Rump, or, An exact collection of the choycest poems and songs relating to the late times by the most eminent wits from anno 1639 to anno 1661.

Essex Petition to the Best of Princes.

Sir,

THat All-Majesty (from whom you take Your Heaven-Anointed Scepter) for whose sake You drink the Dregs of Bitternesse, which turns Your Crown of Glory, to a Crown of Thornes; View'd sinfull Sodom, Sodom that offended Even him, as we do you, that vilely blended His gracious Promises, did wrest his Powers, And violate his Laws, as we do yours; Yet urg'd by him whose Zeal brookt no denyal, Would have sav'd all, if ten were found but loyal. Great Prince, to whom the Breath of Heaven hath read The Principles of Mercy, in whose stead You sit as God to punish, or to spare, Whose equal Hand can ruine, or repair Our staggering Fortunes▪ Pity, and behold Rebellious Essex! People now grown old In Dis-obedience, who deserv'dly stand Like Calves, expecting Death from your Just hand.

'Twas we that bleated first Rebellion out, Who being Pulpit-led, not apt to doubt Our Lecturing Zealots, and but green in reason, Were made too wise, and frighted into Treason: We are a Cock-brain'd Multitude, a Rabble Of all Religions, and we daily squabble About vain shades, and let the substance passe, Hating good Manners as we hate the Masse; Our new discretions every day convince, Our old Rebellions, 'gainst so mild a Prince Were scarcely fixt, but a fresh Ordinance comes, And damns our Conscience into deeper Sums; Breaks ope our Houses, Rifles all our Stuff, Nay more, as if we had not yet enough, Plunders our very wits; nay if we do Shew but a sorry shrug, Malignants too; That in so much our people now obeys As many Tyrants as the Year hath dayes: But we have ten, ten, ten times multiply'd, And thousands more to that, which have deny'd To bend their knees to Baal, whereof some lye Cloystered in Grates, where they unpittied, cry For Superannuated Crusts, and there remain, Even taking Gods and Charles his Name in vain: Some scorning to be aw'd by Subjects, fled From their dear Wives and Children; led Like Theeves to Gaols, saluted with the Curse Of every Dunghill scurfe, with durt and worse, Where they are sadly, but yet dearly fed, Some ag'd, some weak, some dying, and some dead: For their dear sake (great Charles) they undertake Deaths willing Martyrdome, for Charles his sake; Be gracious to their County, let her know That she, a miserable Land, doth owe

Her sweet Redemption to their Congruous merit, And least they'le abjure what now they scarce in∣herit, Let that accustom'd Sun-shine of your Eye Enrich her soyle, that she may still out-vye Her Neighbouring Shires, & let that brand which now She wears, be set on th' Epidemick brow; And let the Loyal Gentry still be known By this firm Mark from the perfidious Clown; Let them, like treacherous slaves, be alwaies bound To pay Rack-rents, and only Till the ground; Let neither them nor their base off-spring dare To be so rich as buy a Purchase there.

Dread Soveraign, Forgive, Forget, Remember, and Relent, Resemble him you so much represent, And when pleas'd Heavens shall set thy Scepter free, Triumph in him, and wee'll triumph in thee.