Tyrant's triumphant: OR, The High Court of State. Lo here in Rank and File the Rebels stand, Who have unchristened half a Christian Land, Lo here the Libertines, those lawless things, Who hate the sceptre, yet would all be Kings, Lo here the Regindos, who at one stroke, Have collared us in an Egyptian yoke, Behold them well, take notice which is best, Find out one good, I'll swear for all the rest. Earls. Sarum Denbigh Mulgrave Pembroke. Lords. Fairfax Gray of Wark Gray of Groby Lisle. Cromwell Skippon Rolls St. John wild Bradshaw. Knights. Arthur Haslerig William Massam Gilbert Pickering James Harrington Vane junior John Danvers William Armyn Henry Mildmay William Constable. Citizens. Isaac Pennington Rowland Wilson. Esquires. Whitlock Stapeley Heningham Ludlow Wallop Hutchinson Bond Popham Watten Scot Purfoy Jones. Four traitorous Earls, as many stinking Lords, The veriest fools and knaves the Land affords, Two Saints, one a Prodigious flame of light, The other a most smooth Hermophradite; Two Justices in chief, (for grand deserts) The Laundring Baron, that doth wash his Shirts, Besides Lord President unto the State, Who had the Law once pushed into his pate. Nine skittish Knights, the first a jewel thief, The next a Broker of the Saints belief, The third, a pander to his zealous Sister, Whilst Major (he knows who) devoutly kissed her, The fourth, a Coward, posted up of yore, Because he would not stand unto his Whore; The fift so valiantâ–ª that he run away At Newburn Heath, yet swore he won the day; The sixt, a cursed Cheat; the seventh a Sot Not civilised, till by a barbarous Scot; The eighth, a man of chaste and holy life, Ask but his handmaid, or his zealous Wife, Perhaps the gravel-pit may it remember, For here indeed he showed himself a Member; The Ninth, New-England vamped in the Foot, Or else he had withered both branch and root. Two reverend Cits, a creeping knave the first, Skined o'er with sacrilege, yet belly-burst; The latter worldly wise, but weak within, His guts is furred with dregs, his heart with sin. Twelve more there are, and they be called Squires, Bred up by Beggars, at good people's fires, Most of whose names were never known before, Except in some churchwardens list of the poor, Or at the Sessions-house, (for there indeed) Inditements have been fatal to their breed, Yet these be they who must have all the sway, These are the Kings the English must obey, Here are the Pillars of the commonweal, The Power supreme, from whence is no appeal. England, shake of these fetters, fight and die, Rather than live slave to their Tyranny, Admit thy lawful King, revenge the blood Of Him these murdered, for being too good; Purge out thy peccant humours that abound, Let blood, 'twill cleanse, and make thy body sound; This physic is safe, if used but in season, No Dote so proper for dispelling Treason, Take it sick England, if thou wilt be well, For there's no health till these men fry in Hell.