More than ever were known in a State before;
But I hope that their mischiefs have digg'd their own graves,
And we'll never trust knaves for their sakes any more.

Under the rose be it spoken, the city's an ass
So long to the public to let their gold run,
To keep the King out; but 'tis now come to pass,
I am sure they will lose, whosoever has won.

Under the rose be it spoken, there's a company of men,
Trainbands they are called - a plague confound 'em:-
And when they are waiting at Westminster Hall,
May their wives be beguiled and begat with child all!

Under the rose be it spoken, there's a damn'd committee
Sits in hell (Goldsmiths' Hall), in the midst of the city,
Only to sequester the poor Cavaliers -
The devil take their souls, and the hangman their ears.

Under the rose be it spoken, if you do not repent
Of that horrible sin, your pure Parliament,
Pray stay till Sir Thomas doth bring in the King,
Then Derrick (32) may chance have 'em all in a string.

Under the rose be it spoken, let the synod now leave
To wrest the whole Scripture, how souls to deceive;
For all they have spoken or taught will ne'er save 'em,
Unless they will leave that fault, hell's sure to have 'em!