fates are all agreed
To further their araignment.
Now for the Feast, I hold it fit,
(Although my selfe had not a bit)
That something of it should be writ
For after imitation;
Therefore I'le shew the cause wherefore
This Feast was eate, payd for, and more,
And not one penny set oth' score,
(A worthy commendation.)
These costs were spent to cannonize
Those mighty mortall Dieties,
Then stroak your beards, and wipe your eyes
If you'l behold their splendor;
Then
(Ecce signum) these are they
Who layd King
Charles as cold as clay,
And by that Act most fit they may
Be call'd no Faiths Defendor.
These Worthies have fought for the Cause,
For our Religion, Lives, and Laws,
And set us free from Tyrants claws,
Now truth and right beares sway:
All Taxes now are layd aside,
Plenty of all things, far and wide
Folkes may in peace, both go or ride,
The cleane contrary way.
These, these are they, whose Noble Actions
Purg'd Church and State from putrifactions,
Cur'd our distempers and distractions,
And set us all in quiet:
And have they done for us all this,
As th' only Authors of our blisse,
We held it therefore not amisse
To give them some good diets
True Citizens, are Cities sons,
Whose wit and coine, in plenty runs,
Their hogsheads empty many tuns,
They are such kinde of folks;
For all our troubles they are grac'd,
And in the formost rancks are plac'd,
And all true Pallats them do taste,
Like Eggs that have no yolks.
This Army, and this Parliament,
Hath been th' Appointed instrument
To save them all from detriment
By cowing of their courage.
They kisse the rod, and love the threaters,
They are enamourd of their cheaters,
And humbly beg them to be eaters
Of Venison, Wine, and Burrage.
But for this feasts great preparation,
And how 'twas kept with Acclamation,
I will not wrong your expectation
With more delayes or fables.
They all prepar'd to cleanse their sinne
By
Owens Preach, and
Tom Goodwin,
In Christ Church which hath never been
Like other Churches stables.
But Christ Church was for other beasts
Then Horses, or horn wanting creasts,
Though Bucks or Stagges be at the feasts,
Yet sure there were not any.
There might be Athiests there perhaps
(Who fear not Heavens great thunder claps)
Nor think hells all devouring chaps
Will swallow half so many.
Yet at these Preachments and sweet prayers
There were Beasts, Tygers, Wolves and Beares,
And greedy dogs with prick'd up eares,
But not one Royall Lion:
Some asles and some crafty Foxes,
Who hide stolne treasure in their boxes,
And some that pleasd their dells and Doxeys
With musick like
Arion.
The Preachers very zealously
Mock'd God (with thanks for victory,
And
Popham came triumphantly
Well beaten from
Kinsale.
But after three houres long digressings,
The Levites salved all Trangressings,
And gave them Independent blessings
By whole sale and Retale.
The Pomp of these most Pompous sinners
From Heavenly food to Earthly dinners,
Gaz'd on by Oyster wives and Spinners,
And Porters in abowndance.
Fine silken fools, brave golden gulls,
Some modest maids, some shamelesse Trulls,
And Trumpeters neere split their sculls
With noise would make a Hownd dance.
The Marshall mounted on his Steed
(With care Prudentiall, and good heed)
Usher'd the Heard where they might feed,
Of people made two hedges:
Next whom the Grocers Livery men,
The Common Councell followed then,
Which all appeared (to myken)
Like Beetles, Blocks, and Wedges.
The Officers and Squires before,
(With needlesse creatures many more)
And one a Cap of Maintenance wore,
And in his hand a sword,
Which never man in anger drew:
For had they drawn it just and true,
Then never had the damned crue
Destroy'd our Soveraigne Lord.
Next that the Mayor of
London rode,
His Horse and He had each their Load
Whose Lordships both, gave many a nod
To people as he passes.
His Scarlet gown his beck did beare,
And 'bout his neck he then did weare,
A bunch of Jewells rich and deare,
Hang'd in a collar of Asses.
The City musick sweetly fidled,
And Bells (in Changes) rung and ridled,
Whilst on their Palfries they down didled
Through Cheapsides famous street.
I tell you that the like wasn'er
Since
Williams raigne (the Conquerere)
And ne'r will be the like I feare,
'Tis better fortune greet.
Then follow'd
Englands Pompey
(Tom)
And his Commander (
Well com
Crom)
Whose sights the people (thither com)
With foure houres stay expected,
But they with th' Speaker and the Mace,
Disdain'd the multitude to grace
With one good glance of one good face,
Which made them disaffected.
For some said
Toms was black and blue,
And
Nols was of a crimson hue,
And each of them lookt like a Jew
That murdered had their Christ.
For sure they can have no excuse
For their inhumane base abuse,
Their Kings and good mens blood to since,
The Dee'l them all entis'd.
Thus they in triumph past along
Through deere Cheapeside, and all the throng,
Whilst thousand curses was the song
Which blest them as they went;
At Grocers Hall, they grocely fed,
With which their paunches out were spread,
Whilst thousands starve for want of bread,
Let's thanke the Parliament.
Neere forty Bucks, these Holy Ones
Devour'd, and left the dogs the bones,
And Musick grac'd with Tunes and Tones,
This
Bacchanalian Feast:
And after that, a Banquet came
Of sweet meates of rare forme and frame,
Of Castles, Towres, and Forts of Fame,
More then can be exprest.
But one thing now to minde I call,
They lackt a Marchpane like White-Hall,
[...]e which a Scaffold square and tall,
And on it a good King;
And there his head to be off chop'd,
And all his Branches bravely lop'd,
How three great Kingdomes blisse was crop'd;
This had been a fine thing.
Thus with the Ordnance thundring rore,
My muse is mute, I must give ore,
Whilst
Englands woes good men deplore,
Whilst Tyrants feast with joy;
But I desire, that every one
Would humbly pray to God alone
To set the second
Charles on's Throne,
And all our Griefes destroy.
FINIS.