The Humble Petition Of the House of Commons.
IF Charles thou wilt but be so kinde
To give us leave to take our minde
Of all thy store.
When we thy loyall Subjects finde
Thou hast nothing left to give behinde.
Wee'l aske no more.
First for Religion it is meet,
We make it goe upon new feet,
I was lame before.
One from Geneva would be sweet
Let Warwick fetch't home with his Fleet,
Weel ask no more.
Let us a Consultation call,
Of honest men, but Round heade all,
God knowes wherefore.
Allow them but a place to bill,
Gainst Bishops Courts Apocryphall,
Wee'l ask no more.
Let him be hang'd that Surplice weares,
And Tippet on his shoulders beares;
Wr [...]g [...] of the Whore.
Secure us from our needlesse feares;
Let Prin and Burton have their eares;
Wee'l ask no more.
Reforme each University,
And in them let no learning be;
A great eye-sore.
From thence make James Arminians flee,
Should any have Free-will but wee?
Wee'l ask no more.
Lest the Elect should goe astray,
Let Coblers teach them the right way,
To Heavens doore.
And lest their soules should weare away,
Let them the Sisters underlay;
Wee'l ask no more.
Next for the Bishops Hierarchie,
Oh the word sounds so scurvily,
Lets hear't no more.
It nere was taught, the Apostles by
Lay-Elders may the place supply;
Wee'l ask no more,
Next for the State we think it fit,
That Mr. Pym should governe it,
He's very poore.
The money that's for Ireland writ,
Let them have the Devill a bit,
Wee'l ask no more.
For ordering the Militia,
Let us enact a new new way,
Nere heard before.
Let the great Counsell beare the sway,
If you will give us leave, you may;
Wee'l ask no more.
In this we will not be denide,
Because in you we'l not confide;
We know wherefore.
The Citizens their plate provide,
Doe you but bring in yours beside,
We'l ask no more.
Now if you will make Hull your owne,
There's one thing more we must set downe,
Forgot before.
Sir Iohn shall then give up the Towne,
If you will but resigne your Crowne;
We'l ask no more.
FINIS.
His Majesties Answer, to the aforesaid Petition.
I Charles your King will be so kinde,
To give you leave to take your minde,
Of all my greatest store.
When I you loyall Subjects finde,
And you those Members have resign'd,
Which I have ask'd before.
Or when Religion is all your cares,
And London has such heads of theirs,
As they have had before.
When Warwick from Geneva dares,
New printed bring the [...]o [...]n p [...]yers,
And reade them publick ore.
When all your Consultations tend,
To pay what you have made men lend,
God knowes why or wherefore.
When you will no more say you'l send,
And bring me surely to an end,
I know you'l ask no more.
When your Sme [...]im [...]ius Surplisse weares,
Or Tippet on his shoulder beares,
Those rags of Babylons Whore.
When Prin, Burton, and Bastwick dires,
With your good leaves but shew their cares,
I know they'l ask no more.
When what I have borrowed I shall see
You have paid each University,
Out of the City store.
And Doctors Chaplaines Fellowes be
Free willers of Plurality,
I know you'l ask no more.
When the Elect shall make such hast,
By the Brethren to be imorac't
In Tubs behind the doore;
When Coblers they shall preach their last,
All Conventickles on a Fast,
I know you'le aske no more.
Whhn Bishops all the house adorn,
And Round-heads for their absence mourne,
A great, a great eye sore.
When every Citizen lesse scorns,
Lord Wentworths head, then Essex hornes,
I know you'le aske no more.
When you no more shall dare hereafter,
A needlesse thing, and gaine much laughter,
To aske things granted before;
When Pim is sent to Irelands slaughter,
And nere more hops to mary his Daughter;
I know hee'le aske no more.
When you have found a cleer way
For ordering the Militia,
Which I neer heard before;
When Atkinson on the Trayning day,
Should dare his Office to bewray,
I know hee'le aske no more.
When naught to me shall be denied,
And you shall all in me confide,
There's reason good therefore;
When Denmarke shall for me provide,
And all the Scots be on my side,
I'le make you aske no more.
Last when you shall make Hull my owne,
The one thing more I will set downe,
Which I forgot before;
When I am got into the Towne,
I'le make ten more besides that clowne,
Shall never aske no more.
FJNJS.
Oxford Riddle.
THere dwells a People on the Earth,
That reckons true Alleagiance Treason,
That makes sad Warre a holy mirth,
Calls madnesse Zeale, and nonsence Reason;
That findes no Freedome but in slavery,
That makes Lyes truth, Religion Knavery,
That Rob and Cheat with yea and nay,
Riddle me, Riddle me, what are they?
That hate the flesh, yet firke their Dames,
That make Kings great by curbing Crownes,
That quench the fire, by kindling flames,
That settle Peace, by Plundring Townes,
That govern with implicite Votes,
That stablish truth, by cutting throats,
That kisse their Master, and betray,
Riddle me, riddle me, who are they?
That make Heaven speake by their Commission,
That stop Gods Peace, and boast his power,
That teach bold Blasphemy and Sedition,
And pray high Treason by the houre,
[...] [...]That Dam all Saints but such as they are,
That wish all Common, except prayer,
That I [...]
Riddle me, riddle me, who are they?
That to enrich the Common wealth,
Transport large Gold to For [...]igne parts,
That hous't in Amsterdam by stealth;
Yet lord it here within our gates,
That are staid men, yet only stay.
For a light night to runne away,
That borrow to lend, and rob to pay,
Riddle me, riddle me, what are they?
FJNJS.
Printed at Oxford by Leonard Litchfield. 1643.