The loyal Subjects Jubilee, or Cromwel's Farewell to England, being a Poem on his advancing to Ireland, July the 11. 1649.  
'tIs high contempt not for to Fast and pray,  
And hold as blessed Saint Cromwel's Holy day,  
The Devils a Saint, if he deserves to be  
One for his Machiavellian treachery.  
Insatiate Monster, that doth swallow down  
At once a kingdom and a glorious crown,  
Whose splendour dazzled mortals while it stood  
On Charles his head, but dimed since dipped in blood  
May every stone that did adorn it round,  
As witnesses against thee once be found,  
And weigh thee down to Hell, thou horrid fell lion,  
To have reward for this thy grand Rebellion.  
But first thy progress into Ireland take,  
And see what preparations they will make,  
(To entertain thee) for that end a day  
we'll set apart, and for thee this we'll pray;  
Come ye grim Furies of the Stygian Lake,  
With hideous cries, and make the welking shake,  
Rouse Charon up, winds, Seas, and all implore,  
To waft this rebel to the Irish shore,  
Where such a Feast prepared for him shall be,  
The like at Grocers-Hall he ne'er did see:  
Ormond chief Cook will be to please his pallet,  
And send a fiery Bullet for a salad,  
Which shall such terror to his Saintship bring,  
And make him cry, would he had spared our King;  
The blood methinks doth startle in his face,  
That he no rest can take in any place,  
His Exits come, Ireland the Stage must be,  
Where he must act his latest tragedy,  
Where he his life shall spend in discontent,  
And bid farewell to England's Parliament.  
May thy horse's founder, thy soldiers weary grow  
Upon their march they can no further go,  
Or if march on upon the Irish sight,  
Take to their heels, and finely give thee flight,  
And may this noise of their most eager running,  
Still make thee think that Charles the II coming  
To claim his due with a victorious hand,  
And purge all Rebels from his English Land.  
May the day look black, and soon convert to night,  
Only thy ruby Nose to give thee light;  
And that thou mayst to shipping safely get,  
Hell for thy lifeguard shall the Furies set,  
Charon thy ferryman shall be, and once being o'er,  
Mayst thou ne'er come to vex the English shore.  
Finis.