Robb'd of their right.

But judges none are fit,
Shame it is, shame it is,
That twice seven years did sit
To give hemp-string dome;
The friend they would befriend,
That he might in the end
To them like favour lend,
In his own kingdome.

Sword-men, it must be you,
Boldly to't, boldly to't,
Must give the diver his due;
Do it not faintly,
But as you raised by spell
Last Parliament from hell,
And it again did quell
Omnipotently.

The charge they wisely frame
(On with it, on with it)
In that yet unknown name
Of supream power;
While six weeks hence by vote
Shall be or it shall not,
When Monk's to London got (48)
In a good hour.

But twelve good men and true,