On my Lord Croft's and my Iourney into Poland, from whence we brought 10000 l. for his Majesty by the Decimation of his Scottish Subjects there.

TOle, tole,
Gentle Bell, for the Soul
Of the pure ones in Pole,
Which are damned in our Scroul;

Who having felt a touch
Of Cockram's greedy Clutch,
Which though it was not much,
Yet their stubbornness was such,

That when we did arrive,
'Gainst the stream we did strive;
They would neither lead, nor drive:

Nor lend
An Ear to a Friend,
Nor an answer would send
To our Letter so well penn'd.

Nor assist our affairs,
With their Monies nor their Wares,
As their answer now declares,
But only with their Prayers.

Thus they did persist,
Did and said what they list,
Till the Dyet was dismist;
But then our Breech they kist.

For when
It was mov'd there and then
They should pay one in ten,
The Dyet said Amen.

And because they are loth
To discover the troth,
They must give word and Oath,
Though they will forfeit both.

Thus the Constitution
Condemns them every one,
From the Father to the Son.

But Iohn
(Our Friend) Mollesson,
Thought us to have out-gone
With a quaint Invention.

Like the Prophets of yore,
He complain'd long before,
Of the Mischiefs in store,
I, and thrice as much more.

And with that wicked Lye
A Letter they came by,
From our Kings Majesty.

But Fate
Brought the Letter too late,
'Twas of too old a date,
To relieve their damned State.

The Letter's to be seen,
With seal of Wax so green,
At Dantzige, where t' as been
Turn'd into good Latin.

But he that gave the hint,
This Letter for to Print,
Must also pay his stint.

That trick,
Had it come in the Nick,
Had touch'd us to the quick,
But the Messenger fell sick.

Had it later been wrought;
And sooner been brought,
They had got what they sought,
But now it serves for nought.

On Sandys they ran aground,
And our return was crown'd
With full ten thousand pound.