This text comes from Rump Songs, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
Reader, behold the Counterfeit of him
Who now controuls the land; Almighty Pym!
A man whom even the Devil to fear begins,
And dares not trust him with succesless sins;
A man who now is wading through the Floud
Of Reverend Lauds, and Noble Straffords Bloud,
To strike so high as to put Bishops down,
And in the Miter to controul the Crown;
The Wretch hath mighty thoughts, and entertains
Some Glorious Mischief in his Active Brains,
Where now he’s plotting to make England such
As may out-vye the villany of the Dutch;
He dares not go to Heaven, ’cause he doth fear
To meet (and not pull down) the Bishops there:
Is it not strange, that in that Shuttle-head
Three Kingdoms ruines should be buried?
Is it not strange there should be hatch’t a Plot
Which should out-doe the Treason of the Scot,
And even the Malice of a Puritan?
Reader behold, and hate the poysonous man;
The Picture’s like him; yet ’tis very fit
To adde one likeness more, that’s hang like it.