The Second Part to the same Tune. Or, The litany continued. Which may be sung or said, Morning or Evening, before or after Supper.  

FRom a painted Lady with black patches,  
From Parliament-men, and their lame dispatches,  
From midnight-hunting in another man's Berry,  
From going over to Calais in a wherry,  
And from the Black Rod where seven Nobles be,  
virtue and goodness still deliver me.   

From a proud woodcock, and a peevish wife,  
From a pointless Needle, and a broken knife,  
From lying along in a Ladies Lapp,  
Like a great Fool that longs for pap,  
And from the fruit of the Three▪ cornered Tree,  
virtue and goodness still deliver me.   

From all Capon-eating holy cobblers,  
From illuminated mystical Con-joblers,  
From Presbyters, and Independent traitors,  
And all such Creatures called Agitators,  
From these, the Devil, and worse, if worse may be,  
virtue and goodness still deliver me.   

From a conspiracy of wicked Knaves,  
A knot of Villains, and a crew of Slaves,  
From laying Plots for to abuse a Friend,  
From working humours to a wicked end:  
And from the place where Wolves and Foxes be,  
virtue and goodness still deliver me.   

From Raviliac's, Catiline's, and Joyces,  
From factious brothers snivelling voices,  
From an Ireton or a Crumwell,  
Such blessed Saints that love a Bum-well,  
And from all subjects that would sovereign's be,  
virtue and goodness still deliver me.   

From rusty Bacon and ill roasted eels,  
From a madding wit that runs on wheels,  
From a vap'ring humour and a beetle head,  
A smoky chimney and a lousy bed,  
A blow upon the elbow and the knee,  
From each of these goodness deliver me.   

From setting virtue at too low a price,  
From losing too much coin at Cards and Dice,  
From suretyship, and an empty purse,  
From any thing, that may be termed worse:  
From all such ill wherein no good can be,  
virtue and goodness still deliver me.   

From Cockoldry, and a Coward City,  
From harpies claws, and from a Committee;  
From Satan's Imps, all Sequestrators,  
Flesh-eating cannibals, State Regraters:  
From all such thieves and Rogues my prayer shall be,  
virtue and goodness still deliver me.   

From Morbus Gallicus, and Spanish Figs,  
From a Welsh Hubbub, and from Scottish Jigs,  
From wandering Preachers before they be sent,  
And from a seven-yeers Parliament,  
That never was, nor is, nor good will be,  
From each of these virtue deliver me.   

From senior sympleton the good Lord Gray,  
From that State-Fox politic the Lord Say,  
Whose Nose like a Pick-ax beats down our Churches,  
From Nath: his Sons fierce sieges, and false lurches,  
From making use of such as these men be,  
virtue and goodness still deliver me.   

From Philip the fool, that swore he'd be Independent,  
From Piercy the puppy, or Protector transcendent:  
From the Lord Wharton that valiant Moppet,  
Tom Thum in an Oven, and he in a Saw-pit.  
From such as Apes, and Owls, and Asses be,  
virtue and goodness still deliver me.   

From Billy Brereton that Martial tool,  
That looks as sitting upon a close stool,  
From colonel Martin that peticoat-diver,  
And a chip o'th'same block, old Hereford's weaver:  
From Sir John Pots I'll pray, yes verily,  
virtue and goodness still deliver me.   

From the highly promoted Mr. Pury,  
Of a poor weaver to be a State-Fury,  
From marshal, and Burges, those Geneva bulls,  
From Cawdry, and Calamy such spiritual gulls,  
From all such holy weathercocks as they be,  
virtue and goodness still deliver me.   

A hymn to be sung after Supper.  
FRom all such as purses cut,  
From a filthy dirty slut,  
From another civil war,  
From Creatures that Committees are,  
From a base high-minded Clown,  
From driving sovereigns from their own.  
From men with Treason tainted,  
From women which are painted,  
From all far fetched new fangles,  
From him that ever wrangles,  
From rotten cheese, and addle eggs,  
From broken shins, and gouty legs,  
From Bugbears, and broken glasses,,  
From Rome's Pardons, bulls and Masses,  
From the breath that blows behind,  
From a holy brothers long wind,  
From private gain by public loss,  
From coming home by weeping-cross,  
From pulling down His royal Grace,  
And setting Peasants in his place:  
From all these, I say again,  
goodness deliver me. Amen.   
FINIS.