Libera nos, Domine.

From an altar-piece-monger who rails at Dissenters

And damns Nonconformists in the pulpit he enters,

Yet all the week long his own soul he ventures,

By being so drunk that he cutteth indentures,

Libera nos, Domine.

From fools, knaves, and villains, prerogative Tories,

From church, that for the Babylon whore is,

From a pretended prince, like pear rotten at core is,

From a court that has millions, yet as old Job poor is,