Thou canst not lose thyself, unless thou yield
On such conditions as will force thy hand
To give away thy sceptre, crown, and land.
And what is worse, to hazard by thy fall,
To lose a greater crown, more worth than all.

Thy poor distressed Cavaliers rejoyced
To hear thy royal resolution voiced,
And are content far more poor to be
Than yet they are, so it reflects from thee.
Thou art our sovereign still, in spite of hate;
Our zeal is to thy PERSON, not thy STATE.

We are not so ambitious to desire
Our drooping fortunes to be mounted higher,
And thou so great a monarch, to our grief,
Must sue unto thy subjects for relief:
And when they sit and long debate about it,
Must either stay their time, or go without it.

No, sacred prince, thy friends esteem thee more
In thy distresses than ere they did before;
And though their wings be clipt, their wishes fly
To heaven by millions, for a fresh supply.
That as thy cause was so betray'd by MEN,
It may by ANGELS be restored agen.



Ballad: I Thank You Twice