XI.

THE DOWNFALL OF CHARING-CROSS.

Charing-crofs. as it ftood before the civil wars, was one of thofe beautiful Gothic obelisks erected to conjugal affection by Edward I. who built fuch a one wherever the herfe of his beloved Eleanor refted in its way from Lincolnshire to Westminster. But neither its ornamental fituation, the beauty of its ftructure, nor the noble design of its erection (which did honour to humanity), could preserve it from the merciless zeal of the times: For, in 1647, it was demolished by order of the Houfe of Commons, as popish and fuperftitious. This occafioned the following not-unhumorous farcafm, which has been often printed among the popular fonnets of those times.

The plot referred to in ver. 17, was that entered into by Mr. Waller the poet, and others, with a view to reduce the city and tower to the fervice of the king; for which two of them, Nath. Tomkins and Rich. Chaloner fuffered death July 5, 1643. Vid. Ath. Ox. II. 24,

Ndone, undone the lawyers are,

UNdon

They wander about the towne,

Nor can find the way

to Westminster,

Now Charing-crois is downe :

At the end of the Strand, they make a stand,

Swearing they are at a loss,

And chaffing say, that's not the way,

They must go by Charing-crofs.

The

The parliament to vote it down
Conceived it very fitting,

For fear it should fall, and kill them all,
In the house, as they were fitting.
They were told god-wot, it had a plot,
Which made them fo hard-hearted,
To give command, it fhould not stand,
But be taken down and carted.

Men talk of plots, this might have been worse

For any thing I know,

Than that Tomkins, and Chaloner,

Were hang'd for long agoe.

Our parliament did that prevent,
And wifely them defended,
For plots they will discover still,
Before they were intended.

But neither man, woman, nor child,
Will fay, I'm confident,
They ever heard it speak one word
Against the parliament.

An informer fwore, it letters bore,
Or else it had been freed;

I'll take, in troth, my Bible oath,
It could neither write, nor read

The

39

25

20

15

Of it have taken pity,

'Cause, good old crofs, it always flood

So firmly to the city.

Since croffes you fo much disdain,

Faith, if I were as you,

For fear the king fhould rule again,

I'd pull down Tiburn too.

45

** Whitlocke fays, "May 3, 1643, Cheapfide cross and "other croffes were voted down," &c.- -But this Vote was not put in execution with regard to CHARING CROSS till four years after, as appears from Lilly's Obfervations on the Life, &c. of K. Charles, viz. "Charing-Crofs, we "know, was pulled down, 1647, in June, July, and Auguft. Part of the Stones were converted to pave "before Whitehall. I have feen Knife-hafts made of "Some of the flones, which, being well-polished, looked "like marble." Ed. 1715, p. 18, 12mo.

See an Account of the pulling down Cheapfide Crofs, in the Supplement to Gent, Mag. 1764.

XII. LOYAL

XII.

LOYALTY CONFINED.

This excellent old fong is preferved in David Lloyd's "Memoires of those that Juffered in the cause of Charles I." Lond. 1668, fol. p. 96. He speaks of it as the compofition of a worthy perfonage, who fuffered deeply in thofe times, and was ftill living with no other reward than the confcience of having fuffered. The author's name he has not mentioned, but, if tradition may be credited, this fong was written by Sir ROGER L'ESTRANGE.-Some mistakes in Lloyd's copy are corrected by two others, one in MS. the other in the "Weftminster Drollery, or a choice Collection of Songs and 86 Poems, 1671," 12mo.

B

EAT on, proud billows; Boreas blow;

Swell, curled waves, high as Jove's roof;

Your incivility doth show,

That innocence is tempeft proof;

Though furly Nereus frown, my thoughts are calm; § Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds are balm.

That which the world mifcalls a jail,

A private closet is to me:

Whilst a good confcience is my bail,

And innocence my liberty:

Locks, bars, and folitude, together met,
Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret.

10

I, whilft

I, whilst I wifht to be retir'd,

Into this private room was turn'd; As if their wifdoms had conspir'd

The falamander should be burn'd;

Or like those fophifts, that would drown a fish,
I am conftrain'd to fuffer what I wish.

The cynick loves his poverty;
The pelican her wilderness;
And 'tis the Indian's pride to be

Naked on frozen Caucafus:

Contentment cannot finart, Stoicks we fee
Make torments easie to their apathy.

20

These manacles upon my arm

25

I, as my miftrefs' favours, wear;

And for to keep my ancles warm,

I have fome iron fhackles there:

These walls are but my garrison; this cell,

Which men call jail, doth prove my citadel.

30

I'm in the cabinet lockt up,

Like fome high-prized margarite,

Or, like the great mogul or pope,

Am cloyster'd up from publick fight:

Retiredness is a piece of majesty,

35

And thus, proud fultan, I'm as great as thee.

Here