Devoutly on his Patron’s gallery,
Who as duty bindes him, cause he eats their pyes,
God blesse my good Lord and my Lady, cryes,
And’s hopefull Issue. Then with count’nance sad,
Up steps a man, stark revelation-mad,
And he, Cause us thy Saints, for thy dear sake,
That We a bustle in the World may make,
Thy enemies now rage, and by and by
He tears his throat for the fifth Monarchy.
Another mounts his chin, East, West, North, South,