John Ashton - Hyde Park from Domesday-book to Date

“In July , Sixteen hundred sixty and five,
(O happy is the Man that’s now alive)
When God’s destroying Angel sore did smite us,
’Cause he from sin could by no means invite us:
When Lovely London was in Mourning Clad,
And not a countenance appear’d but sad;
When the Contagion all about was spread;
And People in the Streets did fall down dead.
When Money’d fugitives away did flee,
And took their Heels, in hopes to scape scot-free.
Just then we March’t away, the more’s the pitty,
And took our farewell of the Doleful City.
With heavy Hearts unto Hide Park we came,
To chuse a place whereas we might remain:
Our Ground we view’d, then streight to work we fall,
And build up Houses without any Wall.
We pitched our Tents on Ridges, and in Furrows,
And there encamp’t, fearing th’ Almighty’s Arrows .
But O alass! What did all this avail:
Our men (ere long) began to droop and quail.
Our Lodgings cold, and some not us’d thereto,
Fell sick, and dy’d, and made us more adoe.
At length the Plague amongst us ’gan to spread,
When ev’ry morning some were found stark dead.
Down to another Field the sick were t’ane;
But few went down, that e’er came up again.
For want of comfort, many, I observ’d,
Perish’d and dy’d, which might have been preserv’d.
But that which most of all did grieve my Soul,
To see poor Christians drag’d into a Hole:
Tye Match about them, as they had been Logs,
And draw them into Holes, far worse than Dogs.
When each Man did expect his turn was next,
O then our Hearts with sorrow was perplext.
Our Officers amazed stood, for dread,
To see their men no sooner sick but dead.
But that which most of all did grieve them, Why?
To help the same there was no remedy.
A Pest-house was prepar’d, and means was us’d,
That none should be excluded, or refus’d:
Yet all would not avail, they dy’d apace,
As one dy’d out, another took his place.
A sad and dismal time, as ere was known,
When Corps, in the wide fields about was strown.

“But stay, my Muse; I think ’tis but a folly
To plunge ourselves too deep in Melancholly;
Let us revive a little, though in jest,
Of a bad Market we must make the best.
Is nothing left to chear us? not one Sup?
We’le try conclusions, ere the Game be up.
Methinks I hear some say, Friend, Prithee hark,
Where got you drink and Victuals in the Park ?
I, there’s the Query; We shall soon decide it,
Why, We had Men, cal’d Sutlers, provided;
Subtle they were, before they drove this Trade,
But by this means, they all were sutler made.
No wind, or weather, ere could make them flinch,
Yet they would have the Souldiers at a pinch.
For my part, I know little of their way,
But what I hear my fellow Souldiers say;
One said, Their Meat and Pottage was too fat;
Yes, quoth another, we got none of that:
Besides, quoth he, they have a cunning sleight,
In selling out their Meat by pinching weight;
To make us pay sixpence a pound for Beefe,
To a poor Souldier, is no little grief.
Their Bread is small, their Cheese is mark’t by th’ Inch,
And, to speak truth, they’re all upon the pinch.
As for their Liquor, drink it but at leisure,
And you shall ne’re be drunk with over measure.
Thus would they often talk to one another;
And, for my part, I speak it as a Brother,
They for the Sutlers put up many a Prayer,
When, for themselves they took not so much care.
This was, it seems, most of the Sutlers’ dealings,
But yet, I say, there’s none but have their failings.
They might do this (poor men), yet think no evil.
Therefore they’l go to God, or to the D – .

“But leave them now, because Tat-too has beat,
And fairly to our Tents let us retreat,
Where we keep such a coyl, and such a quarter,
And all to make the tedious nights seem shorter.
Then down we lie, until our bones do ake,
First one side, then the other weary make.
When frost did pinch us, then we shake and shiver,
And full as bad we were in stormy weather;
A boistrous blast, when men with sleep were dead,
Would bring their Houses down upon their head.
Thus in extremity, we often lay,
Longing to see the dawning of the day
Which brought us little comfort, for the Air
Was very sharp, and very hard our fare.
Our sufferings were almost beyond belief,
And yet we found small hopes to have relief.
“Our brave Commanders, Valiant, Stout and Bold,
Was neither pinch’t with hunger, nor with cold,
They quaft the Bowls about, one to another,
With good Canary they kept out the weather;
And oft to one another would say thus,
(When we are gone, then gone is all with us)
And thus, in mirth, they chear’d their Spirits up,
By taking t’other Pipe, and t’other Cup:
Much good may it do their hearts; we should have done
The same ourselves, had we been in their room.
We were as glad when we got to a Cup
Of nappy Ale, to take a pretty sup;
But durst not go to Town, on any cause,
For fear the Martial catch us in his Claws.
About the Park to walk for recreation,
We might be free, we knew our Bounds and Station.
But not a Coach was stirring any where,
Unless t’were such as brought us in our Beer.
Alass, Hide Park , these are with thee sad dayes,
The Coaches all are turn’d to Brewers’ Drayes;
Instead of Girls with Oranges and Lemons,
The Bakers’ boys, they brought in loaves by dozens;
And by that means, they kept us pretty sober,
Until the latter end of wet October .
They promis’d we should march, and then we leapt,
But all their promises were broke (or kept).
They made us all, for want of Winter Quarters,
Ready to hang ourselves in our own Garters.