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