A Song to his Excellency THE LD. GENERAL MONCK, AT Skinners-Hall on Wednesday April 4. 1660. At which time he was entertained by that honourable COMPANY.  
To the Tune of I'll never Leave thee more.  
ADmire not noble Sir, that you should hear  
B●asts echo out your acclamations here,  
And those whom nature had tonguetied, should break  
There silent chains your fulmouthed praise to speak  
It is no wonder Sir, since that to you  
The admiration of a greater's due,  
Whilst by your hands have curbed the furious rage  
Of steel, and have restored our golden age,  
This British Isle by nature framed to be  
Of the great World the grand Epitome  
Whom Neptune circling in his briny arms  
Hath made secure from foreign foes alarms,  
And Providence so seated, that she seems  
By her to prize all other Diadems;  
And yet had she thus freed from foreign wars  
Rent her own Bowels with intestine jars,  
And when no force of supercilious Spain  
Nor power of furious France could from her gain,  
Her wealth and honour, she of both bereaves  
Herself; and gives them to his basest slaves  
He whose brave Heroes in the days of yore  
Could beat down others sceptres or restore  
Them at her will: now did her own betray  
And to herself, herself did make a prey.  
Oh foolish Nation, whilst thou sought to bring  
Subjection to thee from thy sovereign King  
Forgets in Bodies ruin must be red  
When Members Rebels turn against the Head,  
A people who turn traitors to their King  
Must needs themselves into destruction bring;  
Most desperate is their case, nor can I rate  
The mischiefs which succeed a headless State,  
This you have proved, and now you sadly see  
Rebellion recompensed with misery;  
But i'll be silent here, and will no more  
Thus smartly rub you raw, and galled sore  
Since here you came not to lament, or make  
A Fast, but feast for your Redemptions sake,  
And 'twas to you great Sir they did intend  
And to your praise I should my Speeches bend  
And think not Sir that your renowned name,  
Receives detraction in the rolls of fame  
By being sung by me; for though that here  
My guards and followers do not appear  
To show my greatness yet at my Command  
The forest's bow and as my Subjects stand  
And though I boast myself a mighty King  
My greatest Honour is your praise to sing  
Let Rome no more her Fabius show or boast  
His moderate prudence saved her being lost;  
Since you have justly brag, your wife delays  
Have saved a Nation crowned yourself with bays.  
Had you been furious any have cast the Dye  
Of War, we now might all in ashes lie;  
Triumphed one by our foes, when now we see  
England restored to its Liberty  
By this your prudence nothing now remains  
But that you recompense our other pains,  
And Crown your merits, whilst you and our strife  
By giving Head as well as Body life.  
The Members you have joined, yet they're but dead,  
Whilst thus they stand dissevered from the Head  
Procyed then George, and as thou hast brought down  
The traitors, so restore the lawful Crown,  
That after ages may thee justly call  
Restorer of thy Country, KING and all.  
The Reader may take notice that this is the right Speech, sung by W. Yeokney.   

LONDON: Printed for William Anderson, in the YEAR, 1660.