Doth now, our little Matchiavel;
We'll to the World Proclaim aloud,
The King and Duke thirst after Bloud.
Curtis, Harris, Smith and Care,
Shall Thrice a Week the Kingdom scare,
As if the Devil, Turk, or Pope,
Were just arrived in the Hope,
We'll authorize Men to Rebel,
By Tales from Hatfield, and from Hell:
And then perswade the silly Nation,