This text comes from Rump Songs, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
Oliver, Oliver, take up thy Crown,
For now thou hast made three Kingdoms thine own;
Call thee a Conclave of thy own Creation,
To ride us to ruine, who dare thee oppose;
Whilst we thy good people are at thy Devotion,
To fall down and worship thy terrible Nose.
To thee and thy Mermydons, Oliver, we,
Do tender our homage as fits thy degree,
We’ll pay the Excise and Taxes, God blesse us,
With fear and contrition, as penitents should,
Whilst you, great Sir, vouchsafe to oppresse us,
Not daring so much as in private to scold.
We bow down, as cow’d down, to thee and thy Sword,
For now thou hast made thy self Englands sole Lord,
By Mandate of Scripture, and Heavenly warrant,
The Oath of Allegiance, and Covenant too;
To Charles and his Kingdoms thou art Heir apparent,
And born to rule over the Turk and the Jew.
Then Oliver, Oliver, get up and ride,
Whilst Lords, Knights, and Gentry do run by thy side;
The Maulsters and Brewers account it their glory,
Great God of the Grain-tub’s compared to thee:
All Rebells of old are lost in their story,
Till thou plod’st along to the Padington-tree.