The Braggadocia soldier: and the civil Citizen.  
 

SEe how the Sectists bustle now,  
The Indopendants sturte.  
London is tamed say they; as once  
Prince Rupert with his cur.  
See how they prick their ears; and cry,  
we'll knock down all our foes,  
But spare the devil pray; for he  
Does not your side oppose.  
Brave sparks indeed, brave cocks o'th' game,  
Gramercy Gun and Sword,  
They throw down all, and yet pretend,  
To advance the purer word.   

On Sectists, on, and do your best,  
To vindicate the devil,  
Away with Reformation now,  
And call her dirty snivel.  
Up Prince of darkness; come and reign,  
Thy loyal Subjects wait,  
Then call them Satan round about,  
And sit again in State.  
Brave sparks indeed, &c.   

Come hither Pope, we give thee leave,  
Thou hast no cause to fear;  
Jingle thy keys in England now,  
The devil reigneth here.  
Religion's to the block condemned,  
But none comes to relieve it;  
Whilst hell unloads its gorge, and we  
Stand ready to receive it.  
Brave sparks indeed, &c.   

The Sectists now are jolly men,  
The'ave brought about their Plot;  
They say they will confute us now,  
With powder and with shot.  
But stay, their Cannons may be cracked,  
Their shot cashiered; and then,  
Their Argument I fear will fail,  
And lie i'th' dust again.  
Brave sparks indeed, &c.   

The Pope and devil have engaged,  
The independent too;  
For what I know not; 't may be this,  
Our kingdom to undo.  
Heaven's keep our sovereign King Charles,  
From being ruled by them,  
Me thinks the Helmet is too near  
The Princely Diadem.  
Brave sparks indeed when they may thus,  
With Canon and with Sword,  
vnking our State, un-Church us too,  
And yet advance the word.   

But whither doth our kingdom run,  
With such precipitation,  
As if it would go visit fain,  
The Pit of desolation?  
Heaven's stop it quick; and heal our sick,  
Forlorn, distracted City,  
Then give us hearts, to play our parts,  
And sing a grateful ditty.  
Would heaven's throw down these cocks o'th' game,  
That cry gramercy Sword;  
Then should we hope to see again,  
The purity o'the word.   
FINIS.   

Printed for J. L. 1647.