Or hath he said there never were
Such tyrants anywhere as here?
Though this offence of his be high,
He’s pardon’d for his blasphemy.
You see how large this pardon is,
It pardons all our Mercuries, [37]
And poets too, for you know they
Are poor, and have not aught to pay.
For where there’s money to be got,
I find this pardon pardons not;
Malignants that were rich before,
Shall not be pardon’d till they’re poor.
Hath any one been true to th’ Crown,
And for that paid his money down,
By this new Act he shall be free,
And pardon’d for his loyalty.
Who have their lands confiscate quite,
For not compounding when they might;
If that they know not how to dig,
This pardon gives them leave to beg.
Before this Act came out in print,
We thought there had been comfort in’t;
We drank some healths to the higher powers,
But now we’ve seen’t they’d need drink ours.
For by this Act it is thought fit
That no man shall have benefit,
Unless he first engage to be
A rebel to eternity.
Thus, in this pardon it is clear
That nothing’s here and nothing’s there:
I think our States do mean to choke us
With this new Act of hocus pocus.
Well, since this Act’s not worth a pin,
We’ll pray our States to call it in,
For most men think it ought to be
Burnt by the hand of Gregory.
Then, to conclude, here’s little joy
For those that pray Vive le Roy!
But since they’ll not forget our crimes,
We’ll keep our mirth till better times.