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,