Justa sive Inferiae Regicidarum: OR, Tyburn's REVELS.  
Presented before Protector Cromwell, Lord President Bradshaw, Lord Deputy Ireton. By Squire Dun, Mercury, and Chorus.  Mercury with a Pick-Ax to Coomwel. 

HEnce Caduce, that Sleep-powerful mighty rod,  
This Iron, shall disturb the guilty nod  
Of these brass Sinners now inlaid with lead,  
This be the Mace to these inglorious Dead.  
Rise Noll from th'violated Arched Cave,  
'Twas thy last Treason to usurp the grave,  
Rouse up, and follow to my triple Altar,  
Where my grim Priest attends thee with a Halter.   Cromwell. 

Whose there? speak softly to my troubled ears,  
Whose Drums beats still with jealousies and fears:  
Restless Ambition how I find it true,  
Not quiet yet, since yet the Fates parsue:  
No Fury waked me in my Regal Dreams,  
'Tis infelicity is what it seems:  
Imagination prompted me to be King,  
'Tis easy work, I have it in a string.  
Here's a triumphant Chariot without wheels,  
Not subject to mad Fortunes giddy reels;  
And here's three standing Crowns, whose massy weight  
Will break the neck to this cursed politic pate.   Chorus. 

Four merry boys, and four merry boys,  
And four merry boys are we;  
As ever yet ganged under  
The Gallow, Gallow tree.   Mercury. 

This subtle Engine, whose fine active dust,  
Though long interred, is free from nature's rust;  
This slight Mercurial spirit made Nol's son  
(As if by Traduce) false Ireton  
Leave thy invaded tomb, this sacred place,  
Was ne'er deputed to so vile a race.  
Rise treacherous relics follow, follow me,  
Follow thy Father to the Triple-tree.   Ireton. 

By long possession settled in my urn,  
I crave a privilege: Must I now turn  
Tenant to Tyburn? must I quit my ground,  
That have for every treachery a wound  
Whilst I braved heaven, see the juster earth,  
Disgorgeth her prodigious Rebel-birth:  
So wasting, wily Foxes oft are ta'en.  
First earthed, then hanged, and so exposed to shame.   Chorus: 

Four merry boys, and four merry boys,  
And four merry boys are we,  
As ever yet ganged under  
The Gallow, Gallow tree.   Mercury. 

Come you loud Furies, beat the Tintimar  
Such direful Notes, which the High Justice Bar  
Can only precedent, this deaf Adder charm;  
He'd hear no Reason, give him an alarm:  
Get up bold Bradshaw, leave these blessed Ghosts,  
Thy Grove and walks in the trian'gler posts,  
There murmur sentences, be the disgrace,  
And the ●●genius of that Justice-place.   Bradshaw 

You must not interrupt me, I pronounce,  
The sentence of the Court (what means this bounce)  
The Courts adjourned to Tyburn: hateful word,  
Where's Hacker's partisans, and Humphrey's sword:  
The Court doth overrule it, I'll not stir,  
I do affirm our Jurisdiction, Sir:  
But Oh, the light appears, the hateful air,  
Here's Sledge and straw, for cushions, Velvet chair:  
Thus as a Judas, hired to betray,  
The price of blood finds me Akeldama.   Chorus. 

Four merry boys, and four merry boys.  
And four merry boys are we;  
As ever yet ganged under  
The Gallow, Gallow-tree.   Mercury. 

What shall I do to wake this ponderous lump,  
misshapen Parent of a monstrous Rump:  
I'll call some spirit to imform this Mass,  
The army's Paper-mule, and Cromwel's Ass:  
Come out Tom Blunderbuss, this filthy Tun  
Raise up with slings and bear't to Squire Dun.   Pride. 

Oh my recluded members, where away,  
My Lordship cumbled down below a dray:  
I gave the House of Parliament the lurtch,  
And find no Sanctuary within the Church:  
I, that profaned, and this abom'nates me,  
But none was ever refuse to the tree:  
My garbling Parliaments to him next dares,  
My guts and garbage give unto the bears.  
But stay, 'tis double costs, and double woe,  
To pay the Surgeon and the Hangman too,  
I had no cerecloth, so I'll keep my urn,  
I see sometimes stinking will serve the turn.   Chorus. 
Four merry boys, and four merry boys, &c.  Squire Dun 

Oh Agitators, if now there be any  
Have need of the Squire of the rope or his Zany,  
Though quarters and heads are on several poles,  
The headquarters are at Tyburn Holes.   

Four merry boys, and four merry boys,  
And four merry boys are we;  
As ever yet ganged under  
The Gallow, Gallow-tree.    

London, Printed for R. B. 1660.