A royal arbor (1663) :: :: University of Virginia Library

I am a poor and patient King,
Though some are pleas'd to call me Pope,
But yet I have a holy hope,
God will relieve my suffering,
By letting Peace and Plenty spring,
That every man may have his own,
Then I shall sit agen upon my Throne.

2

The Royal Consort of my age,
That hath so oft my Cradles crown'd,
With false aspersions, they do wound
According to their holy rage
My simple Subjects they engage,
And arm them with a proud pretence,
To bring me home in beating me from thence.

3

A Reformation next is sought,
Episcopacy must go down,
A Tinker's art must mend the Crown,
By Weavers we may well be taught,
But now at last they have us brought
O're many rigid Rocks and Shelves,
They are contending what to be themselves.

4

My Countreymen I most commend,
For they have made the most of me,
Alas! it was their poverty;
They did it to no other end,
But they have too much valued Me,
And over-priz'd my Innocence,
They could demand no more then thirty pence.

5

A rout of Rebels ring me round,
Such is the King of Englands Court,
Who but to please their Pride, in sport
Have brought my Peers unto the ground,
They chase me like an Infidel.
Or one that Christian Blood betray'th,
Although I write, Defender of the Faith.