THE PRAYER OF colonel John Lambert IN CAPTIVITY.  
This Prayer is not in the Hebrew, but was Translated out of the Greek by his Chaplain for the colonels own proper use.  
MOst Plaguye and most Confounded Ill Fortune, Thou that didst favour Oliver, and Bulstrode, Whitlock, that didst exalt the Poor and Needy, and for many years together send the Rich empty away; Thou didst bless Clowns with the blessing of money bags, and madest Joan as good as my Lady, why, Oh why hast Thou left me in the Mire? I confess Thy Afflictions are unsupportable, and Thy Fickle, Giddy, and Whimsical ways, are to me unsearchable. Yet Thou art not altogether without Compassion, Thou hast ostentimes returned to those whom Thou hast made Miserable, and made them as happy as before thou hadst rendered them Contemptible; When wilt Thou deal so by thy Servant John Lambert? I confess I did Offend Thee with my Impudence, for I unseated the RUMP too soon, I vexed the City too early, and showed my Teeth before I was well able to Bite. Yet in one thing I obeyed Thee, for I put my Confidence in a Fool, thinking Thou hadst favoured him. If thy maxims be not true, that was none of my fault. Thou didst help me out of the Tower by Thy Favour; but Thou didst very discourteously suffer me to be taken again (Hells Curse light on Thee) and now my Transgressions, are multiplyeed before my Enemies: So that I am only leapt out of the Frying-pan into the fire. How long Ill Luck wilt Thou knit Thy Brows; and Frown upon him that was once Thy Darling. Remember what Thou hast been toward me, and for shame let not all the World see what an unconstant Whore Thou art: Yet if Thou bée'st resolved to make me the Sport of thy wanton Hours, I beseech Thee to provide well for my Daughter the Infanta of Wimbleton, and suffer her not to be jeered to Death for the Folly of her Father; take not from my Wife the Comforts of the New Exchange, but enlarge the Hearts and Purses of the sectaries towards her, that she may not be forced to keep in and sigh in Fair Weather, but may still visit Hyde-park and the Spring-Garden, with a Pomp befitting their general's Wife. And as for myself deliver me out of Prison if it be Thy Will, lest a worse thing befall me, for I hear Innocent blood, and that Royal too crying out for revenge. Oh grant that the Portugal ambassador may beg me, and send me out of the noise on't, where it may happen that by Thy Favour I may be Protector in a strange Country, that am so much despised in my own. But if Thou wilt have me die, Mazzle up the Mouth of gaping History, that it may not publish my dishonour, and the ill success of my Rebellion, my Effeminate Escape, and pitiful Submission in the Field. More I might say, Dear goddess; But I never used to pray long, or much: And therefore do but help me out at this dead lift; and Thou shalt be my only Deity, to which I and my Successors will ascribe all our praises while the World endures.   

LONDON, Printed in the Year, 1660.