This text comes from Rump Songs, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
1.
Now our holy Wars are don,
Betwixt the Father and the Son;
And since we have by righteous fate,
Distrest a Monarch and his Mate.
And first their heirs fly into France
To weep out their Inheritance;
Let’s set open all our Packs,
Which contain ten thousand wracks;
Cast on the shore of the red Sea
Of Naseby, and of Newbery.
If then you will come provided with Gold,
We dwell
Close by Hell,
Where wee’l sell
What you will,
That is ill;
For Charity waxeth cold.
2.
Hast thou done murther, or bloud spilt,
We can soon giv’t another name,
That will keep thee from all blame:
But be it still provided thus,
That thou hast once been one of us;
Gold is the God that shall pardon the Guilt,
For we have
What shall save
Thee from th’ Grave,
Since the Law
We can awe;
Although a famous Prince’s bloud were spilt.
3.
If a Church thou hast bereft
Of its Plate, ’tis holy-theft;
Or for Zeal-sake, if thou beest
Prompted on to take a Priest;
Gold is a sure prevailing Advocate:
Then come
Bring a summe,
Law is dumb:
And submits,
To our wits;
For it’s Policy guides a State.