%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> The Kings Majesties Love / TO / LONDON. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer ?-? Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 07/14/2014 34146

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

R226731 MY dearest City, and my native place, / To see sad tears run down thy beauteous face, MOST Soveraign Lord, my good and gracious King, / What Joy, what Comfort, doth your sweet words bring? Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 8 The Kings Majesties Love / TO / LONDON. The King's Majesty's Love TO LONDON. Printer John Best ?-?

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family Featured folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 7/14/2014 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America country/ nation London royalty Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 7/14/2014 1:28:53 PM XBallad Chow, Jeremy Created XML Version of Ballad 7/14/2014 1:28:53 PM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/14/2014 1:28:53 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Doran, Thomas Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/14/2014 1:28:53 PM Transcriptionist Two Gieringer, Darby Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/14/2014 1:28:53 PM Transcriptionist One Collins, Courtney Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/14/2014 Checker Megan Palmer Browne Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 12/3/2012 Bibliographer Olivia Miller Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 12/3/2012 Checker Olivia Miller Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 12/3/2012 Checker Olivia Miller Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 12/3/2012 Checker Olivia Miller Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 1/17/2014 Checker Jeremy Chow Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 1/17/2013 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">THE</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Kings Majesties Love</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">TO</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">LONDON.</hi></seg>
MY dearest City, and my native place, To see sad tears run down thy beauteous face, Makes Me and mine, to mourn, lament, and weep, Doth cause me wake, when I should fall asleep; As I am King, my Love to thee is more Then Seas have Water, and the Earth hath Shore: My love shall never fail to thee or thine, But for thy sake, as far as Sun doth shine My Navy and my Forces shall seek out Thy forreign Foes, and seek the World about; I'le scowre the Main, I'le make the Ocean dry, And thy proud foes shall at thy Foot-stool ly: In this distress, O London! thou shalt see, Great Britains King thy onely Friend to be; Trust to it London, for as I am King, I will thy Foes unto subjection bring; And cause them at thy Foot-stool for to ly, Because they wrong thee in thy misery: O London, London, if thou wilt obey My just command, I never shall say nay To anything that's right, or thou'lt require, Thou'st have thy will, thy grant, or thy desire; My Cordial love is more then thou dost know, If thou'lt obey, if thou'lt subjection owe To me thy King, I'le make the World to see, Thou shalt lose nothing by obeying me; Though on my Foes I usually do frown, And with my might I tumble them all down; And will all those who commonly arise In open Armes; and those who do despise My Government: will not subjection yeild, But seeks to fight me in the open Field; Or by false treachery do me annoy, If they seek my life, I shall those destroy: My chiefest City, I do much lament, Thy grief, thy sorrow, and thy discontent, Thy tears, thy mournings, and thy sad condition, And for thy cause I daily do Petition My Gracious God, to take his hand away, And suffer not his Angel for to slay, Or thee or thine, or suffer thee to stand, Within the reach of his destroying hand; But to remove his judgements, and to spare My only City, for which I so care: My Royal City, and my Native place, My Metropolitan hath spoil'd her face; Her eyes with weeping are sunk in her head, And she lies now, much like to one that's dead: What good thy King, O London! can thee do, He will doo't for thee, yea, and that soon too; The daily prayers of great Britains King, Will cause a Heavenly Dove, to London bring An Olive leaf; whereby to signifie That thou and thine shall live, ye shall not die:
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">LONDONS</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">MODEST</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">ANSWER.</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">Rejoyce O</hi> London! <hi rend="bold">in thy King,</hi></hi></seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="bold"><hi rend="italic">Who to thy City doth such comfort bring:</hi></hi></seg> <seg n="6" rend="left"><hi rend="bold"><hi rend="italic">His Purse, his Prayers, and his Princely Deeds,</hi></hi></seg> <seg n="7" rend="left"><hi rend="bold"><hi rend="italic">He doth thee send, to stanch thy Wound that bleeds.</hi></hi></seg>
MOST Soveraign Lord, my good and gracious King, What Joy, what Comfort, doth your sweet words bring? How they revive my soul, and do me chear, Expells my sorrows and drive back my fear; But what am I, poor London, what am I? That Britains King, the flour of Majesty, Should look upon me with such care and pity, A poor distressed and unworthy City? 'Tis his free grace, and heavenly disposition, That at Gods Throne he daily doth Petition For me and mine, that God would us restore, To perfect health, and drive death from my door; O gracious Prince, how am I bound to pray, For your good Grace, and how bound to obey Your sacred Person, and your just command, Your Acts, your Statutes, and not to withstand Your Will and Pleasure; but whilst I do live, I will subjection to your Highness give? If God be pleas'd to lengthen out my days, I will not onely Speak, but Write your praise; And all the Nations this day under Sun, Shall fully know what Englands King hath done To Londons City; when Gods hand did lye Most heavy on her in her misery: How Wine and Oyl he poures in her wound, How with his prayers he seeks to set her sound; How he doth comfort her amidst her grief, How to the poor he sendeth great releif; What comfortable words from him proceeds, What Royal vertue, grace, and goodly deeds. O happy London, in so good a King, That in thy miseries such comfort bring, In thy afflictions he should look upon Thy wants, and woes when all thy friends are gone: Whilst London stands, her King she will obey, And for his Majesty will daily pray; She never more will heave a single hand, His sacred pleasure she will not withstand; But will obedience and subjection give, Unto Authority while she doth live; Live, live, O London, live, and do not dye, Thy King's thy friend now in thy misery: The King, the King, of Kings doth daily pray, That God would turn his heavy hand away From me and mine, and in my great distress Would comfort send, and with his graces bless: What City in the World hath such a Prince? Not one example can be shown e're since The Worlds creation; who did so provide For his poor Subjects, who must needs have di'd: Yea, thousands at this day had been in grave, Who are alive in health whom he did save: And under God by his rich means did cure, In health amongst us Lord let him endure.
London, Printed by John Best,at the sign of the Three Crowns in Giltspur-Street. 1665.