%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> The Wiltshire BALLAD: / OR, / A New Song Compos'd by an Old Cavalier, / Of Wonders at Sarum, by which doth appear, / That th' old Devil came again lately there, / To Raise a Rebellion, / By way of Petition; / But by Musicks Divine and powerful Charms, / Which Satan and's Saints abhor; such Alarms / Were made, that he fled, and they all kept from harms. 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 07/12/2021 37595

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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

R39767 FRom Salisbury, that low-Hous'd Town, / Where Steeple is of high Renown, British Library - Bagford Editor none none none none Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 3: 63 The Wiltshire BALLAD: / OR, / A New Song Compos'd by an Old Cavalier, / Of Wonders at Sarum, by which doth appear, / That th' old Devil came again lately there, / To Raise a Rebellion, / By way of Petition; / But by Musicks Divine and powerful Charms, / Which Satan and's Saints abhor; such Alarms / Were made, that he fled, and they all kept from harms. The Wiltshire BALLAD: OR, A New Song Composed by an Old Cavalier, Of Wonders at Sarum, by which doth appear, That the old Devil came again lately there, To Raise a Rebellion, By way of Petition; But by Music's Divine and powerful Charms, Which Satan and his Saints abhor; such Alarms Were made, that he fled, and they all kept from harms. ?-?

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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 7/12/2021 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 7/12/2021 10:15:38 AM XBallad Henderson, Olivia Created XML Version of Ballad 7/12/2021 10:15:38 AM Transcription Supervisor McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/12/2021 10:15:38 AM Double-Key Comparison and Merging McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/12/2021 10:15:38 AM Transcriptionist Two Abrams, Annie Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/12/2021 10:15:38 AM Transcriptionist One Abrams, Annie Transcription of ballad manuscript 8/27/2019 Bibliographer Kristen McCants Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
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FRom Salisbury, that low-Hous'd Town, Where Steeple is of high Renown, Of late was brought unto the Crown A Lesson: 'Twas drawn up by three worthy Wights, Members they were, and two were Knights, Great Trencher Men, but no one Fights Monpes------ Through discontent his Hand did set, First to this Scrole without Regret; Then Pilgrim-like travel'd to get Some others. From House to House, in Town and Close, Our zealous Preservator goes, Tells them of Dangers and of Foes; But smothers The true intent of what they bring; Who beg'd the House may sit; a thing Which only can preserve the King, When Nothing Destroys him more; for should he give Consent, he'd never that Retrieve, But part with his Prerogative; A low thing Make himself by't, the Rabble get Into his High Imperial Seat, They'd make him Gloriously Great, We know it: They serv'd his Father so before, These Saints would still increase the store Of Royal Martyrs, Hum! no more, We know it. The Herd of Zealots long to see A Monarch in Effigie, A Project which appears to be Most Witty; And they at Helm aspire to Sit, There Govern without Fear or Wit, King and un-King, when they think fit; That's pretty. To see ('twould make a Stoick smile) Geneva-Jack thus Moyl and Toyl To Lord it in our Brittish Isle Again Sir; And Pulpit-Cuff us, till we Fight, Lose our Estates and Lives outright; And when all's done, he gets all by't, That's plain Sir. The Col'nel, who came from place, where A Quaker bugger'd four leg'd Mare, Who o'th' old Leaven had his share, Petition'd: For which, both he, and Knight Sir Gil------ I'll boldly say't, (blame not my Quill) To say no more, were very ill Condition'd. But this, I hope, nor makes, nor marrs, Charles knows what's meant by all these Jars, And these Domestick, Paper-Wars, Conceive it: Tom of Ten Thousand is come in, Sure such a Hero much will win, On Sculs as thick, as his is Thin, Believe it. The People would have power to call Parliaments, and Dissolve them; all Regalia's posses; what shall The Saint Sir,
Not have the power of Peace and War? Religion steer? Holy we are, And Rich, the King shall we (be't far) Acquaint Sir? This was the Humble Holy Guise Of the Religiously Precise, Which made them Gallop to Mic. Wise, To Sign it. Thisselth------ and Sir How, said he, And you Sir Knight, nam'd first should be, The dregs of Treason, Juice of Bee, Nor Wine yet, This Morning have refresh'd my Pate Or Heart, I'm so unfortunate, My Head akes early, though when'ts late, I take it, With Cheerful and a thoughtless Soul Of poyson'd Zeal or Treason foul, And drink the King's Health in a Bowl, And make it With Jovial, Loyal Heart go round, In Mirth and Musick then abound; In Scholarship I'm not profound. My Name Sirs I cannot write; yet set I shall A Tune to your new Madrigal, And fetch't from Forty One withal. No blame Sirs. Was in that Holy, like this Time, For from poor Tom flows honest Rhime, And in the Tune there was no Crime; take 'em Derrick, the Tune that they did sing, Derrick, who in June with a swing Cur'd strange Distempers, and a String; Forsake 'em. Thus the sage Council of Mic. Wise, Turn'd up the whites of Zeal-burn'd Eyes, But did not Honest Men surprise, They Laughing, Said, Time's the Life of Musick, Mic. And thou hast hit it in the Nick, By touching on this Crop-Ear'd Trick. Our Quaffing Shall at the Angel be this Night, Davids Harp did Sauls Devil 'fright, And thine and Wine shall cure our Sprite Phanatick. We'll leave the Rule unto the King, Pray for his Health, a Loyal thing; Let great Charles Rule: who this won't sing, Lunatick. Which does me to the Doctor bring, Whose Name made 'mongst the rest nothing, To him I give now in the Spring Good Advice. When Worm Cephalick Restless grows, Let him lose Blood in Tongue or Toes, Or take our Dr. Derricks Dose, Once, not Twice. For once as certainly doth Kill, As Potion made by him, or Pill: And thus my Muse doth make her Will. O may this City! 'Cause She refus'd that Toy to Sign, Never want Health, Wealth, or Good Wine, Nor our King's Smiles, nor the Divine; Thus ends my Ditty.
LONDON, Printed in the Year, 1680.