Such pitiful things be
More happy than kings be;
They get the upper hand of Thimblebee
And Slingsbee.

No gospel can guide it,
No law can decide it,
In Church or State, till the sword
Has sanctified it.

Down goes your law-tricks,
Far from the matricks,
Sprung up holy Hewson's power,
And pull'd down St Patrick's.

This sword it prevails, too,
So highly in Wales, too,
Shenkin ap Powel swears
"Cots-splutterer nails, too."

In Scotland this faster
Did make such disaster,
That they sent their money back
For which they sold their master.

It batter'd their Gunkirk,
And so it did their Spainkirk,
That he is fled, and swears the devil
Is in Dunkirk.