THE cobblers LAST will and Testament: Or, The Lord HEWSON'S Translation.  

I.  
TO Christians all I greeting send,  
That they may learn their souls to mend  
By viewing of my Cobler's End.   

II,  
First, to the New Lords I would give All,  
But that (like me) they're like to fall,  
Though Heartless Fleetwood has no Gall,   

III.  
Yet he deserves this Legacy,  
ROPE take you all, well may I cry,  
You're Murderers as well as I.   

IV.  
And will thus (Wryneck) end your race,  
Since wilful murder hath no place  
In the late Parliaments Act of Grace.   

V.  
My Paring-Knife I'll Lambert give,  
He may have use on'c if he live,  
For's Throat as well as his Brow, I believe.   

VI.  
But Richard and Harry I have forgot,  
Shall I give them my Hammers? No, I will not,  
For they did not strike while th' Iron was hot.   

VII.  
Vane take my Bends, and Wilks my Clue,  
Atkins my Hose of Saffron Hue;  
But Gregory saith my Clothes are his due.   

VIII.  
My Cushion will fit Queen Dowager Cromwell,  
Whilst Shipton Wife's Prophecy she doth thumb-well,  
In Chair of State 'twill ease her bum-well.   

Ix..  
For Oliver thou didst set me on high,  
I aimed not at it, though I winked of an eye,  
Yet I wish not now to come thee nigh.   

X.  
For sure ere this thou'lt burn with thy nose,  
Which out of thy nosth rills brimstone throws;  
Would thou wert here to singe my foes.   

XI.  
There is another Lord that's Rich,  
To cure the City whose fingers did itch,  
But only I went thorough-stitch.   

XII.  
And yet they say I was out of my trade,  
When as Phlebotomy I made;  
Some chirurgeon to do't, I'd better have paid.   

XIII.  
Ill-looking-death turn back thy shaft,  
If Charon me O'er-styx should waft,  
It would disgrace our Gentle-craft.   

XIV.  
I'th' Good Old Cause I traded still,  
But in't my Lordship smelled some ill,  
To mend it though, proved past my skill.   

XV.  
Therefore to Tyburn I must ride,  
Although it cannot be denied,  
But that I have lived single-eyed.   

XVI.  
And if my foes would do me right,  
They'll say, I've set the crooked straight,  
Why then I am a man upright.   

XVII.  
I wish the Jury find it so,  
John Lilburns Jury would say, no;  
Stitch up the Lord, let the cobbler go.   

XVIII.  
But 'tis no jesting matter I trow,  
For I can't laugh, although you do;  
Yet may make a wry-mouth, or so.   

XIX.  
Before when we debauched the Nation,  
We could have vouched our Reformation,  
By a day or two of Humiliation.   

XX.  
Now 'tis not currant pay, for I  
Have wailed my sins, and yet they cry,  
Hang him, he weeps but with one eye.