Come, Jack, let's drink a pot of ale,
And I shall tell thee such a tale
Will make thine ears to ring;
My coyne is spent, my time is lost,
And I this only fruit can boast,
That once I saw my King.
But this doth most afflict my mind:
I went to Court in hope to find
Some of my friends in place;
And walking there, I had a sight
Of all the crew, but, by this light!
I hardly knew one face.
'S'life! of so many noble sparkes,
Who on their bodies bear the markes
Of their integritie;
And suffer'd ruine of estate,
It was my damn'd unhappy fate
That I not one could see.
Not one, upon my life, among
My old acquaintance all along
At Truro and before;
And I suppose the place can show
As few of those whom thou didst know
At Yorke or Marston-moore.
But truly there are swarmes of those
Who lately were our chiefest foes,
Of pantaloons and muffes;
Whilst the old rusty Cavaleer
Retires, or dares not once appear,
For want of coyne and cuffes.
When none of these I could descry,
Who better far deserv'd then I,
Calmely I did reflect;
“Old services (by rule of State)
Like almanacks grow out of date,—
What then can I expect?”
Troth! in contempt of Fortune's frown,
I'll get me fairly out of town,
And in a cloyster pray;
That since the starres are yet unkind
To Royalists, the King may find
More faithfull friends than they.