¶ Troy-Novant must not be Burnt. Or, an exhortative to the City to preserve themselves.  
What is there none that will the City right?  
Was all their story by fierce Vulcan's spite.  
 in Ben. johnsons' study; Let us rake,  
And from those Ashes new-lived, sparkles take.  
Not to consume our Troy, (as 
* Nero.  he did Rome,  
Who made him Music of his Cities' doom:)  
Rather such strains shall start from our struck lyre  
Which shall build up our Thebes, not set on fire.  
Such a bright Beam we'll dart; that shall renew  
Your Ancestors, and bring their Acts to view.  
Acts that were lost, like his Eurydice,  
Which we'll reduce by Orphan Melody:  
Acts, that your Senator's cloth will deeplier die,  
And make them Scarlet now with infamy.  
When that their Purple shall upbraid the cloth,  
Now spoilt, and eaten by a Politic Moth,  
(Vermin at Westminster,) whom you have nursed,  
Until yourselves are starved; yet they'll not burst.  
See how the Bull-chins hang o'th' Kingdoms breasts,  
While she lank Milcher looks like pharao's beasts.  
Transparent; and her squeezed udders flop,  
Like the dried driver of a schooleboys Top.  
Was the brave dagger in your Arms for this? 
* Given for suppressing W●ats Rebellion.   
Was it for yielding up your Liberties?  
Was it for patiented, modest, sitting still?  
And let the Rebel Act what his proud will  
Had once presumed? No: It was given to show,  
To after-age the Honour of that Blow.  
That dagger still so famous on Record,  
Which did engage unto it a double sword.  
That of the Kings, and Majors, and did advance,  
Upon its Point the Cap of Maintenance.  
Look up to that brave Trojans; and you'll ' stagger,  
Your bold invaders, if you draw that dagger.  
Look in your Chronicles, and read what fears,  
You were put in by the first 
* jack Straw & Cades Rebellion suppressed by the City.  Levellers.  
A silly, Lousy, undigested Throng,  
Who thought to have ta'en the Kingdom with 
* When Adam Diggd and Evispan, who was then the Gentleman.  a song.  
Which these base Rebels, the true brood of those,  
But not so learned, do pursue in Prose.  
Shall such a sort of Rascals the State awe?  
Worse than those were, who are not worth a straw.  
Shall these in Triumph ride throw the glazed streets?  
When you may smell from Windsor by their feet.  
Shall these on Palfreys through the City ride?  
Who Crosse-legge sat till now, and ne'er a stride.  
Shall these the Honour of an Nation merit?  
And say they took once London by the spirit.  
And have a Name, only renowned in story, 
* Crumwells' words; What if it were for the glory of God this City were burnt.   
For burning London, to the good Lords glory.  
Shall these profane the Sceptre, as it were  
A goodly Hoppe-pole made for Oliver.  
And shall the horse of state by Pocky hands,  
Be led, and be at Martin's fowl commands.  
And go as Gingerly as he; shall Vane,  
(Old perjured Vane) swear away CHARLES his Reign.  
As he did strafford's head. To make his Babies  
Sucking Independents, Lords of Raby.  
Shall Mildmay that same Precious Knave, cause known?  
A Thief for jewels, steal away the Crown.  
Or Chaloner that speeching Atheist, think,  
That the King's fame is murdered by his Ink.  
And because these could a 
* Those four, the complliers of the scand●lus Declaration against the King.  Declaration  
Compose, Compose too an abused Nation.  
We rise (you Impostors) as on a May day;  
The Ills of the base Houses to display.  
To pull them down, or send you thence, who sit,  
And contrive Plagues. and pay yourselves for it.  
Give the Pale Speaker t'other thousand Pound,  
If he can Vote CHARLES his deposing round.  
(This is their work) ye shall be guarded, yes,  
But from the Palace to your destinies.  
You shall not longer by your Arts detains us,  
We rise up all as Crispin and Crispianus.  
Or like the Bechams bold: you Vote down Plays,  
That we may not know the valour of those days.  
Because your snifling worships want let's see,  
No Plays, we'll now go Act the Tragady.  
And though you lately cleansed, for your own sakes,  
The Privies, we'll purge, you the Kingdoms jakes.  
Never such noisome excrement did fit,  
Chose sure, when that the Country was at shit.  
Whose stink so rank upon our nostril grows,  
As Atkins were sole gossip to the House.  
Foh you State Farmers! Let your own despair,  
Drive you away; That we may cleanse the air.  
And make it fit for Caesar's Nose again,  
If that the Royal Nose will ever deign,  
To be so ne'er such Polecats: We now bring  
Hemp for you Rebels, Nosegays for the King.  

Epiphonoma.  
When Nero thnatned Rome with glorious Fire,  
The news was next, the Tyrant did expire.  
Go Oliver, thy malice not prevails.  
Thou hast two enemies, London and Wales.  
And both in thy sure ruins hope to laugh,  
Wales be thy Tomb, London thy Epitaph.  
FINIS.