This text comes from Rump Songs, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
1.
How poor is his Spirit? how lost is his Name,
Deceiveth Opinion, and Curtailes his Fame?
When as his Designs come near to their height,
’Twixt shall I and shall I, suspect their own weight,
He has traffiqu’d for Honour, but lost the whole Freight:
He that’s stout in the Front, not so in the Rear,
Doth forfeit his Fame, and is Cow’d out by Fear.
2.
A small part of Honor to him doth belong,
Consults not the Glory, but faints in the throng;
That dares not embrace what his own Soul doth Vote,
But yields up Our Liberties to a Red-coat;
Sure Midsommer’s near, and some Men doth dote:
I like the bold Romanes, (whose Fame ever rings)
That kept in Subjection such pittifull things.
3.
He that will be Bug-bear’d, is turn’d again Child,
A Reed than a Scepter is fitter to weild:
Examine the Story, no Story you’l find,
Saving the Story, that Kat will to kind,
The World is deluded, the Common-wealth blind;
These false stamps of Honour prove but Copper-Mettle,
And Fame sounds as loud from a Tinkers old Kettle.
4.
He that past has the Pikes, and found Canon-free,
Which shews that noe Curse from his Parents could be,
Had a Soul so devout, it made Killing a Trade;
And now to retreat at the sent of a Blade
Doth show of what Mold our Knight-Errant was made;
He that flagges in his Flight, when’s Ambition sores high,
Doth stabb his own Merit, & gives Fame the lye.
5.
Then Cicero-like, yea Gown-men drench Cares,
O’re-whelm’d with your Own, and your Countries Affairs;
And Pulpit-men too be as Airy as Wee;
Do you but preach Sack up, we’l ne’r disagree,
That Common-wealth’s best that is the most free:
Then fret not, nor care not, when the Sack’s in our Crown,
We can fancy a King up, or fancy Him down.