Pratle your pleasure,
(under the ROSE.)
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THere is an old Proverb, which al the world knows,
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Anything may be spoke, so't be under the Rose,
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Then now let us speake; whilst we are in the hint,
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Of the State of the Land, and th'enormities in't.
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Under the rose be it spoke, there's a number of knaves,
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More then ever were known in a stock before;
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But I hope that their mischiefs have digg'd their owne graves,
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And wee'l never trust Knaves for their sakes any more.
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Under the Rose, etc. the Citie's an Asse,
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So long to the publique to let their Gold run,
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To keep the King out, but 'ts now come to passe,
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I am sure they will lose, whosoever has wonne:
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Under the Rose, etc. there's a company of men,
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Traine Bands they are call'd, a pox confound'm.
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And when they are waiting at Westminster Hall,
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May their Wives be made whores, and begot with child all.
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Under, etc. there's a damn'd Committee,
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Sits in Hell (Goldsmiths Hall) in the midst of the City,
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Only to sequester the poore Cavaliers,
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The Devill take their soules, and the Hang-man their ears.
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Under the Rose be it spoke, if you do not repent
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Of that horrible sin, your pure Parliament,
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Pray stay till Sir Thomas doth bring in the King,
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Then Derrick may chance have them all in a string.
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Under the Rose be't spoke, let the Synod now leave
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To wrest the whole Scripture poore soules to deceive,
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For all they have spoke, or taught, will never save 'em,
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Unlesse they will leave that fault, Hell's sure to have 'm.
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