THE COBLERS LAST VVill and Testament: Or, The Lord HEWSON'S Translation.
I.
TO Christians all I greeting send,
That they may learn their
souls to mend
By viewing of my
Cobler's End.
II,
First, to the New Lords I would give
All,
But that (like me) they'r like to fall,
Though Heartless
Fleetwood has no Gall,
III.
Yet he deserves this Legacy,
ROPE take you all, well may I cry,
You're Murderers as well as I.
IV.
And will thus (Wry-neck) end your race,
Since wilful Murther hath no place
In the late Parliaments Act of Grace.
V.
My
Paring-Knife I'le
Lambert give,
He may have use on'c if he live,
For's Throat as well as his Brow, I believe.
VI.
But
Richard and
Harry I have forgot,
Shall I give them my
Hammers? No, I wil not,
For they did not strike while th' Iron was hot.
VII.
Vane take my
Bends, and
Wilks my
Clue,
Atkins my Hose of Saffron Hue;
But
Gregory saith my Clothes are his due.
VIII.
My
Cushion wil fit Queen
Dowager Cromwel,
Whilst
Shipton Wife's Prophecy she doth thumb-wel,
In Chair of State 'twil ease her Bum-wel.
IX.
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 nigh.
X.
For sure ere this thou'lt burn with thy nose,
Which out of thy nosth rills brimstone throws;
Would thou wert here to singe my foes.
XI.
There is another Lord that's
Rich,
To cure the City whose fingers did itch,
But onely
I went
thorow-stitch.
XII.
And yet they say
I was out of my trade,
When as
Phlebotomy I made;
Some Chirurgion to doe't,
I'de better have paid.
XIII.
Ill-looking-death turn back thy shaft,
If
Charon me ore-Styx should waft,
It would disgrace our Gentle-craft.
XIV.
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.
XV.
Therefore to
Tyburn I must ride,
Although it cannot be deny'd,
But that I have liv'd single-ey'd.
XVI.
And if my foes would do me right,
They'l say, I've set the crooked streight,
Why then
I am a man upright.
XVII.
I wish the Jury find it so,
John Lilburns Jury would say, no;
Stitch up the Lord, let the Cobler go.
XVIII.
But 'tis no jesting matter
I trow,
For
I can't laugh, although you do;
Yet may make a wry-mouth, or so.
XIX.
Before when we debauch'd the Nation,
Wee could have vouch'd our Reformation,
By a day or two of Humiliation.
XX.
Now 'tis not currant pay, for
I
Have wail'd my sins, and yet they cry,
Hang him, he weeps but with one eye.