The Cavaliers’ March to London.

To horse, to horse, brave cavaliers,1
To horse for church and crown ;2
Strike, strike your tents, snatch up your spears,3
And ho for London town !4
The imperial Harlot, doomed a prey5
To our avenging fires,6
Sends up the voice of her dismay7
From all her hundred spires.8
The Strand resounds with maidens’ shrieks,9
The ’C hange with merchants’ sighs,10
And blushes stand on brazen cheeks,11
And tears in iron eyes ;12
And, pale with fasting and with fright,13
Each Puritan committee14
Hath summoned forth to prayer and fight15
The Roundheads of the city ;16
And soon shall London’s sentries hear17
The thunder of our drum,18
And London’s dames, in wilder fear,19
Shall cry: ‘ Alack ! they come !’20
Fling the fascines—tear up the spikes ;21
And forward one and all.22
Down, down with all their train-band pikes !23
Down with their mud-built wall !24
Quarter ?— Foul fall your whining noise,25
Ye recreant spawn of Fraud !26
No quarter—think on Stafford, boys ;27
No quarter—think on Laud !28
What, ho, the craven slaves retire !29
On—trample them to mud !30
No quarter—charge ! no quarter—fire !31
No quarter—blood, blood, blood !32
What next ?  In sooth, there lacks no witch,33
Brave lads, to tell us where ;34
Sure London’s sons be passing rich,35
Her daughters wondrous fair ;36
And let that dastard be the theme37
Of many a board’s derision,38
Who quails for sermon, cuff, or scream39
Of any sweet Precisian.40
Their lean divines of solemn brow,41
Sworn foes to throne and steeple,42
From an unwonted pulpit now43
Shall edify the people ;44
Till the tired hangman, in despair,45
Shall curse his blunted shears,46
And vainly pinch, and scrape, and tear47
Around their leathern ears.48
We’ll hang above his own Guildhall49
The city’s grave recorder,50
And on the den of thieves we’ll fall,51
Though Pym should speak to order.52
In vain the lank-haired gang shall try53
To cheat our martial law ;54
In vain shall Lenthall trembling cry55
That ‘ Strangers must withdraw.’56
Of bench and woolsack, tub and chair,57
We’ll build a glorious pyre,58
And tons of rebel parchment there59
Shall crackle in the fire.60
With them shall perish, cheek by jowl,61
Petition, psalm, and libel,62
The colonel’s canting muster-roll,63
The chaplain’s dog-eared Bible.64
We’ll tread a measure round the blaze65
Where England’s pest expires,66
And lead along the dance’s maze67
The beauties of the Friars.68
Then smiles in every face shall shine,69
And joy in every soul ;70
Bring forth, bring forth the oldest wine,71
And crown the largest bowl.72
And as with nod and laugh you sip73
The goblet’s rich carnation,74
Whose bursting bubbles seem to tip75
The wink of irritation ;76
Drink to those names, those glorious names77
Those names no time shall sever78
Drink in a draught as deep as Thames,79
Our Church and King for ever !80