A PROPER NEW BALLAD OF THF Divels Arse a Peake, Or SATANS Beastly place, Or, In plain Terms OF the POSTERIORS and FAG-END of A Long PARLIAMENT.
To be said or Sung very Comfortably
To the Tune of Cook Laurell.
O Foolish Brittanicks, where are your hearts fled?
What fiend doth the Nation bewitch;
That since you like Rogues Cut off your own Head,
Your Noses Close in with the Britch?
The Britch! such a bit,
Nolls paunch could never brook,
For it put him still to his dumps;
And though full meals of Hell-broth he oft took,
Yet always he spew'd out the Rumps.
Till
Lambert the Knave and
Fleetwood the fool
(Though
Di
[...]k perswaded them from it)
Did overturn the Divels Close-stool,
And like Dogs return to their Vomit.
No sooner the Council Table was spread
With many a vomited gull;
But the Army grew sqeezee and turned their Head,
For they soon had their belly full.
The Red-coats could never this Rumpling digest,
Till advis'd by
Old Nick and his train,
(Who good unwittingly oft may suggest)
They spew'd up their vomit again.
Their Surreverence was for a while out of sight
Till
Whettam began to deplore 'um,
And
Arthur the Knight of the Spur a bold wight,
The Rump of a Rump did restore 'um.
Then a pox light on the pitiful Rump
That a third time above board vapers
Which Old Nick blew out; but now turns up Trump
As
Jone farted in and out tapers.
The House by this Legion was long time Possest,
But at last they were Cast out of dore;
Yet finding it swept, return'd a new guest
Seven-times more a fiend then before.
Away then ye pitiful Citizen slaves
Who let such enormities pass,
Were you but true men or not errant knaves,
Fools durst not you ride like an
Ass.
Then dare to be Honest, and beat up your Drum,
For when the Rogues here of your power,
Youl'e smell what a sent proceeds from the Bum,
From
Whitehall, at least to the
Tower.
S' foot! what if these Arse-worms with gifts of our gold
Great
George to defend them should move,
Our goods and our Liberties, then would be sold,
And the Divel a
Monk would he prove.
Then pluck up your Spirits, and draw out your Swords
'Tis force that must onely prevail,
We have long enough stood out in bare Words,
Let's now make a Rod for their Tail.
Then
Vive le Roy let's merrily Sing,
Can any Man well in his Witts,
Think worser of
Charles our Noble good KING,
Then those who do Govern by Fits?
Search round the great City what ill you can see,
Which the Rascally
Rump hath not done,
And then you will wish with the Nation and me,
That
CHARLS had his Heritage won.
For Swearing, Sacriledge, Murther, and Lies,
KING-Killing, Hyprocrisy, Cheats,
They make no more of these Sins, then of Flies,
HELL is almost outdam'd by their Feats.
Then fight ye like Men for the good of the Nation,
As ye hope to be Civilly Drunk,
On free cost at blessed
CHARLES Coronation,
Pray hard for the trueness of
Monk.
Heaven blesse our good Soveraign, the best of all Men,
Let the KING of our Hearts be Trump,
That Peace and Prosperity may come agen,
Squire
Dun and Old Nick take the Rump.
Then let the Knaves Shuffle 3 Kingdoms a while
Till each Curr at his fellow snarls,
Ere long they will Cut, and after the broyl
The dealing must fall to KING
Charls,
This Flap with a Fox-taile shall have the same Lot,
That unhorst his Tumble down Highnesse,
For since the rest of the Members are not,
The Rump must shortly have FINIS.