Whitehalls PETITION TO THE PARLIAMENT: That he may enjoy his former privileges.  

I Come to seek redress of my sad reproaches,  
But fear I shall not pass this crowd of Hackney Coaches,  
The dangers past were I but once got in the Hall:  
Gentlemen by your leave, by your leave to ye all,  
I never shall pass through this vast multitude,  
Men very civil, women boldly rude:  
What woman's that: Why? she'll abuse the Speaker,  
Sir take no notice of her, she's some brainsick Quaker:  
Well I'll march on, and press unto the door,  
If I can get it handed in, I need no more:  
Soldiers stand by, and let Whitehalls' Conviction  
Be humbly showed by way of just Petition,  
Mean time a Member coming by: this Paper speaking fall,  
Prefer it good Sir, he answers, Sir I shall, &c.   

Most happy House, who by your first Convention  
Of Royal Writ did swear your true intention,  
Was only to do good unto this Nation  
By Righting all by way of Reformation,  
In which the Kingdom, and the King consent,  
Strives to confirm you the only Parliament,  
In those long looked for and most happy days  
I was the Court then only had in praise,  
And for the Honour of my place and stations  
Had in the eye of this and other Nations:  
Well known to all I was the place of Royalty.  
While true bred Subjects kept their Faith and loyalty,  
The Rays of Majesty did grace my meanest being,  
And foreign Princes deemed me worth the seeing:  
More golden days were seen in forty one,  
Then ever since in your best Reformation:  
I joyed in it, sure his Highness will be great,  
And in that glory I shall be complete,  
But thoughts and doubts arose, and Propositions  
Unlike to agree with Regal dispositions:  
No satisfaction could be given at all,  
At that same moment I ●egan to fall,  
Yet harmless innocenc● doubts no man's Foy,  
Subscribes with ease, 'tis done, An●si ●ealt 〈◊〉 l'Roy:  
Yet for all this more Justice must be had.  
By every Rebel Rout obtained, you'd think them mad,  
None could be safe, that in my compass came,  
Each Tumult put me in a fear of Flame,  
One thing yet more his Highness thought unjust,  
the Militia must be settled in whom they could trust,  
Majestic thoughts think this too high a Play,  
So modestly replies, Le Roy s' advosra,  
That's cause enough for to suspect his heart,  
He is not ours, he rakes ill Counsels part,  
Let's urge him more, if he refuse this thing,  
There is no reason that he should be King.  
Poor Prince oppressed! Scythes, O God, thou art most just,  
Now unto man I must commit that trust  
That to my Crown inherent was always,  
Suspicious Subjects mildly to appease;  
Take here the power by which I you defend,  
To satisfy you I no ill intend:  
I take your promise that you'll make me glorious,  
Wrest not my power to make yourselves victorious:  
Since that great Grant, my Prince, and I his Palace  
Had little rest, but never any solace,  
Which though he loved me, left me here alone,  
Unto the world to utter forth my moan,  
And though as his Servant I have ever been,  
Malignancy in me could ne'er be seen,  
If outwardly I seemed discontent,  
I still receive you as a Parliament:  
You and your Friends I ever did respect,  
Now I implore you do not me neglect:  
Nothing I ●●ink can be objected more,  
Since the Protector turned me out of th' door:  
For what I did I was constrained by force  
To Quarter soldiers and Troops of Horse,  
For which I humbly submit to your honour's pleasure,  
And shall attend you at your own best leisure,  
For in my power it was not to prevent,  
for you before showed him the precedent.   

Humbly I show that that is not the grief,  
I do so earnestly seek your relief,  
'tis this I crave, for if reports be true,  
I must be sold to Ferdinand the Jew.  
Sad was the news hat Times so much should vary,  
For at the word each Room looks solitary,  
That I who always lodged Defenders of the Faith,  
Should be a Proselyte at the last hour of my death,  
Disgrace me not by such opprobrious sail,  
Although on Kingship was my true entail,  
My splended luster is only fit for you,  
And for ambassadors of me to take a view.  
But if of force that moneys must be raised,  
Sure there is other Houses by you to be ceased:  
The Superstitious House of Somerset I say,  
More honour is it, to make that first away:  
And many more, sold at such poor low Rates,  
That it might seem they cheated but the States  
Of half the value for which they were sold  
Some were so greedy to receive their Gold,  
Preserve me pray you for my ancient luster,  
Although your soldiers do but only Muster,  
And quarter in my sad decaying Rooms,  
If that your Honours have decreed such dooms,  
But gladder should I be if it would be my fate,  
To be preserved for the Council of our State,  
That they may sit there by your full consent,  
And keep me in repair, although they paid no Rent.  
The Premises taken to due consideration,  
Will much redound to the honour of our Nation.  
This is the sum of all the boon I crave,  
And in requital you my prayers shall have.   
FINIS.   

London, Printed in the year, 1659.