







 
   
     
       
         The cities feast to the Lord Protector. To the tune of Cooke Lorrell.
         Nedham, Marchamont, 1620-1678.
      
       
         
           1661
        
      
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         2008-09 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).
         A89877
         Wing N386
         Thomason 669.f.27[7]
         ESTC R210255
         99869070
         99869070
         170704
         
           
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         Early English books online.
      
       
         (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A89877)
         Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 170704)
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             The cities feast to the Lord Protector. To the tune of Cooke Lorrell.
             Nedham, Marchamont, 1620-1678.
          
           1 sheet ([1] p.)
           
             Printed for Henry Marsh at the Princes Armes in Chancery-lane,
             London :
             1661.
          
           
             Signed at end: Marchemount Needham.
             Verse - "Sir Mayor invites his Highnesse his guest".
             Annotation on Thomason copy: "Aprill 11".
             Reproduction of the original in the British Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Cromwell, Oliver, 1599-1658 -- Humor -- Early works to 1800.
           Political ballads and songs -- England -- 17th century.
        
      
    
     
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           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
             ,
          
           
             T
             was
             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
             I
             le
             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.
           
        
      
    
  

