Classic Poem

1.

To Christians all I greeting send,
That they may learn their souls to amend
By viewing of my Coblers end .

2.

First, to the new Lords I would give all ,
But that (like me) they're like to fall,
Though heartless Fleetwood has no gall .

3.

Yet he deserves this Legacy,
ROPE take you all, well may I cry,
Hou're Murderers as well as I.

4.

And will thus ( wry-neck ) end your race,
Since wilful Murther hath no place
In the late Parliaments Act of Grace.

5.

My Paring-Knife I'le Lambert give,
He may have use on't if he live,
For's throat as well as his brow I believe .

6.

But Richard and Harry I have forgot,
Shall I give them my Hammers? No, I will not,
For they did not strike while th' Iron was hot.

7.

Vane take my Bends , and Wilks my Clue ,
Atkins my Hose of Saffron Hue,
But Gregory saith my Clothes are his due.

8.

My Cushion will sit Q. Dowager Cromwell ,
Whilst Shipton wifes Prophesie she doth thumb well,
In Chair of State 'twill ease her Bum well.

9.

For Oliver thou didst set me on high,
I aim'd not at it, though I winkt of an eye,
Yet I wish not now to come thee night.

10.

For sure ere this thou'lt burn with thy Nose,
Which out of thy Nostrils Brimstone throwes,
Would thou wert here to singe my Foes.

11.

There is another Lord, that's Rich ,
To cure the City whose fingers did itch:
But only I went thorough stitch .

12.

And yet they say I was out of my Trade
When as Phlebotomy I Made,
Some Chyrurgion to do't I'de better have paid.

13.

Ill-looking death turn back thy shaft,
If Charon me over Styx should waft,
It would disgrace our Gentle-craft.

14.

I'th' Good Old Cause I traded still,
But in't my Lordship smelt some ill,
To mend it though, prov'd past my skill .

15.

Therefore to Tyburn I must ride,
Although it cannot be deny'd,
But that I have liv'd single ey'd.

16.

And if my Foes will do me right,
They'l say, I've set the crooked streight ,
Why then I am a Man upright.

17.

I wish the Jury find it so,
John Lilburns Jury would say no,
Stitch up the Lord, let the Cobler go.

18.

But 'tis no jesting matter I trow?
For I can't laugh although you do;
Yet may make a wry-mouth, or so.

19.

Before, when we debaucht the Nation,
We could have vouch'd our Reformation,
By a day or two of Humiliation.

20.

Now 'tis not currant Pay, for I
Have wail'd my sins, and yet they cry,
Hang him, he weeps but with one eye.