MacLean, Gerald, editor. The Return of the King : An Anthology of English Poems Commemorating the Restoration of Charles II / edited by Gerald MacLean
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A pair of Prodigals.
30 June

   Although Thomason dated his copy 30 June, the content of the piece take us back to March and April, shortly after the secluded members were returned, but during the days when there was still some doubt about the direction parliament was going to take.

A pair of Prodigals Returned:
In a Conference between an Englishman and a Scot, concerning the Restauration of
CHARLES II. to his Crown and Kingdomes.

To the Tune of Cook-Laurel.


TUsh Joochee, we have no more Kings to Betray:
What made thee to trouble our Aire?
We have gallant men enough here in pay,
And need not your brotherly care;
Your Nation is Infamous, Natives abhor'd,
Your curse exceeds Cains, crimes his outvy;
He murther'd his brother, you sold your dread Lord;
He's curs'd for to wander, you pent in your sty.

Thau fase Loone, dast began farst to cray hawre?
Yau murthard aur geud King aud Charles;
And when ye'ave abeused aur feath, day you pawre
Reprauches apan us lick Carles?
The guilt of aur feully is dinged away
By the blood of meny a Laird;
But tell yau restaur his Bearn, yau mey pray,
Bat yar credit wo ner be repair'd.

Hold your peace sirrah, d'ye think to prevaile,
And become a comptroler here?
Wee'l make you all your blew bonnets to vayle,
O're us you shall not domineer:
I wonder you can be so foolishly proud,
Since that you may well remember
Your pitiful fortune, at home and a broad,
Upon the third day of September.

'Tis trau, I confas, we were bonged weele
Upan thaut unhaupie day,
Bat yaur shaums ta coome, & the Muckle deele,
In dewe time wo be sure it to pay.
We fought fo breave Charles, aur Gracious geud King,
In aur Cose wa mooch o renown;
But yau English stawnd so no sicker thing,
Bat bausly rob'd him O his Crown.

I prethee good Joochee, lets talke thus no more,
Must the Devil now correct sin?
It is not safe to rip up an old sore,
To be wise, then let us begin:
We have both been Traitrous Rebells t'our Prince,
Drentcht our hands in his Innocent blood,
Let's expiate our crimes by obedience, since
'Tis never too late to be good.

Gid feith braw English Lod, giffe me thy haund,
Naw thau & I been well agreed,
We's fight fo King Charles sa lang we con stond,
Fo thear neaver wa a meere need:
Twonty years sonce thau kenst vara weel;
Theek launds waure in mikle peace,
But thon aur praude haurts o'recoume by the deele
Maude aw aur hoppinesse cease.

These Nations did flourish, 'tis true, brother Scot,
In those blessed days of yore,
But Charles restored will soon place our lot
In the self-same ground as before;
Then let us pray that the time may soon come,
When he shall returne from exile;
And hearily blesse those that will bring home
The Father of Great Britains Isle.

In soth my geud freend, thau speakest bet reason,
Weese did couvenant 1 sa fo ta dooe;
And if we gang on in Rebellion and Treason,
We sha neaver aur blossings reneow:
Bat aur brauve Generaul, and nauble Commaunders,
Ise haupe wo restaure aur Glee,
And fach aur geud King from Brussels in Flaunders,
Ta finish aur proosperitee.

Faith Joockee, I tell thee I am of thy mind,
Our Noble Georg near did intend
To abandon his loyalty (chang with each wind)
Though he did awhile it suspend:
Yet as I may freely confesse unto thee,
He was not so great in my books,
When our Posts and Chains cut down I did see,
And our Gates remov'd from their Hooks. 2

Bred mon that wa bet the faw Rump fo ta please
And ta leet tha Citizens ken
Wha he coud dooe: Bet after tway dayes
He broought in tha -- -- -- Mombers agen;
Than fear net bet George is a Trojan trew,
Begarre mon he scarn to be bause;
Wha ere sal say that he is not trew blew,
I'se give him a sloope o're the fause. 3

Gramarcy brave Blew-cap, I think thou canst fight,
Which is somewhat rare in a Scot;
Then faith we will see the King have his Right,
Or else we'l both go to the Pot.

Haw, Haw, my brave Boy, I wee'l understaund,
Thoy haurt is ta loyalty 4 bont;
Bat we sall ha aw things done ta aur haund,
Soon by a Free Porlemont.

I doubt not (dear Jocchee) but this Parliament
Will prove such as we both desire,
For in my own Country the common voice ment
For my Landlord, an honest old Squire.
Then have at thee Jocchee, here's a full Bowle,
To the King and to George, lets not bodg em.

Coontent annest lod, Gars coors o his sowle,
Whick sall refuse fo ta plodg em.

In the Year. 1660.

[1] couvenant] cou enant OW

[2] See Duncombe, Scutum Regale

[3] ie slap on the face

[4] loyalty] loaylty copytext, EN, OW