I Thank You Twice Or The city courting their own ruin,
Thank the Parliament twice for their treble undoing.
A street ballad.  From a broadside, 1647.

The hierarchy is out of date,
Our monarchy was sick of late,
But now 'tis grown an excellent state:
Oh, God a-mercy, Parliament!

The teachers knew not what to say,
The 'prentices have leave to play,
The people have all forgotten to pray;
Still, God a-mercy, Parliament!

The Roundhead and the Cavalier
Have fought it out almost seven year,
And yet, methinks, they are never the near:
Oh, God a-mercy, Parliament!

The gentry are sequester'd all;
Our wives you find at Goldsmith Hall,
For there they meet with the devil and all;
Oh, God a-mercy, Parliament!

The Parliament are grown to that height
They care not a pin what his Majesty saith;
And they pay all their debts with the public faith.
Oh, God a-mercy, Parliament!

Though all we have here is brought to nought,
In Ireland we have whole lordships bought,
There we shall one day be rich, 'tis thought:
Oh, God a-mercy, Parliament!

We must forsake our father and mother,
And for the State undo our own brother
And never leave murthering one another:
Oh, God a-mercy, Parliament!

Now the King is caught and the devil is dead;
Fairfax must be disbanded,
Or else he may chance be Hotham-ed.
Oh, God a-mercy, Parliament!

They have made King Charles a glorious king
He was told, long ago, of such a thing;
Now he and his subjects have reason to sing,
Oh, God a-mercy, Parliament!