Classic Poem

A Ballet 3: September 1658

Owld Olivers Gon Owld Olivers gon
O Hone O Hone
And has left His sonn Richard
That Pretty yong Prick-Eard
To Govern These Nations alone alone:
The Counsail and State
He commanded of late
O Hone O Hone
But the Tables turnd quite
Those Govern This wight
And turns our rejoycing to mone to mone
Thus with Their Consent
Thers calld Parlement
O Hone O Hone
Soe 'twixt Swede and Spruce
Ther'l be made a Truce
And Wrangle be Generall'y Known
The Cuntrys are quiet
Fates bless their good Diet
O Hone O Hone
'Tis a pittifull thing
Three Kingdoms noe King
And Estates to be rackt skin and bone
Yet we live in hope
To conquer the Pope
O Hone O Hone
When souldiers and Clowns
Fall at Odds about Crowns
Then True men may come by their Owne.