Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/95

Rh Well, it's no matter what you say Of me or mine, that ran away: I hold it no good fashion A loyal subject's blood to spill, When we have knaves enough to kill By force and proclamation.

Commend me unto Lashly stout, And all his pedlars him about: Tell them without remorse That I will plunder all their packs Which they have gotten, with the stolen knick-knacks, With these my hundred horse.

This holy war, this zealous firk Against the bishops and the kirk, And its pretended bravery— Religion, all the world can tell, Amongst Highlanders ne'er did dwell— It's but to cloak your knavery.

Such desperate gamesters as you be, I cannot blame for tutoring me, Since all you have is down; And every boor forgets the plough, And swears that he'll turn gamester now And venture for a crown.