Upon His majesty's coming to HOLMBY.  

I.  
HOld out brave Charles, & thou shalt win the Field,  
Thou canst not lose thyself, unless thou yield  
On such Conditions; as will force thy Hand,  
To give away thy sceptre, crown, and Land:  
And what is worse to hazard by thy fall,  
To lose a greater crown, more worth than all.   

II.  
Thy poor distressed Cavaliers rejoiced,  
To hear thy royal Resolution voiced,  
And are content, far more poor to be,  
Then yet they are, so it reflects from Thee:  
Thou art our sovereign still in spite of hate,  
Our zeal is to thy Person, not thy State.   

III.  
We are not so ambitious to desire,  
Our drooping Fortunes, to be mounted higher,  
And thou so great a Monarch to our grief,  
Must sue unto thy Subjects, for relief:  
And wheu they set, and long debate about it,  
Must either stay their time, or go without it.   

iv.  
No sacred Prince, thy Friends esteem Thee more,  
In thy distresses then ere they did before;  
And though their wings be clipped, their wishes fly,  
To Heaven by millions for a fresh supply:  
That as thy cause, was so betrayed by Men,  
It may by Angels be restored again.   
FINIS.