Classic Poem

He that is a cleer
Cavalier
Will not repine,
Although
His Substance grow
So very low,
That he cannot drink Wine.

Fortune is a Lass
Will embrace,
And soon destroy;
Free born,
In Libertine,
We'll ever be,
Singing Vive le Roy .
Vertue is its own reward, Sir,
And Fortune is a Whore;
There's none but Fools and Knaves regard her,
Or her Power implore.

He that is a trusty Roger ,
And hath serv'd his King:
Altho' he be a tatter'd Souldier,
Yet he will skip and Sing:
Whilst he that fights for Love,
May in the way of Honour prove,
And they that make sport of us,
May come short of us,
Fate will Flatter them,
And will scatter them,
Whilst the Royalty,
Looks upon Loyalty,
We that live peaceably,
May be successfully,
Crown'd with a Crown at last.

But a real Honest Man,
May be utterly undone,
To show his Allegiance,
His love and Obedience,
But that will raise him up,
Virtue weighs him up,
Honour stays him up,
And we'll praise him;
Whilst the fine Courtier Dine,
With his full bowls of Wine,
Honour will make him fast.

Freely let's be then,
Honest Men,
And Kick at Fate,
We
May live to see
Our Loyalty,
Valued at a higher rate.

He that bears a Word, or a Sword,
'Gainst the Throne;
Or doth prophanely prate,
To wrong the State,
Hath but little for his own.

Chorus.

What tho' Plummers, Painters, and Players,
Be the prosperous Men;
Yet we'll attend our own Affairs,
When we come to 't agen:

Treachery may be fac'd with light,
And Leachery lin'd with furr;
A Cuckold may be made a Knight,
'Tis Fortune de la gar :
But what is that to us, Boys,
That now are Honest Men;
We'll conquer and come agen,
Beat up the Drum agen,
Hey for Cavaliers,
Joy for Cavaliers,
Pray for Cavaliers;
Dub, a dub, dub,
Have at old Belzebub ,
Oliver stinks for fear.

Fifth-Monarchy must down, Bullies,
And every Sect in Town;
We'll rally, and to 't agen,
Give em the rout agen,
When they come agen,
Charge 'em home agen,
Face to the right about, tantar ar ar a ,
This is the Life of an honest poor Cavalier.