A COFFIN FOR KING CHARLES: A crown FOR CROMWELL: A PIT FOR THE PEOPLE.  
You may sing this to the Tune of fain I would.  

1 Cromwell in the throne.  
SO, so, the deed is done,  
the royal head is severed  
As I meant, when I first begun  
and strongly have indeavord.  
Now Charles the 1. is tumbled down,  
the second, I not fear:  
I grasp the sceptre, wear the Crown,  
nor for Jehovah care.   

2 K. Charles in his Coffin.  
Thinkst thou base slave, though in my grave,  
Like other men I lie:  
my sparkling fame and royal Name  
can (as thou wishest) die.  
Know Caatiffe, in my son I live  
(the black Prince called by some)  
And he shall ample vengeance give  
to those that did me doom.   

3 The people in the Pit.  
Suppressed, depressed, involud in woes,  
great Charles thy people be  
Basely deceived with specious shows,  
by those that murdered thee.  
We are inslaud to tyrants' hests,  
who have our freedom won:  
Our fainting hopes, now ownly rests  
on thy succeeding son.   

4 Cromwell on the throne.  
(Base vulgar) know the more you stir  
the more your woes increase,  
Your rashness will your hopes deter:  
('tis we) must give you peace.  
Black Charles a traitor is proclaimed  
unto our dignity:  
He dies (if ere by us he's gained)  
without all remedy.   

5 K. Charles in his Coffin.  
Thrice perjured villain, didst not thou  
and thy degenerate train,  
By mankind's saviours body, vow  
to me thy sovereign,  
To make me the most glorious King  
that ere o'er England reigned:  
that me and mine in every thing  
by you, should be maintained.   

6 The people in the pit.  
Sweet Prince, O let us pardon crave  
of thy beloved shade,  
'tis we that brought thee, to the grave,  
thou wert by us betrayed.  
We did believe, 'twas reformation,  
these Monsters did desire:  
Not knowing, that thy degradation  
and death, should be our hire.   

7 Cromwell on the throne,  
Ye sick brained fools, whose wit doth lie  
in your small guts; could you  
Imagine our conspiracy,  
did claim no other due  
But for to spend our dearest bloods,  
to make Rascalians flee,  
No, we fought for your lives and goods,  
and for a monarchy.   

8 K. Charles in his Coffin.  
But there's a thunderer above,  
who though he wink a while,  
Is not with your black deeds in love:  
he hates your damned guile.  
And though a time you pierce upon  
the top of fortune's wheel,  
You shortly unto Acheron,  
(drunk with your crimes) shall reel.   

9 The people in the pit.  
Meantime (thou glory of the earth)  
we languishing do die:  
Excise doth give freequarter birth  
while soldiers multiply.  
Our lives we forfeit every day,  
our money cuts our throats:  
The laws are taken clean away,  
or shrunk to traitor's votes.   

10 Cromwell on the throne.  
Like patient Mules resolve to bear  
what ere we shall impose,  
Your lives and goods you need not fear  
we'll prove your friends not foes.  
We (the Elected ones must guide  
a thousand years this land,  
You must be props unto our pride,  
and Slaves to our command.   

11 K. Charles in his coffin.  
But you may fail of your fair hopes,  
if Fates, propitious be  
And yield your loathed lives in Ropes,  
to vengeance and to me.  
When as the Swedes and Irish join,  
the Cambrian and the Scot,  
Do with the Danes, & French combine  
then look unto your lot.   

12 The people in the pit.  
Our wrongs hath armed us with such strength  
so sad is our condition,  
That could we hope that now at length  
we might find intermission,  
And have but half we had before,  
ere these mechanics swayed  
To our revenge, knee deep in gore  
we would not fear to wade.   

13 Cromwell in the throne.  
In vain (fond people) do you grudge,  
and tacitly repine.  
For why, my skill and strength is such,  
both Poles of heaven are mine.  
Your hands and purses both coherd,  
to raise us to this height:  
You must protect, those you have reared  
or sink beneath their weight.   

14 K. Charles in his coffin.  
Singing with Angels, near the throne,  
of the Almighty three:  
I sit and know perdition.  
(base Cromwell) waits on thee  
And on thy vile associates:  
twelve months shall full conclude  
Your power; thus speak the powerful Fates,  
then vades your interlude.   

15 The people in the pit.  
Yea powerful Fates, haste, haste, the time  
the most auspicious day,  
On which these monsters of our clime,  
to hell must post away.  
Meantime so pare their sharpened claws  
and so impair their stings,  
We may no more fight for the Cause,  
nor other novel things.   
FINIS.