THE CITIES FEAST TO THE LORD PROTECTOR.
To the Tune of
Cooke Lorrell.
SIR Mayor invites his Highnesse his guest
And bids him to Grocers-Hall to dinner,
There never was Saint at so great a Feast
Provided him at the Charge of a Sinner.
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
And what was the day do you think, without jesting,
Of all the year it was
Ashwednesday
This pious Reformer set apart for his Feasting,
When all good Christians should fast and pray.
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
The Souldiers in clusters throng'd for place,
To see this Monster of their own making,
And said it was a Protectors grace,
But that it wanted not much of A King.
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
The
Bucks of the City in herds were met,
And were paled in with a very good fence,
But what their
Doe's did, I cannot tell yet,
Of that ye may here three quarters hence.
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
With that the Recorder marcht up to the Hall
With a dish of divinity drest for his pallate,
And laid before him a shoulder of
Saul,
With a savory
simily by for a salate
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
His Highness commanded to lay it by,
Twas fit for his people hee'd make it known,
And they should have it, good reason why,
For they wanted more shoulders than their own.
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
A dish of Delinquents heads in a Charger
Was sent as a present from
Goldsmiths-Hall,
He wisht his stomak ten times larger,
Yet made a long neck and poach'd them all.
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
A Prelate was next, and to him he buckles,
With a Bishoprick truss'd before and behinde,
His Highness was in with him up to the knuckles,
And to his own kitchin the skuers assign'd.
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
His Highness then call'd for a boule of Canary,
And drank so deep that it made him reel,
He toss'd it to
Lambert, and
Lambert to
Harry,
And
Harry to the
Mayor, and the
Mayor to
Steel.
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
When dinner was ended, away to the banquet,
Where snatching of Sugar-plums one from another,
Hal fill'd up his pockets, and said God be thanked,
And carried them home to his Lady-mother.
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
Then His
Highness commanded the
Mayor to kneel,
The
Beast of the
City was soon on his knees,
He made him a Knight with Iron and steel,
And bid him rise up, and pay him his fees.
With a ran tan the Devil is dead.
Up rose my
Lords worship and made him a leg,
With that the
Knight-maker did give him the Sword,
His Highness did spice him without a nutmeg,
When he made a bad Knight of a pitifull Lord.
VVith a ran tan the Devil is dead.
When he left the City he broke a jest.
His words were pithy, and Ile repeat them,
Farewell (quoth his Highness)
thou spurgall'd beast,
Fools make the feasts, and wise men eat them.
FINIS.
MARCHEMOUNT NEEDHAM.
LONDON, Printed for Henry Marsh at the Princes Armes in Chancery-lane. 1661.