RATTS Rhimed to Death. OR, THE Rump-Parliament Hang'd up in the SHAMBLES.

LONDON, Printed in the Year 1660.

TO THE READER.

READER,

THis Collection of ex­cellent Ballads on the late RUMP, who called them­selves the Parlia­ment, when they were formerly Printed in loose sheets, might not unfitly be called the Picture of the Members of the Rump dis­solved, and stinking singly a-part. Be­ing now bound together, they may as fit­ly be called the Picture of the said [Page] Rump assembled, and stinking in Consort. If you think this second Edi­tion might be spared, I must borrow my Apology from their Sermons, who were Preachers to the Rump; which, for the most part, were nothing but Repetition and Tautology, or a Rump of staler Mutton hash'd by ill looks, where all the parts being minced exceeding small, lost their order and distinction. And where that which was the Preface would as well have served for the Con­clusion; and both the Preface and Con­clusion would equally have past for the Middle of the dry Discourse. If you ask me, Why being dead and rotten, the unsavoury remembrance of them is preserved by these Papers: It is, be­cause whilst they lived, they were a kind of Purrezes, whose business was to suck the blood of the Nation, and to break our sleeps by stinging; and who [Page] never stink more than when they are crusht, and squeezed; and who, in spight of all perfumes, will offend the Nose even when they are dead. I hope you will pardon the ill Tunes to which they are to be sung, there being none bad enough for them; nor any voice so fit as their Speaker's, who, as long as he was the Rump of this Rump, and sate in the Chair, it was a kind of a new Common-wealth, or Mr. Hobs's Artifi­ciall Man made a Leviathan, still breaking wind, and speaking backwards.

ARSY VERSY: OR, The second Martyrdom of the RUMP.

To the Tune of, The blind Beggar of Bednal-green.
1.
MY Muse to prevent lest an after-clap come,
If the wind should once more turn about for the Bum,
As a Preface of Honor, and not as a Frump,
First with a Sirreverence ushers the Rump.
2.
I shall not dispute whether Long-tails of Kent,
Or Papists, this name of disgrace did invent;
Whose Legend of Lies, to defame us the more,
Hath entail'd on us Rumps ne're heard on before.
3.
But not on its Pedigree longer to think,
(For the more it is stirr'd the more it will stink)
'Tis agreed the Rump's first report in the Town
Did arise from the woodden invention of Brown.
4.
Old Oliver's nose had taken in snuff,
When it sate long ago, some unsavoury puffe;
Then up went the Rump, and was [...]kt to the quick;
But it setled in spight of the teeth of poor Dick.
5.
Then the Knight of the Pestle, King Lambert and Vane,
With a Scepter of Iron did over it reign:
But the Rump soon re-setled, and to their disgrace,
Like Excrements voided them out of the place.
6.
It did now, like a Truant's well disciplin'd Bum,
With the Rod affliction harder become;
Or else like the Image in Daniel it was,
Whose head was of Gold, but whose tail was of Brasse.
7.
It endur'd the first heat, and prov'd no starter,
But sung in the midst of the flames like a Martyr,
And whisk'd the tail like a terrible Farter,
And sounded most cheerfully, Vive Sir Arthur.
8.
But the next fire-Ordeal put into a dump,
Sir Orlando the furious chief joynt of the Rump,
That he lookt like the picture of Richard the Third,
Or like an ejected and frost-bitten t—
9.
'Tis said that his Durindana he drew,
And a Wight on the Road most manfully slew;
But, pardon'd by Charls, made good what they tell us,
How ill 'tis to save a Thief from the Gallows.
10.
Being now to be burnt, he soon did expire,
For he was but a flash and would quickly take fire;
So that their fewell upon him to spend,
What was it but Coals to Newcastle to send?
11.
To bring 'em to th'stake as in order they lie,
Harry Martin the next place must occupy;
'Twas expected in vain he should blaze, for he swore,
That he had been burnt to the stumps before.
12.
Tom Scot for the Bum most stiffly did stand,
Though once by a Bum he was fouly trapand;
But Time and his Office of Secretary
Had learnt him his businesse more private to carry.
13.
Some thought he arriv'd at his dignity first,
By being so well in iniquity verst;
The mysterie of which he hath practis'd of late
In his function, which was, to be Bawd to the State.
14.
Hob Morley in silence did suffer the losse
Of his Rump, and with patience took up the Crosse;
That to see him so sindg'd and so scorcht you would swear,
No Camell more meekly his burden could bear.
15.
The Speaker was thought to the Rump to be true,
Because like a Fart at the first he burnt blew;
But streight he was cunningly seen to retire,
For fear to endanger the Rolls in the fire.
16.
St. John a mortall of flesh and of bloood,
Swore by St. * Peter the example was good:
So facing about, and shifting his station,
He turn'd o're a new leaf in St. John's Revelation.
17.
Harry Nevill that looks like a Mahomet's Pidgeon,
Accused to be of a State-man's Religion,
Is left to his choice what Processe he'l have,
To be burnt for an Atheist, or hang'd for a Knave.
18.
Now stop thy nose, Reader, for Atkins does come,
That shame to the Breeches as well as the Bum:
To wish he were burnt were an idle desire,
For he comes provided to shite out the fire.
19.
But lest he without a companion should be,
Here's Lisle that comes next stinks worser than he;
So fouly corrupt, you may place't in your Creed,
Such a Rump could alone such a Fistula breed.
20.
Poor Ludlow was bogg'd in Ireland of late,
And to purge himself came to the Rump of the State;
But gravely they told him he had acted amiss,
When he sought to betray the Rump with a kisse.
21.
Ned Harby was sure an herb John in the pot,
Yet could he not scape the dysasterous lot:
Scarce Church'd of the Gowt was the trusty old Squire,
But he hopt from the frying-pan into the fire.
22.
Robin Andrews was laid on last, as they tell us,
For a Log to keep down the rest of his fellows;
Though he spent on the City like one of the Roysters
Each morning his * two-pence in Sack & in Oysters.
23.
Next Praise-God, although of the Rump he was none,
Was for his Petition burnt to the Bare-bone:
So Praise-God and Rump, like true Josephs together,
Did suffer; but Praise-God lost the more * Leather.
24.
There's Lawson another dag-lock of the Tail,
That the fire to avoid to the water did sail;
And in godly simplicity means (as they say)
To manage the Stern, though the Rump's out of play.
25.
But Overton most with wonder doth seize us,
By securing of Hull for no lesse than Christ Jesus,
Hoping (as it by the story appears)
To be there his Lieutenant for one thousand years.
26.
Lord Monson? Oh Venus! what do you hear?
I little thought you were a Rumper I swear:
But an impotent Lord will thus far avail,
He will serve for a cloak to cover the tail.
27.
To burnish his Star Mr. Salsbury's come,
With the Atoms of gold that fall from the Bum;
Sure 'twas but a Meteor, for I must tell ye,
It smells as 'twere turning to the Alderman's jelly.
28.
Brother Pembrook comes last, and does not disdain,
Though despis'd by the world, to bear up the train;
But after new lights so long he did run,
That they brought him to * Bethlehem before they had done.
29.
Thus the Foxes of Sampson that carried a Brand
In their tails, to destroy and to burn up the Land;
In the flames they had kindled themselves do expire,
And the Dee'l give them brimstone unto their fire.

RUMP RAMPANT, Or, The sweet Old Cause in sippits: Set out by Sir T. A. Perfumer to his late Highnesse.

To the Tune of, Last Parliament sat as snugg as a Cat.
IN the name of the Fiend, what the Rump up agin!
The Delk, and the good old cause!
If they settle agin, which to think were a sin,
Good-night to Religion and Laws.
First, Tithes must go down like a sprig of the Crown,
Although John Presbyter grumble;
Already they tell's our Lead and our Bells
They'l sell, next our Churches must tumble.
This poor English Nation, by this Generation
Hath been griev'd 11. years and more,
But in that season, and not without reason,
They ha' thrice been turn'd out of door.
Which they please to call [...]orce, yet themselves can do worse;
For this Parcel of a House
Dare keep out of door, thrice as many more,
And value the Law not a Louse.
First by Owl-light they met, and by that light they set:
The reason of it mark,
Their acts and the light, do differ quite,
Their deeds do best with the dark.
Esquire Lenthall had swore, he'd sit there no more,
Unlesse in with Oxen they drew him;
That he once might speak true, they pick'd him out two,
Sent Pembrook and Salisbury to him.
When these Gamsters were pack'd, the first gracious act
Was for pence for their friends of the Army:
Who for any side fight, except't be the right;
Sixscore thousand a month won't harm ye.
Yet many there be, say The House is not free,
When I am sure of that,
T' one another they 're so free, that the Nation do see,
They 're too free for us to be fat.
Religion they wav'd, now they had us enslav'd
And got us sure in their Claw:
They puld off their mask, and set us our task,
Which is next to make Brick without Straw.
The next Act they made, was for helping of Trade,
So they setled again the Excise,
Which the City must pay, for ever and aye,
Yet might have chose had they been wise.
To pull down their King, their plate they could bring,
And other precious things:
So that Sedgwick and Peters, were no small getters
By their Bodkins, Thimbles, and Rings.
But when for the good of the Nation 'twas stood,
Half ruined and forlorn,
Though't lay in their power, to redeem 't in an hour,
Not a Citizen put out his horn.
They had manacled their hands, with King's and Bishop's Lands,
And ruin'd the whole Nation,
So that no body cares, though they and their heirs
Be Cornute to the third generation.
May their wives on them frown, but laugh and he down,
To any one else turn up Trump:
To mend the breed, as I think there is need,
Be rid like their men by the Rump.
And may these wise Sophies, pay again for their Trophies,
For I hope the Parliament means
(Now they ha' been at the costs, to set up the posts)
To make them pay well for the Chains.

THE RUMP DOCK'T.

TIll it be understood
What's under Monck's hood,
The City dare not shew his horns:
Till ten days be our,
The Speaker's sick of the Gout,
And the Rump doth sit upon thorns.
If Monck be turn'd Scot,
The Rump goes to pot,
And the Good Old Cause will miscarry;
Like coals out of embers,
Revive the Old Members;
Off goes the Rump, like Dick and Harry.
Then in come the Lords,
Who drew Parliament swords,
With Robes lined through with Ermin:
But Peers without Kings
Are very uselesse things,
And their Lordships counted but Vermin.
Now Morley and Fagg
May be put in a bagg,
And that doughty man, Sir Arthur,
In despair for his Foil
With Alderman Hoyle,
Will become a Knight of the Garter.
That Knave in Grain,
Sir Harry Vane,
His case than most men's is sadder;
There is little hope
He can scape the Rope,
For the Rump turn'd him o're the Ladder
That pretious Saint Scot
Shall not be forgot,
According to his own desires;
Instead of Neck-verse,
He shall have writ on his Herse,
Here hangs one of the King's Triers.
Those nine sons of Mars
That whipt the Rump's Arse,
I mean the Commanders warlick;
If the Rump smell too strong
With hanging too long,
Shall serve to stuffe it with Garlick.
That parcell of Man,
In length but a span,
Whose wife's eggs always are addle;
Must quit the Life-guard,
As he did when skar'd
By Lambert out of the saddle.
Lambert now may turn Florist,
Being come of the poorest
That ever did man of the Sword:
The Rump lett a fart
Which took away his heart,
And made him a Squire of a Lord.
His Cheshire glory
Is a pittifull story,
There the Saints triumph'd without Battle;
But now Monck and his Friers
Have driven him into the Briars,
As he did Booth and his Cattle.
For the rest of the Rump,
Together in a lump,
'Tis too late to cry Peccavi;
Ye have sinn'd all or most
Against the holy Ghost,
And therefore the Devill must have ye.
But now valiant City,
Whether must thy Ditty
Be sung in Verse or in Prose?
For till the Rump stunck
For fear of Monck,
Thy Militia durst not shew its nose.
Base Cowards and Knaves,
That first made us slaves,
Very Rascals from the beginning;
Only unto Monck's Sword
The Nation must afford
The Honour of bringing the King in.

A NEW-YEARS-GIFT For the RUMP.

YOu may have heard of the Politique Snout,
Or a Tale of a Tub, with the bottom out,
But scarce of a Parliament in a shitten clout.
Which no body can deny.
'Twas Atkins first serv'd this Rump in with Mustard,
The Sawce was a compound of Courage, and Custard;
Sr. Vane bless'd the Creature: Noll snufled, and Bluster'd.
Which no body can deny.
The Right was as then, in Old Olivers Nose,
But when the Devil, of that did dispose,
It Descended from thence, to the Rump, in the Cloze.
Which no body can deny.
Nor is it likely there to stay long,
The Retentive faculties being gone,
The Juggle is stale, and Money there's none.
Which no body can deny.
The Secluded Members made a Trial
To Enter, but them the Rump did defy all,
By the Ordinance of Self denial.
Which no body can deny.
Our Politique Doctors do us Teach,
That a Blood-sucking Red-coat's as good as a Leech,
To Relieve the Head, if appli'd to the Breech.
Which no body can deny.
But never was such a worm as Vane;
When the State scour'd last, it voided him then,
Yet now he's crept into the Rump again.
Which no body can deny.
Ludlow's Fart, was a Prophetique Trump:
(There never was any thing so Jump)
'Twas the very Type of a vote of this Rump.
Which no body can deny.
They say, 'tis good Luck, when a Body rises
With the Rump upward; but he that advises
To Live in that Posture, is none of the wisest.
Which no body can deny.
The Reason is worse, though the Rime be Untoward,
When things proceed with the wrong end Forward,
But they say there's sad news to the Rump from the Nor'ward.
Which no body can deny.
'Tis a wonderfull thing the strength of that Part,
At a Blast, it will take you a Team from a Cart;
And Blow a mans Head away with a Fart.
Which no body can deny.
When our Brains are Sunck below the Middle,
And our Consciences steer'd by the hey Down-Diddle,
Then things will go round without a Fiddle.
Which no body can deny.
You may Order the City with a Hand-Granado,
Or the Generall with a Bastonado,
But no way for a Rump like a Carbonado,
Which no body can deny.
To make us as famous in Councill, as Wars,
Here's Lenthal, a Speaker for mine —
And Fleetwood is a man of Mars.
Which no body can deny.
'Tis pitty that Nedham's fall'n into Disgrace,
For he orders a Bumme with a marvellous Grace,
And ought to attend the Rump by his Place.
Which no body can deny.
Yet this in spight of all Dysasters,
Although he hath Broken the Heads of his Masters,
'Tis still his Profession, to give 'em all Plasters.
Which no body can deny.
Let 'em cry down the Pope, till their Throats are sore,
Their design was to bring him in at the Back-door:
For the Rump ha's a mind to the scarlet whore.
Which no body can deny.
And this is a Truth at all hands confest,
However unskilfull in any of the rest,
The Rump speaks the Language of the Beast.
Which no body can deny.
They talk that Lambert is like to be try'd,
For Treason, and Buggery beside,
Because that he did the Rump bestride,
Which no body can deny.
The Rump's an old story if well understood,
'Tis a thing dress'd up in a Parliament's Hood,
And lik't, but the Tayl stands where the Head should,
Which no body can deny.
'Twould make a man scratch where it does not itch,
To see forty fools heads in one politique Breech,
And that — Hugging the Nation as the Devill did the Witch,
Which no body can deny.
From rotten Members preserve our Wives,
From the mercy of a Rump, our Estates and our Lives:
For they must needs go whom the Devill drives,
Which no body can deny.

The Re-Resurrection of the RUMP: Or, Rebellion and Tyranny reviv'd.
The third Edition.

To the Tune of the Blacksmith.
IF none be offended with the Sent,
Though I foul my mouth, I'le be content,
To sing of the Rump of a Parliament
Which no body can deny.
I have sometimes fed on a Rump in Sowse,
And a man may imagine the Rump of a Lowse;
But till now was ne're heard of the Rump of a House,
Which no body can deny.
There's a Rump of Beef, and the Rump of a Goose,
And a Rump whose Neck was hang'd in a Noose;
But ours is a Rump can play fast and loose,
Which no body can deny.
A Rump had Jane Shore, and a Rump Messaleen,
And a Rump had Anthony's resolute Queen;
But such a Rump as ours is, never was seen,
Which no body can deny.
Two short years together we English have scarce
Been rid of thy rampant Nose (Old Mars)
But now thou hast got a prodigious Arse,
Which no body can deny.
When the parts of the Body did all fall out,
Some Votes it is like did passe for the Snout;
But that the Rump should be King was never a doubt,
Which no body can deny.
A Cat has a Rump, and a Cat has nine Lives,
Yet when her Head's off, her Rump never strives;
But our Rump from the grave hath made two Retrives
Which no body can deny.
That the Rump may all their enemies quail,
They'l borrow the Devil's Coat of Mail,
And all to defend their Estate in Tail,
Which no body can deny.
But though their Scale now seem to be the Upper,
Ther's no need of the charge of a Thanksgiving Supper
For if they be the Rump, the Army's their Crupper,
Which no body can deny.
There is a saying belongs to the Rump,
Which is good, although it be worn to the stump,
That on the Buttocks I'le give thee a Thump,
Which no body can deny.
There's a Proverb in which the Rump claims a part,
Which hath in it more of Sense than of Art,
That for all you can do I care not a Fart,
VVhich no body can deny.
Ther's another Proverb gives the Rump for his Crest,
But Alderman Atkins made it a Jest,
That of all kind of Lucks, shitten Luck is the best,
VVhich no body can deny.
There is another Proverb that never will fail,
That the good the Rump will do when they prevail,
Is to give us a flap with a Fox-tail,
VVhich no body can deny.
There is a saying which is made by no fools,
I can never hear on't but my heart it cools,
That the Rump wil spend all we have in Close-stools,
VVhich no body can deny.
There's an observation wise and deep,
Which without an Onyon will make me to weep,
That flies will blow maggots in the Rump of a sheep,
VVhich no body can deny.
And some that can see the Wood from the Trees,
Say, This sanctifi'd Rump in time we may leese;
For the Cooks do challenge the Rumps for their fees,
VVhich no body can deny.
When the Rump doth sit we will make it our moan,
That a reason be 'nacted if there be not one,
Why a Fart hath a Toung and a Fyest hath none,
VVhich no body can deny.
And whilst within the Walls they lurk,
To satisfie us will be a good work,
Who hath most Religion, the Rump or the Turk,
VVhich no body can deny.
A Rump's a Fag-end like the baulk of a Furrow,
And is to the whole like the Jayl to the Burrough;
'Tis the Bran that is left, when the meal is run thorough,
VVhich no body can deny.
Consider the World, the Heav'n is the head on't,
The Earth is the middle, and we men are fed on't,
But Hell is the Rump and no more can be said on't,
VVhich no body can deny.
‘ Flectere si nequeunt superos Acheronta movebunt.’

A VINDICATION Of the RƲMP: or, the RƲMP RE-ADVANC'D.

To the Tune of, Up Tails all.
FUll many a Ballad hath been penn'd
and scoffing Poem writ
Against the RUMP; but I intend
to speak in praise of it.
Come Jove and Apollo, come Venus and Mars,
And lend your assistance: to speak of the A—
Will require a prodigious wit.
There's scarce a Lady to be found,
that loves either Pear or Plum
One half so well, if she be sound,
as tabering at her B—
It may be, you'l say, I'me wide of the case,
Since that Musick's made in a distant place,
I answer, The breadth of your thum.
When Alderman Atkins did bemarre
his Hose through a panick fear,
And Captain Rea, that Man of Warr:
On! what a Hogo was there?
If you ask me, What praise is this? at a word,
The Captain so fenced himself by a T—
that his enemies could not come near.
There is not a Lawyer in Country or Town,
whose Rhetorick doth prevail
Although he hath purchas'd Fee-simple by th' Gown,
but loves to be dealing in Tail.
And I may well swear by Apollo or Mars,
That at a place called the Oven's Arse,
Oft-times I have drunken good Ale.
And when you are dallying with a young Maid,
would you not her buttocks bethump?
And I have been often well apaid
With a Goose both fat and plump:
The body being eaten, we strive for the tail,
Each man with his Kan'kin of nappy brown Ale,
doth box it about for the RUMP.
The Rump of a Cony I often have seen
most pitteously claw'd by a Ferret,
And a Capon's Rump is a bit for a Queen,
Although she's a person of merit.
In preaching and praying who spends the whole day,
At night keeps a Rump wherewithall for to play,
be he never so full of the spirit.
I wonder who first call'd the Parliament Rump,
some say, that it was Jack Hobby,
And some, fiery Pryn: good wits will jump;
now I write not this to bob ye,
But onely to tell ye, that good Mr. Pryn,
For all he's cropt, yet he could not get in,
but was fain to remain in the Lobby.
The other day I was going in haste,
(to think on't, it grieves my heart)
I saw a poor fellow all naked to the waste,
and whipt at the Arse of a Cart:
His Rump ('tis true) suffer'd the rout. But I would
Fain know who it was that durst be so bold,
as to call Mr. Speaker Sir F—
He might as well have styled him Anus,
since he was the mouth of the Rump,
As cunning a Fox as Rome's Sejanus:
but I do not love for to frump;
Or else I could tell ye, my friends, to an Ace,
What good can accrew to the Land by a Mace,
as long as the Knave's the greatest Trump.
Our zealous sticklers for Reformation
will edifie on the Rump of a sister;
And it will never grow out of fashion
to physick the Tail with a Glister.
But beware that Monck doth not come with a bitter
Purge to our Rump, which will make her beshit her,
for she hath already bepist her.
RUMPATUR.

THE RUMP ULULANT, Or PENITENCE per FORCE; Being the Recantation of the old rusty-roguy-rebellious-rampant, And now ruinous rotten-rosted RUMP.

To the Tune of Gerrards Mistresse.
FArewell
False Honours, and usurped Power Farewell,
For the great Bell
Of Justice rings in our affrighted Ears.
The Gripes,
Of wounded Conscience far exceed all Stripes,
Yet are small Types,
Of those sharp Pains Rebellion justly fears,
See how,
Th' unmasked People hisse us out of Doors,
And call us Knaves,
Because though we, Their Servants be,
We made them but our Slaves.
For since
We laid the Country wast like ravenous Bores,
They seek our Bloods,
Because we prize their Liberties,
But to devour their Goods.
Our Hands
We dip'd in Royall Blood, to have his Lands
At our Commands,
And made three Kingdoms headless at one Blow,
The Strife
We caus'd was chiefly to cut off his Life,
With cursed Knife;
He that was Vertue's Friend, must be our Foe.
We made
Religion do our Drudgery to base Ends,
But now we find,
They that do sow Pretences, mow
A Harvest of the wind.
And now
When clamorous Vengeance Calling for Amends
Begins our Grief,
Our friend the Devil, with his Evil,
Can give us no Relief.
Go search
All Lands beneath the Sun's Star-spangled Perch,
You'll find no Church
Like ours, whilst Reverend BISHOPs held the Chayr.
But those
We knew with our designs would never close;
And therefore chose
In their steads to set up Extempore-Prayer.
Poach'd eyes
And words twang'd through a whining Lecturer's Nose,
Did fill our Purses,
That many gave Rings, and better Things,
Which now give only Curses.
And thus
Hell was our Text, though Heav'n were our Gloze,
And Will our Reason,
Religion we made free of Hocus trade,
And voted Loyalty Treason.
Since we
With wicked Arms have made the Crosier flee,
Errour is free,
To lay her Nets, to make weak Minds her Prize.
All Sects,
Schisms, cursed Heresies with stubborn Necks,
Corrupt our Texts,
And Crane up Scripture to maintain their Lyes,
You see
The Crop-ear'd Anabaptist sowing Tares
In every Ground,
Though the Plagues of War, wherever they are
The Church and State Confound.
So do
The Roman Noses vend their Popish Wares,
By Twylight still;
And the Quaker half-mad, though he looks so sad,
Grinds in the Jesuites Mill.
Our Drums
Did drown your Processe, and your Writs; our Plums,
Bid kisse our Bums,
We sent your Laws and Persons to the Tower:
From whence
To be deliver'd, 'Twas in vain to Fence
By talking Sense;
No Habeas Corpus in the Court of Power.
The Gown
Did stoop his Reverend Velvet to a Crew
In short Red Coats,
Who many a Day, Have made you pay,
For cutting your own Throats.
We rob'd
The Whole of Food to pamper up the Few,
Excis'd your Wares,
And tax'd you round, Six pence the Pound,
And massacred your Bears.
But now
Dispair's black clowds do hang upon our Brow,
For all do Bow,
Their Hearts, to their true Shepheard, Charls
And we
Their Wolfish Rulers now must Subjects be their King.
To Destiny,
And end our Juncto in a fatall String.
Then learn
All future Traytors by our Tragick Doom,
E're 'tis too late;
Lest when you make, Kingdoms to shake,
You Copy out our Fate.
We know
Our high affronts to Church and State make room
For Us in Hell;
But yet We'l hope, till the sad Rope
Says, Bid the World Farewell.
‘ — Facit Indignatio Versum.’

The BREECH Wash'd, by a Friend to the RUMP.

IN an humour of late I was,
Ycleped a dolefull dump.
Thought I — We're at a fine passe;
Not a man stands up for the Rump,
But let it be lash'd o're and o're,
While it lies like a senselesse Fop —
'Twould make a Man a Whore,
To see a Tail tew'd like a Top.
Though a Rump be a dangerous bit,
And many a Knave runs mad on't,
Yet verily, as it may hit,
An honest man may be glad on't.
To abuse a poor, Blind Creature —
I had like to have said, and a Dumb;
But now it has gotten a Speaker,
And Say is the Mouth of the Bum.
When Besse rul'd the Land there was no man
Complain'd: and yet now they rail:
I beseech you what differs a woman
From a thing that's all Toung and Tail?
Though a Rump, &c.
The Charter we've sworn to defend,
And propagate the Cause.
What call you those of the Rump-end
But Fundamentall Laws?
The Case is as clear as the day,
There had been no reformation,
If the Rump had not claw'd it away,
You had had no Propagation.
Though a Rump, &c.
As a Body's the better for a Purge,
Tho' the guts may be troubled with gripes:
So the Nation will mend with a scourge,
Tho'the Tail may be sick of the stripes.
Ill humours to conveigh,
When the State hath taken a Loosnesse,
(Who can hold what will away?)
The Rump must do the buis'nesse.
Tho' a Rump, &c.
The bold Cavalier in the Field,
That laughs at your Sword and Gun-shot,
An Ordinance makes him to yield,
And he's glad to turn Tail to Bumshot.
Old Oliver was a Teazer,
And waged war with the Stump;
But Alexander and Caesar
Did both submit to the Rump.
Tho' a Rump, &c.
Let no man be further misled
By an Error past debate.
For Sedgwick has prov'd it the Head,
As well of the Church as the State.
Honest Hugh, that still turns up the Tippet,
When he kneels to Administer;
Says — A Rump with Skippon's sippits
Is a Dish for a Holy Sister.
Tho' a Rump, &c.
Through pride of Flesh or State,
Poor Souls are overthrown:
How happy then is our Fate?
We've a Rump to take us down.
In matters of Faith, 'tis true,
Some differings there may be;
But give the Saints their due
In the Rump they all agree.
Tho' a Rump, &c.
'Tis good at Bed and at Bord;
It gives us Pleasure and Ease;
Will you have the rest in a word?
'Tis good for the new Disease,
(The tumult of the Guts;)
'Tis a Recipe for the King's Evill.
Wash the Members as sweet as Nuts,
And then throw them all to the Devill.
Though a Rump be a dangerous Bit,
And many a Knave runs mad on't;
Yet verily, as it may hit,
An honest man may be glad on't.

St. George for ENGLAND.

To the Tune of Cook Lawrel.
THe VVestminster-Rump hath been little at ease,
Of which you have heard enough, one would think;
And therefore wee'l lay it aside, if you please,
For the more we do stir in't the more it will stink.
The Countie resolves for a Parliament free,
Makes the Rump smell worse than it did of late;
For now it runs down their heels, you may see.
You may call them our Privy-Members of State.
But why should this Rump deal so roughly with Kent?
When England was conquer'd they were Scot-free;
Must they, for declaring, of all men be shent?
But Long-tail and Bob-tail can never agree.
'Tis much disputed who Antichrist is;
I think 'tis this Rump, nor am I in jest:
For indeed, although of the Number it misse,
Of this I am sure, 't has the mark of the Beast.
I cannot believe that our Generall Monck
Intends to protect it, he's not such a fool;
For if he were rightly inform'd how it stunck,
He never would joyn with such Grooms of the Stool.
Though't be not whole Antichrist, 'tis the worst part,
By it both the Pope and the Turk are out-done;
If it be not the head, nor the feet, nor the heart,
'Tis the Rump of the Whore of Babylon.
So pocky, so stinking, so cheating to boot,
That he that has got but an eye or a nose
Would never bestride it. Then why should you do't?
And make the poor Devill his stationship lose.
If I might advise him, he should not come near it,
The scent of that House is naught for his Gout,
And for his Army too; he well may fear it,
'Tis enough to infect both his Horse and his Foot.
Nor would I wish him to come to VVhite-hall,
For that hath been an unfortunate place;
From thence Noll was fetch'd, and Dick had his fall:
And George may take heed that it be not his case.
I remember the time when you fought for the King,
And the Cause was good, though you did not prevail.
O let not the Boys in the streets now sing,
He was once for the Head, but now for the Tail.
Then George for England strike up thy Drum,
And do thy devoir this Rump to destroy,
That noble King Charls the Second may come,
And our streets may eccho with Vive le Roy.
And if He shall come by thy Valour and Might,
In that brave exploit thou'lt have more to brag on,
Than e're had Saint George that valiant Knight,
Who rescued the Maid by killing the Dragon.
Then lay by the thought of a Parliament free,
But first bring the King in, if you be wise;
For without King and Lords there none can be,
'Twill be but a Rump of a bigger sise.
You know how to do it, & need not much schooling,
All that you need to say, is, Let it be done.
Then why should you stand delaying and fooling?
You fought for the Father, why not for the Son?
If you do not do't, much honour you'l lose,
Which he and we mean you; for this we do know,
That in spight of the Rump and all other his foes,
He will be brought in whether you will or no

The Parliament-Complement, Or, The Re-admission of the SECLUDED-MEMBERS to the Discharge of their long retarded TRUST.

SInce sixteen hundred forty and odd,
We have soundly been lasht with our own rod,
And have bow'd our selves down at a Tyrant's nod,
Which no body can deny.
We have seen a new thing cal'd a Council of State,
Upheld by a power that's now out of date,
Put to th' question, by'th Members of forty eight;
Which no body can deny.
We have seen what we hope, we shall ne're see agin,
Now Lambert and Desbrow are snar'd in the gin,
The Tail cunningly pieced unto the Skin,
VVhich no body can deny.
A Sword that has frighted our Laws out of dore,
A Back-sword I wot, that must cut so no more,
By th' Honour of Monck, now quitting that score,
VVhich no body can deny.
A Vote lately called, The judgment of th' house,
To be esteem'd and reputed not worth a Louse,
And the Grandee of Portsmouth made a fine Chouse,
VVhich no body can deny.
We have seen an Assessement, a Thing for Taxes,
Though the Common-wealth waine, the Private waxes:
Swords into Plowshares, and such bills to axes,
VVhich no body can deny.
Another new story of Qualification,
That belong'd to no honest man of the Nation,
Like the ill contriv'd Authors, quite of Fashion.
Which no body can deny.
Originall sin, was damn'd by that Law,
The son of a Cavalier made a Jack-straw,
To be chewed again by their rav'nous jaw,
Which no body can deny.
To fill up the House, and to shuffle the deal,
New writs issued out, for their new Common-weal,
But it's not worth asking who is't payes the seal,
Which no body can deny.
I wonder who payes the late Parliament Printers,
That place they may hold as many Summers as Win­ters,
And wish their Presses were broken in splinters.
VVhich no body can deny.
A great many Traytors by them lately made,
Makes Treason be thought a common Trade,
Sir George Booth, and Jack Lambert, a while in the shade.
VVhich no body can deny.
We shall now sure give over that word Sequester,
Now the Tail is cured of their ranckling fester,
The twentieth of April is much about Easter,
VVhich no body can deny.
How many Thanks of the House have been idely spent
Upon People that still have been male-content,
But they must fast from those dainties in this shriving Lent.
Which no body can deny.
That honorable favour no more shall be given
To the factious merit of a party Hell-driven,
For now our twenty years odds will be even,
Which no body can deny.
Then room for our Prisoners detain'd in the Tower
And away with the new Lieutenant's power,
Who's minting the widdowed good old cause's Dower,
Which no body can deny.
Sir George Booth, shall not think this is a hit of fate,
Nor excuse his keeper, whose warrant's out of date,
We shall see them all cry Peccavi too late,
Which no body can deny.
Eleven years mischiefs, tumults and rage,
Are the onely memorialls of this Common-wealth's age,
And all to be thank't, be Hazelrigg the sage,
Which no body can deny.
Let our Liberty-keepers be chang'd to Restorer,
Let our Peace carry Truth and Duty before her,
He's a Fool and a Knave that else will adore her,
Which no body can deny.
This Janus-like Freedom, though it please not us all
And aversly doth look on the Scepter and Ball
Will shut up its Temple at next Common-Hall,
Which no body can deny.
Then let's pray to great Jove, that made Monck so kind
To our desperate estate, to put him in mind,
With the rest of our Worthies, of the Great Thing behind,
VVhich no body can deny.

A Proper New BALLAD of the Devill's Arse a Peak, or Satan's Beastly place. Or, in plain tearms, of the Posteriors and Fag-end of a LONG-PARLIAMENT.

To be said or sung very comfortably. To the Tune of, Cook Lawrell.
O Foolish Britannicks, 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, Noll's paunch could never brook,
For it put him still to his dumps;
And though full-meals of Hell-broth he oft took,
Yet alwas he spew'd out the Rumps.
Till Lambert the Knave, and Fleetwood the Fool,
(Though Dick perswaded them from it)
Did over-turn the Devill's 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 squeazy, and turned their head,
For they soon had their belly full.
The Red-coats could never this Rumpling disgest,
Till advis'd by old Nick and his train,
(Who good unwittingly oft may suggest)
They spew'd up their Vomit again.
Their Sirreverence was for a while out of sight,
Till Whettam began to deplore 'em,
And Arthur the Knight of the Spur, a bold Wight,
The Rump of a Rump did restore 'em.
Then a pox light on the pittifull Rump,
That a third time above-board vapers,
Which old Nick blew out, but now turns up Trump,
As Joan 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 than before.
Away then ye pittifull Citizen-slaves,
Who let such enormities passe;
Were you but true men, or nor errant knaves,
Fools durst not you ride like an Ass.
Then dare to be honest, and beat up your Drum,
For when the Rogues hear of your power,
You'l smell what a scent proceeds from the Bum,
From White-hall at least to the Tower.
S'soot! 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 Devill a Monck 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 wits
Think worser of Charls our noble good KING,
Than 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, Hypocrisie, Cheats;
They make no more of these sins than of Flies,
HELL is almost out-damn'd by their Feats.
Then fight ye like men for the good of the Nation,
As ye hope to be civilly drunck
On free-cost at blessed CHARL'S Coronation,
Pray hard for the truenesse of Monck.
Heaven bless our good Soveraign, the best of all men,
Let the KING of our Hearts be Trump,
That peace and prosperity may come again,
Squire Dun and old Nick take the Rump.
Then let the Knaves shuffle three 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-tail 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.

Bum-Fodder, or Wast-Paper, proper to wipe the Nation's RUMP with, or your own.

FRee-quarter in the North is grown so scarce,
That Lambert with all his men of Mars
Have submitted to kiss the Parliament's Arse,
Which no body can deny.
If this should prove true (as we do suppose)
'Tis such a wipe as the RUMP and all's foes,
Could never give to old Oliver's Nose,
Which, &c.
There's a Proverb come to my mind not unfit,
When the Head shall see the RUMP all be-shit,
Sure this must prove a most lucky hit,
Which, &c.
There's another Proverb which every Noddy
Will jeer the RUMp with, and cry Hoddy-doddy,
Here's a Parliament all Arse and no Body,
Which, &c.
'Tis a likely matter the world will mend,
When so much blood and treasure we spend,
And yet begin at the wrong end,
Which, &c.
We have been round, and round about twirl'd,
And through much sad confusions hurl'd,
And now we art got into the Arse of the world,
Which, &c.
But 'tis not all this our courage will quail,
Or make the brave Sea-men to the RUMP strike sail;
If we can have no Head, we will have no Tail,
Which, &c.
Then let a Free Parliament be turn'd Trump,
And ne're think any longer the Nation to mump
VVith your pocky, perjur'd, damn'd old RUMP,
Which, &c.
But what doth Rebell- Rump make here,
VVhen their proper place (as VVill. Pryn doth swear)
Is at the Devill's Arse in Derbyshire,
VVhich, &c.
Then thither let us send them a tilt,
For if they stay longer, they will us beguilt
VVith a Government that is loose in the hilt,
VVhich, &c.
You'l find it set down in Harrington's Moddle,
VVhose brains a Common-wealth do so Coddle,
That t'as made a Rotation in his Noddle,
VVhich, &c.
'Tis a pittifull pass you men of the Sword
Have brought your selves to, that the Rump's your Lord;
And Arsie-Versie must be the word,
VVhich, &c.
Our powder and shot you did freely spend,
That the Head you might from the Body rend,
And now you are at us with the But-end,
VVhich, &c.
Old Martin and Scot have still such an itch,
That they will with the Rump try t'other twitch,
And Lenthal can grease a fat Sow in the Brich,
VVhich, &c.
That's a thing that would please the Butchers and Cooks,
To see this stinking Rump quite off the hooks,
And Jack-daw go to pot with the Rooks,
VVhich, &c.
This forward Sir John (who the Rump did ne're fail)
Against Charls Stewart in a speech did rail,
But men say it was without head or tail,
VVhich, &c.
Just such is the Government we live under,
Of a Parliament thrice cut in sunder;
And this hath made us the world's wonder,
VVhich, &c.
Old Noll when we talk'd of Magna Charta,
Did prophesie well we should all smart-a;
And now we have found his Rump's Magna Fart-a,
VVhich, &c.
But I cann't think Monck (though a Soldier and Sloven)
To be kin to the Fiend whose feet are cloven,
Nor wil creep i'th' Rump's arse to bake in their oven,
VVhich, &c.
Then since he is comming, e'ne let him come
From the North to the South with Sword & Drum,
To beat up the quarters of this lewd Bum,
VVhich, &c.
And now of this Rump I'le say no more,
Nor had I begun, but upon this score,
There was something behind, which was not befor
VVhich &c.

A HYMNE To the Gentle-Craft, Or, Hewsons Lamentation.

To the Tune of the Blind Beggar.
LIsten a while to what I shall say
Of a blind Cobler that's gone astray
Out of the Parliament's High way,
Good people pitty the blind.
His name you wot well is Sir John Hewson
Whom I intend to set my Muse on,
As great a Warriour as Sir Miles Lewson,
Good people, &c.
He'd now give all the Shooes in his shop
The Parliaments fury for to stop,
Whip Cobler like any Town-top,
Good people, &c.
He hath been in many a bloody field
And a successfull sword did wield,
But now at last is forced to yield;
Good people, &c.
Oliver made him a famous Lord
That he forgot his Cutting Bord,
But now his Thred's twisted to a Cord,
Good people, &c.
Crispin and he were neer of kin,
The gentle Craft have a noble Twin,
But he'd give Sir Hughs bones to save his skin,
Good people, &c.
Abroad and at home, he hath cut many a Hide,
A Dog and a Bell must now be his Guide,
They'l lash him smartly on the blind side,
Good people, &c.
Of all his warlike valiant feats,
Of his Calves leather, and his Neats,
Let him speak 'um himself when he repeats,
Good people, &c.
I'le only mention one exploit,
For which when he begs, Ile give him a Doit,
How he did the City vex and annoy't,
Good people, &c.
He marcht into London with Red-coat and Drum
During the time we had no Bum,
Being right for the Army as a Cow's Thum,
Good people, &c.
And there he did the Prentices meet,
Who jeered him as he went through the street,
But he did them very wel-favouredly greet,
Good people, &c.
Bears do agree with their own kind,
But he was of such a cruell mind,
He kild his brother Cob. before he had din'd,
Good people, &c.
He strutted then like a Crow in a Gutter,
That no body durst once more Mutter,
The Capon-Citizens, gan to Flutter,
Good people, &c.
After he had them thus defeated,
To his old quarters he retreated,
And was by Fleetwood nobly treated,
Good people, &c.
He is for this I hear Indited,
Though the Week before by them Invited,
But Wise Men say they had as good as Shited,
Good people, &c.
He cares not for the Sessions a Lowse,
They reach not a Peer of the other House,
He's frighted to see that he is a Parliament Chouse,
Good people, &c.
And now he's gone the Lord knows whether,
He and this Winter go together,
If he be caught he will loose his Leather,
Good people, &c.
H'ad best get in some Countrey-Town,
And company keep with Desbrow the Clown,
You see how the World goes up and Down,
Good people, &c.
His Coach, and his Horses, are gone to be Lost,
He must vamp it and cart it and thank thee mine Host,
Ther's no more to be said of an old Toast,
Good people, &c.
Sing Hi Ho Hewson, the State ne're went upright,
Since Coblers could Pray, Preach, Govern, and Fight,
We shall see what they'l do now you'r out of Sight.
Good people, &c.

Vanity of Vanities, or Sir Harry Vane's Picture.

To the Tune of Jews Corant.
HAve you not seen a Barthol'mew Baby
A Pageant of policy as fine as may be,
That's gone to be Shown at the Mannor of Raby,
Which no body can deny.
There was never such a prostitute Sight,
That e're profan'd this purer Light,
A Hocus Pocus jugling Knight,
Which no body can deny.
He was taken for a Delphick Tripus,
Another doubt-resolving Oedipus,
But the Parliament made him a very Quibus,
VVhich no body, &c.
His cunning State-tricks and Oracles,
His lying wonders and Miracles,
Are turned into Parliament Shackles,
VVhich no body, &c.
Goodly great Sir Onesimus VANE,
The Annointed King of Saints not Reign?
I see all Godlinesse is not Gain,
VVhich no body, &c.
John a Leyden that Munster's Jing,
Was a Fool and an Asse to this pretty Thing,
But the Parliament hated the name of a King,
VVhich no body, &c.
This holy Saint hath pray'd till he wept,
Prophefied and Divin'd while he slept,
But fell in a T— when aside he stept,
VVhich no body, &c.
He sate late in the House so discontent,
With his Arms folded and his Brows bent,
Like Achitophel to the Parliament,
VVhich no body, &c.
He durst not speak of a Concubine,
Nor gave more Counsell to any Design,
But was musing on a Hempen Line,
VVhich no body, &c.
He see Mr. Prin take a great deal of Pain,
To get in with the rest as Members Again,
But they were Voted as use-lesse as VANE,
VVhich no body, &c.
They gave him a Congee with such a Vote;
'Twas thought they had learned it by Rote,
Ever since he went down to Graves end by Bote,
Which no body, &c.
For all his Ceremonious Cringing,
He shall undergo a notable Swindging,
There is now no more need of his Engine,
Which no body, &c.
VVhen first the English VVar began,
His Father was a Court Trepan,
And 'rose to be a Parliament Man,
Which no body, &c.
So from the Father came unto the Son,
VVhom wo and mis'ry now do wait upon,
For Counselling Protector John,
Which no body, &c.
A Gemini they were, Pollux and Castor,
One was a Teacher the other a Pastor,
And both like R— betray'd their Master,
Which no body, &c.
The Devil ne're see such two Sir Harry's,
Such a pest'lent pair nor neer nor far is,
No not at the Jesuits Sorbon of Paris,
Which no body, &c.
They talk't of his having a Cardinall's Hat,
They'd send him as soon an Old Nun's Twat,
For turning in pan there was ne're such a Cat,
Which no body, &c.
His dainty project of a Select Senate,
Is Damned for a blasphemous Tenet,
T'was found in the budget, ('tis said) of Monck Bennet,
Which no body, &c.
Of this State and Kingdoms he is the Bane,
He shall have the reward of Judas and Cain,
And t'was he that overthrew Charls his VVain,
Which no body, &c.
Should he sit where he did with his Mischievous brain,
Or if any his Counsels behind do remain,
The house may be called the Labour in Vain,
VVhich no body can deny.

Chipps of the Old Block; or, Hercules cleansing the Aegaean Stable.

To the Tune of, The Sword.
I.
NOw you, by your good leave, Sirs,
Shall see the Rump can cleave, Sirs,
And what Chips from this treacherous Block wil
come you may conceive, Sirs.
II.
Lenthal's the first of the Lump sure,
A Fart, and he may jump sure;
For both do stink, and both we know, are Speakers
of the Rump sure.
III.
That Mine of fraud Sir Artur,
His Soul for Lands will barter;
And if you ride to Hell in a Wayn, he's fit to make
your Carter.
IV.
Sir Harry Vane, God blesse us,
To Popery he would presse us;
And for the Devill's dinner he, the Roman way would dresse us.
V.
Harry Martin never mist-a,
To love the wanton twist-a;
And lustfull Aretine's bawdy Leaves are his Evangelist-a.
VI.
Harry Nevill's no VVigeon,
His practise truly Stygian
Makes it a Master-piece of wit to be of no Religion.
VII.
But my good Lord Glyn Man,
Pride is a deadly sinne Man,
Cots pluttera nails few Traitors be like you of all your kin Man.
VIII.
If Saint-John be a Saint Sir,
He hath a Devilish Taynt Sir,
VVhile Straffords blood in Heavens High Court of Justice makes complaint Sir.
IX.
Doctor Palmer's all day sleeping,
And into his Heart ne're peeping,
Tis ill he that neglects his own, should have All-souls in keeping.
X
Will. Bruerton's a sinner,
And, Croyden knowes, a Winner,
But O take heed, lest he do eat the Rump all at one Dinner.
XI.
Robin Andrews is a Miser,
Of Coblers no despiser,
And could they vamp him a new head, perhaps he would be wiser.
XII.
* But Baron VVild come out here,
Shew your Ferret face and Snout here,
For you being both a Fool and Knave are a Monster in the Rout here.
XIII.
Nich. Lechmere Loyalty needs still,
And on Weather-cocks he feeds still,
If Heathen, Turk, or Jew should come, so he would change his Creed still.
XIIII.
There's half-witted VVill. Say too,
A right fool in the Play too,
That would make a perfect Asse, if he could learn to Bray too.
XV.
Cornelius thou wert a Link-boy,
And born tis like, in a Sink boy,
I'de tell thy Knavery to the World, but thy Pitch sticks in my ink, Boy.
XVI.
Baron Hill was but a Valley,
And born scarce to an Alley,
But now is Lord of Taunton-Deane and thousands he can Ralley.
XVII.
But if you ask the Nation,
Whence came his Elevation,
They'l say he was not rais'd by God, but by our inundation.
XVIII.
Lord Fines he will not Mall men,
For he likes not Death of all men,
And his Heart doth go to Pit to Pat, when to Battle he should call men.
XIX.
Perfidious VVhitlock Ever,
Hath mischief under's Beaver,
And for his ends will put the World into a burning Feavour.
XX.
Ashely Cowper knew a Reason,
That Treachery was in Season,
When at the first he turn'd his coat from Loyalty to Treason.
XXI.
And gouty Master VVallop,
Now thinks he hath the Ballop,
But though he trotted to the Rump, hee'l run away a Gallop.
XXII.
There's Carew Rawleigh by him,
All good Men do defie him,
And they that think him not a Knave, I wish they would but try him.
XXIII.
Luke Robinson that Clownado,
Though his heart be a Granado,
Yet a High-Shooe with his hands in's Poke, is his most perfect shadow.
XXIIII.
Saloway with Tobacco,
Inspired, turn'd State Quacko;
And got more by his feigned zeal, then by his what de'e Lack ho.
XXV.
But VViddrington how came you there?
A wise man and a true there!
You are an Athanasius among a Knavish Crew there.
XXVI.
But Lisle is half forgotten,
Who oft is over shotten,
For just like Harp and Gridiron, his Brains with Law do Cotten.
XXVII.
Lord Monson's next the Bencher,
Who waited with a Trencher,
How his tayl is jeck'd at home and abroad, for he's a feeble Wencher.
XXVIII.
We hear from Sir John Lenthal,
Though this gouty Lord hath spent all,
His Rump's plac'd wrong, but 'tis his face, that is right fundamentall.
XXIX.
What Knaves are more to be vext Sirs,
You'l here when I sing next Sirs,
For now my Muse is tir'd with this abominable Text Sirs.
‘ Ridentem dicere verum, Quid vetat?’

A PSALM sung by the People, before the Bone-Fires, made in and about the City of London, on the 11th. of February.

To the Tune of, Vp tails all.
COme let's take the Rump
And wash it at the Pump,
For tis now in a shitten case:
Nay if it hang an Arse,
Wee'l pluck it down the stares,
And roast it at Hell for its grease.
Let the Divell be the Cook
And the roast overlook,
And lick his own fingers apace;
For that may be born,
(If he take it not in scorn
To lick such a privy place.)
Though we are bereft
Of our Arms, Spits are left,
Whereon the Rump we will roast;
Wee'l prick it in the Tail,
And bast it with a Flayl,
Till it stink like a Cole-burnt Toast.
It hath lain long in brine,
Made by the people's eyne,
So 'tis salt through unsavory meat;
Wee'l draw it round about
With Welsh Parsley, and no doubt
It will choak Pluto's great Dog to eat.
VVe will not be mockt
This Rump hath been dock't,
And if our skill doth not fail;
To fear it is good,
Or else all the blood
In the body, will leak out at the Tail.
Then down in your Ire,
VVith this Rump to the fire,
Get Harrington's Rota to turn it;
If paper be lack't,
The Assessment Act
You may stick upon't lest ye burn it.
But see there my Masters
It rises in blisters,
And looks very big on the matter;
Like a roasting Pigs eare
It sings, do ye hear?
'Tis enough, come quickly the Platter.
Lay Trenchers and Cloth
And away bring the Broth,
Did the Divel o'th Fag end make none;
But hold by your leave
Napkins we must have
To wipe our mouths when we have done.
Come Ladies pray where?
VVill you none of our chear?
Are ye of such a squeamish nature?
Pray what is your reason,
Are Rumps out of season?
But 'tis an abuse to the Creature.
Come wee'l fall on
Pray cut me a bone
The Meat may be healthfull and sound;
Fogh! come let us bury't
To th' hole we must carry't,
This Rump it stinks above ground.
This fire wee'l stile
The Funerall pile,
The Grave shall be under the Gallowes;
The Vane shall be th' scull,
Of some Trayterous-Fool,
And the Epitaph shall be as follows.
Underneath these Stones
A Rump-Corporate's bones,
Are laid full low in a sink,
And we do implore yee
Let them rest, for the more yee
Do stir them, the more they will stink.

LONDON'S true Character.

To the Tune of, Cuckolds all-a-Row.
YOu Coward-hearted Citizens,
what is your Damn'd pretence,
To keep your selves within your Beds,
and not Fight for your Prince?
Whose Majesty should you behold,
your shames would breed your woe;
And then (like Fools) you will cry out,
Cuckolds all-a-Row.
There's some of you, whose Bishops Lands
do so much clogg your heels,
That now you cannot stirr, where as
else, you would Run on Wheels:
But yet I hope a time will come,
when you shall be made know,
And told to your faces, that you are
Cuckolds all-a-Row.
But yet for one most Reverend Act,
you are to be commended;
That through your Rams-head zeal you have
your Brother RUMP befriended,
To seat them in the Parliament-house,
their Wisedomes forth to show;
But they (and you) are all a-like,
Cuckolds all-a-Row.
Yet I advise you, set this Rump
in Salt, for fear of Stinking;
'Twill fall unto the Devil's share,
because 'tis his by drinking:
In spight of all their Acts, and Laws,
Hee'l carry them down below;
Then Hell, and City, like to like,
Cuckolds all-a-Row.
I doubt, your Lambert is undone,
and now he may go Preach;
For 'tis the English all-a-moad,
for every Rogue to Teach:
Hee'l Nose it bravely in a Tub,
to let the City know
That they'l be Damn'd, unless they Dipp,
Cuckolds all-a-Row.
But where's your mighty Fleetwood now,
his Honour's worn to the Stump;
Hee'l serve Ambassador to Hell,
to make way for the Rump.
And thus King-killers, one by one
will to the Devill go,
Upon the City Asses backs, like
Cuckolds all-a-row.
And now Cow-hearts, look to your Shops
the Red-Coats will you fright;
And Plunder you, because they know
your Horns hang in your light:
No matter, for You have been the cause
of all the Kingdoms woe,
And do deserve still to be call'd
Cuckolds all-a-Row.
But if that you would honest grow,
and doe a glorious thing;
Which is, to Rowse and take your Armes.
and Fight for Charls your King:
Which Act your Credits will regain,
and all the World shall know
That you no more, shall then be call'd
Cuckolds all-a-Row.

A Display of the Headpiece and Codpiece Valour, of the most Re­nowned, Colonel Robert Jermy, late of Bafield in the County of Norfolk, Esq; with his son Captain Toll by his side; now on their way for New-England. Or, the lively description of a dead-hearted fellow.

To the Tune of a Turd, or the Black-smith.
DId you ne're hear of the Baby of Mars,
That charg'd Tom Fox's wife with a Tars,
For his valour lies all in his Arse,
Which needs must be very strong.
A sanctifi'd Colonel in beaten Buff,
With a Scarlet Jump that's a Cudgel-proof;
And his son b Crowland Coward of the self-same stuff,
Who got the wench big with young. Probatum est.
He's a journey-man Souldier to the State's Army,
And 'tis in his terms, When you fight you must spare me:
So runs the Commission of Colonel Jermy,
If I be informed true.
Upon a mock-Larm he's sure in the Van,
Where he takes none, and does no more hurt than he can.
He's a pittifull Souldier, though a cruell man,
Let's give the Devill his due.
To sacrifice to his fears and his pride,
He caus'd a c Church-Champion be murder'd and try'd
By the Judge of his name, and the Rope on his side;
'Tis pitty they ever were parted.
Yet you cannot but say, 'twas very well meant,
When he went to the House of Parliament,
In love to his Country before he was sent,
In a Coach, when he might have been Carted.
You must always take the good-will for the deed,
Though at d Risen he had not the luck to speed;
Yet some other place may have very great need,
If the Devill release but his hire.
So dear was his love that he e purchas'd a throng
Of Sea-men, in Lice and Lungs very strong.
Sure he will be some body ere it be long,
If he be not laid in the mire.
How the Sailers did hollow and throw up their hats,
And the men with wide mouthes that us'd to cry Sprats;
But the brave spark of Arundel made them look like drown'd Rats,
When he f humbled Tom Toll for his sin.
That high-born Hero had cudgel'd their Swords,
Had they not almost expir'd at his words;
But the whole designe was not worth two half-turds,
Though you throw the g three Justices in.
In his last good service he h took the City,
By an order from the mistaken Committee,
Where he scap'd a scowring, the more was the pitty;
For 'twas foul when you've said what you can.
He march'd into the Gates with an hundred more,
O brave! he ne're did the like before;
For he us'd to sneak in at the i back dore,
As becomes a right modest man.
When they entred the Town they beleagur'd the Mayor,
And with wonderfull courage they stormed the Chair;
But they soon were all foul, and ran very fair,
As if they'd been bred for the Course.
For the k Bells were rung backward, as he says his prayers,
And his head went forward with his haste down the stairs,
Like a man of dispatch in the State-affairs,
Thank Fortune it was no worse.
'Tis much to be wonder'd he should leave the Rump,
Though his love to that end has receiv'd a Law-frump,
But that is his god what ever is Trump;
Yet his spirit now was blind.
Had the Rump but once fizl'd, 'twas the strongest side,
But a Fart has so routed his Troop in their pride,
Though infallible l Butler was his guide,
That they are both blown down the wind.
Yet that would be thought a true m English-man,
Let him make true Latine if he can;
Yet learned mens lives this Rascall will scan,
And when he has done it deny it.
This is Jermy's Forlorn when brave Jacks appear.
He has little of wit, and lesse of fear,
And swears for his Colonel by the year;
And when he is in, he will ply it.
When the Nation was Jaded with a m Quaker,
This Jippoe for-sooth was a great undertaker,
And amongst other Trades a Justice-maker,
n Brewer, Tirrell, and Gaffer Life.
Were made and created by his stinking breath,
To sit on the Bench upon Life and Death.
We'd as good have had a turd in our teeth,
VVithout any further strife.
I thought this Colonel would fail,
VVhen he was upon his Codpiece-bail,
He got such a flap with a Fox tail,
As more at large in your o Box, Sir.
But now if we may believe common fame.
At present they say he's fled for the same,
How poorly this fellow has plaid his game!
But let him not scape without knocks, Sir.
Yet he is such a Coward that I dare say,
He neither dares fight, nor yet run away,
And yet he'd be glad to stand at a stay,
If he might but have his Quietus.
For tell him his basenesse but once to his face
Y' are sure enough he dies on the place,
If he hangs not himselfe upon this disgrace,
'Tis One to a Thousand hee'l beat us.

A New BALLAD,

To an Old Tune, Tom of Bedlam.
MAke room for an honest Red-coat,
(And that you'l say's a wonder)
The Gun, and the Blade,
Are his Tools, — and his Trade
Is for Pay, to Kill, and Plunder.
Then away with the Laws,
And the Good old Cause,
Ne'r talk o' the Rump, or the Charter,
'Tis the Cash does the Feat,
All the rest's but a Cheat,
Without That there's no Faith, nor Quarter.
'Tis the Mark of our Coin, GOD WITH US,
And the Grace of the Lord goes along with't,
When the Georges are flown,
Then the Cause goes down,
For the Lord is departed from it.
Then away, &c.
For Rome, or for Geneva,
For the Table, or the Altar,
This spawn of a Vote,
He cares not a Groat —
For the Pence, hee's your Dog in a Halter.
Then away, &c.
Tho' the Name of King, or Bishop,
to Nostrils pure may be Loathsom,
Yet many there are,
That agree with the Mayor,
That their Lands are wondrous toothsom.
Then away, &c.
When our Masters are Poor, we leave 'em,
'Tis the Golden Calf we bow to:
We kill, and we slay,
Not for Conscience, but Pay;
Give us That, wee'l fight for you too.
Then away, &c.
'Twas That first turn'd the King out;
The Lords, next: then, the Commons:
'Twas that kept up Noll,
Till the Devil fetch'd his Soul;
And then it set the Bum on's.
Then away, &c.
Drunken Dick, was a Lame Protector,
And Fleetwood a Backslider:
These we serv'd as the rest,
But the City's the Beast
That will never cast her Rider.
Then away, &c.
When the Mayor holds the Stirrop,
And the Shreeves cry, God save your Honours:
Then, 'tis but a Jump,
And up goes the Rump,
That will spur to the Devil upon us.
Then away, &c.
And now for a fling at your Thimbles,
Your Bodkins, Rings, and Whistles,
In truck for your Toyes,
Wee'l fit you with Boys:
('Tis the Doctrine of * Hugh's Epistles.)
Then away, &c.
When your Plate is gone, and your Jewels,
You must be next entreated,
To part with your Bags,
And strip you to Rags,
And yet not think y' are cheated.
Then away, &c.
The truth is, the Town deserves it;
'Tis a Brainless, Heartless Monster:
At a Clubb they may Bawl,
Or Declare at their Hall,
And yet at a Push not one stir.
Then away, &c.
Sir Arthur vow'd, hee'l treat 'm,
Far worse than the men of Chester:
He's Bold, now they're Cow'd,
But he was nothing so Lowd
When he lay in the ditch at Lester.
Then away, &c.
The Lord hath left John Lambert,
And the Spirit, Feak's Anointed:
But why, Oh Lord,
Hast thou sheathed thy Sword?
Lo, thy Saints are disappointed.
Then away, &c.
Tho' Sir Henry be departed:
Sir John makes good the place now,
And to help out the work
Of the Glorious Kirk,
Our Brethren march apace too.
Then away, &c.
While Divines, and States-men wrangle,
Let the Rump-ridden Nation bite on't,
There are none but we
That are sure to go free,
For the Souldier's still in the right-on't.
Then away, &c.
If our Masters w'ont supply us,
With Money, Food, and Clothing:
Let the State look to't,
Wee'l find one that will do't,
Let him Live, — wee'l not damn for nothing.
Then away with the Laws,
And the Good old Cause,
Ne're talk o' the Rump, or the Charter,
'Tis the Cash does the feat,
All the rest's but a Cheat,
Without That, there's no Faith nor Quarter.

A Relation of a Quaker, that, to the shame of his profession, attempted to Bugger a Mare near Colchester.

ALl in the land of Essex,
Near Colchester the zealous,
On the side of a Bank
VVas plaid such a prank
As would make a Stone-horse jealous.
Help Woodcock, Fox, and Nailer,
For brother Green's a Stallion;
Now alas what hope
Of converting the Pope,
VVhen a Quaker turns Italian.
Unto our whole profession,
A scandall 'twill be counted,
VVhen 'tis talk'd with disdain,
Amongst the profane,
How Brother Green was mounted.
And in the good time of Christmas,
Which though the Saints have damn'd all,
Yet when did they hear
Of a damn'd Cavalier
E're plaid such a Christmas Gamball?
Had thy flesh, O Green, been pamper'd
With any Cates unhallow'd;
Hadst thou sweeten'd thy gums
With pottage of plums,
Or prophane minc'd pie hadst swallow'd.
Roll'd up in wanton Swines flesh,
The Fiend might have crept into thee;
Then fulnesse of gut
Might have made thee rue,
And the devill so have rid through thee.
But alas, he had been feasted
With a spirituall Collation,
By our frugall Mayor,
Who can dine with a Prayer,
And sup with an Exhortation.
'Twas meer impulse of spirit,
Though he us'd the weapon carnall.
Filly Foal, quoth he,
My Bride thou shalt be:
Now how this is lawfull, learn all.
For if no respect of persons
Be due 'mongst the sons of Adam,
In a large extent
Then may it be meant,
That a Mare's as good as a Madam.
Then without more Ceremony,
Nor Bonnet vail'd, nor Kist her,
He took her by force
For better for worse,
And he us'd her like a Sister.
Now when in such a Saddle
A Saint will needs be riding,
Though I dare not say
'Tis a falling away,
May there not be some back-sliding?
No surely, quoth James Naylor,
'Twas but an insurrection
Of the carnall part;
For a Quaker in heart
Can never lose Perfection.
For so our
Hist. of Jesuitism.
Masters teach us,
The intent being well directed;
Though the Devill trapan
The Adamicall man,
The Saint stands uninfected.
But yet a Pagan-Jury
Still judges what's intended;
Then say what we can,
Brother Green's outward man
I fear will be suspended.
And our Adopted Sister
Will find no better quarter;
But when him we Inroule
For a Saint, Filly Foal
Shall passe at least for a Martyr.
Now Rome that spirituall Sodom
No longer is thy debtor;
O Colchester now,
Who's Sodom but thou?
Even according to the Letter.
Help Woodcock, Fox, and Nailor,
For Brother Green's a Stallion;
Now alas what hope
Of converting the Pope,
When a Quaker turns Italian?

The Four-legg'd Quaker,

To the Tune of the Dog and Elder's Maid; Or, The Lady's fall.
ALL that have two or but one Eare,
(I dare not tell ye half)
You of an Essex Colt shall hear
Will shame their very Calf.
In Horsley fields neer Colchester
A Quaker would turn Trooper;
He caught a Foal and mounted her
(O base!) below the Crupper.
Help, Lords and Commons, once more help,
O send us Knives and Daggers!
For if the Quakers be not gelt,
Your Troops will have the Staggers.
RALPH GREEN, (it was this Varlet's name)
Of Colchester you'l swear,
For thence the four-legg'd Elder came,
Was ever such a Pair!
But though 'twas foul, 'tween Swash and Jane,
Yet this is ten times worse,
For then a Dog did play the Man,
But Man now play'd the Horse.
Help, &c.
The Owner of the Colt was nigh,
(Observing their Embrace)
And drawing neerer did espie
The Quaker's sorrell Face:
My Foal is ravish'd (then he cryes,
And fiercely at him ran)
Thou Rogue, I'le have thee halter'd twice,
As Horse and eke as Man!
Help, &c.
Ah Devill, do'st thou tremble? now
'Tis sore against thy will;
For Mares and preaching Ladies know
Thou hast a Colt's tooth still:
But mine's not guilty of this Fact,
She was by thee compelled;
Poor thing, whom no man ever Back't,
Thou wickedly hast Bellied.
Help, &c.
O Friend, (said GREEN, with sighs and groans)
Let this thy wrath appease!
(And gave him then eight new half-Crowns
To make him hold his peace)
The man reply'd, Though I for this
Conceal thy Hugger Mugger,
Do'st think it lawfull for a Piece
A filly Foal to Bugger?
Help, &c.
The Master saw his Colt defil'd,
Which vext his soul with doubt;
For if his Filly prov'd with Child,
He knew all would come out:
Then he afresh began to rave,
(For all his Money-taking)
Neighbours, saith he, I took this Knave
I'th very act of Quaking!
Help, Lords and Commons, once more help,
O send us Knives and Daggers!
For if the Quakers be not gelt,
Your Troops will have the Staggers.
Then to the Pinfold (Gaol I mean)
They dragg'd him by the Mane,
They call'd him Beast, and call'd her Quean;
As if she had been Jane.
O stone him (all the Women cry'd)
Nay, Geld him (which is worse)
Who scorn'd us all and took a Bride
That's Daughter to a Horse!
Help, &c.
The Colt was silent all this while,
And therefore 'twas no Rape,
The Virgin-Foal he did beguile,
And so intends to escape.
For though he got her in a Ditch
Where she could not revolt,
Yet he had no Scot'sh Spur nor Switch
To ride the willing Colt.
Help, &c.
O Essex, Essex, England's pride,
Go burn this long-tail'd Quean,
For though the Thames runs by thy side,
It cannot wash thee clean!
'Tis not thy Bleating Son's complaints,
Hold forth such wanton courses,
Thy Oysters hint the very Saints
To horn the very Horses.
Help, &c.
Though they salute not in the street
(Because they are our Masters)
'Tis now reveal'd why Quakers meet
In Meadows, Woods, and Pastures.
But Hors-men, Mare-men, all and some
Who Man and Beast perplex,
Not only from East- Horsley come,
But from West-Middle-Sex.
Help, &c.
Alas you know by Man's flesh came
The foul disease to Naples,
And now we fear the very same
Is broke into our Stables;
For death hath stoln so many steeds
From Prince and Peer and Carrier,
That this new Murrain rather needs
A * FARRAR than a Farrier.
Help, &c.
Nay if this GREEN within the Walls
Of Colchester left forces,
Those Cavaliers were Caniballs,
Eating his human Horses!
But some make Man their second course,
(In cool Blood will not spare)
Who butcher Men and favour Horse
Will couple with a Mare.
Help, &c.
This Centaur, unquoth Other thing,
VVill make a dreadfull Breach:
Yet though an Asse may Speak or * Sing,
O let not Horses Preach!
But Bridle such wild Colts who can
VVhen they'l obey no Summons,
For things begot 'tween Mare and Man
Are neither Lords nor Commons.
Help, &c.
O Elders, Independents too,
Though all your Powers combin'd,
Quakers will grow too strong for you,
Now Horse and Man are joyn'd:
VVhile Cavaliers, poor foolish Rogues,
Know only Maids Affairs,
Shee-Presbyters can deal with Dogs,
And Quaking Men with Mares.
Help, &c.
Now as when Milan Town was rear'd,
A monstrous Sow untam'd
VVith back half-Hair half-VVool appear'd,
'Twas Mediolanum nam'd:
So Colchester must have recourse
To some such four-legg'd Sister,
For sure as Horsley comes from Horse
From Colt 'twas call'd Col-chester.
Help, Lords and Commons, once more help,
O send us Knives and Daggers!
For if the Quakers be not gelt,
Your Troops will have the Staggers.

St. GEORGE and the DRAGON. ANGLICE MERCURIUS POETICUS.

To the Tune of, The Old Soldier of the Queens, &c.
NEws, News: — Here's the Occurrences, and a new Mercurius:
A Dialogue betwixt Hazelrig the Baffl'd, and Arthur the Furious:
With Ireton's readings upon Legitimate and Spurious,
Proving that a Saint may be the Son of a Whore, for the satisfaction of the Curious.
From a Rump insatiate as the Sea,
Libera nos Domine.
Here's the true reason of the City's Infatuation:
Ireton has made it drunck with the Cup of Abomination:
That is, — the cup of the Whore, after the Geneva Interpretation:
Which, with the juice of Tichburn's Grapes, must needs cause Intoxication.
From a Rump, &c.
Here's the Whipper whipt by a Friend to George, that whipp'd Jack, that whipp'd the Breech,
That whipp'd the Nation, as long as it could stand over it: — After which
It was it selfe Re-jerk'd, by the sage Author of this Speech:
Me-thinks a Rump should go as well with a Scotch spur, as with a Switch.
From a Rump, &c.
This Rump hath many a Rotten and unruly Member:
Give the General the Oath, cries one; — but (his Conscience being a little tender,)
I'le Abjure you, with a Horse-pox, quoth George, — and make you remember
The 'Leaventh of February, longer than the Fifth of November.
From a Rump, &c.
VVith that — Monck leaves (in Rump assembled) — the Three Estates.
But oh, — how the Citizens hugg'd him for breaking down their Gates,
For Tearing up their Posts, and Chains, and for Clapping up their Mates,
(When they saw, that he brought them Plasters for their broken Pates.)
From a Rump, &c.
In truth, this Rufle put the Town in great disorder;
Some Knaves (in Office) smil'd, — expecting 'twould go furder;
But at the last, — my Life on't, George is no Rumper, — said the Recorder:
For there never was either Honest Man, or Monck of that Order.
From a Rump, &c.
And so it prov'd, for Gentlemen, sayes the Generall, I'le make you amends:
Our Greeting was a little untoward, but wee'l part Friends,
A little time shall shew you which way my Design tends,
And that, besides the good of Church and State, I have no other ends.
From a Rump, &c.
His Excellence had no sooner pass'd this Declaration and Promise,
But in steps Secretary Scot, — the Rump's man Thomas,
With Luke, their lame Evangelist, — (the Devil keep 'um from us,)
To shew Monck what precious Members of Church and State the Bumm ha's.
From a Rump, &c.
And now comes the Supplication of the Members under the Rod,
Nay, My Lord, (cryes the Brewers Clerk) — good my Lord, — for the Love of God,
Consider yourself, us, — and this poor Nation, and that Tyrant Abroad;
Don't leave us, — but George gave him a Shrugg, instead of a Nodd.
From a Rump, &c.
This mortall Silence was followed with a most hideous Noyse
Of Free-Parliament Bells, and Rump-confounding Boyes:
Crying, Gueld the Rogues, Sindg their Tails, — when with a low Voyce,
Fire and Sword, by this Light, cryes Tom, let's look to our Toyes.
From a Rump, &c.
Never were wretched Members in so sad a Plight:
Some were Broyld, — some Roasted, — others Burnt out-right,
Nay, against Rumps, so Pittilesse was their Rage and Spite,
That not a Citizen would kisse his wife that Night.
From a Rump, &c.
By this time, Death and Hell appear'd in the ghastly Looks,
Of Scot, and Robinson; (those Legislative Rooks)
And it must needs put the Rump most damnably off the Hooks,
To see, that when God has sent meat, the Devil should send Cooks.
From a Rump, &c.
But Providence, their old friend, brought these Saints off, at Last,
And through the Pikes, and the Flames, un-dis-membred they Past,
Although (God wot) with many struglings, and much Hast.
(For — Members, — or no Members, was but a measuring Cast.)
From a Rump, &c.
Being come to Whitehall; — there's the dismall mone:
Let Monck be damn'd, cries Arthur, in a terrible tone:
That Traytor: — and those Cuckoldly Rogues that set him on:
(But, tho' the Knight spits Blood, 'tis observ'd that he Draws none)
From a Rump, &c.
The Plague Bawle you, cries Harry Martin, you have brought us to this condition,
You must be canting, and be Pox'd, — with your Bare-bones Petition,
And take in that Bull-headed, splay-footed Member of the Circumcision,
That Bacon-fac'd Jew, Corbet: that son of Perdition.
From a Rump, &c.
Then in steps Driv'ling Mounson, to take up the Squabble:
That Lord, which first taught the use of the Wooden Dagger, and Ladle,
He, — that out-does Jack Pudding, at a Custard, or a Cawdle:
And were the Best Fool in Europe, but that he wants a Bawble.
From a Rump, &c.
More was said, to little Purpose: the next news, is — a Declaration
From the Rump; for a Free-State, according to the Covenant of the Nation,
And a Free-Parliament, under Oath, and Qualification,
Where none shall be Elect, but Members of Reprobation.
From a Rump, &c.
Here's the Tail Firk'd; a Piece acted lately with great applause,
With a Plea for the Prerogative Breech, and the Good Old Gause:
Proving, that Rumps, and Members, are antienter than Laws:
And that a Bumm Divided, is never the worse for the Flawes.
From the Rump, &c.
But all things have their Period, and Fate,
An Act of Parliament dissolves a Rump of State:
Members grow weak; and Tails themselves run out of Date:
And yet thou shalt not Dye; (Dear Breech) thy Fame I'le celebrate.
From a Rump, &c.
Here lies a Pack of Saints, that did their Souls, and Country Sell
For Dirt; The Devil was their good Lord: him they serv'd Well;
By his Advice, they Stood, and Acted: and by his President they Fell,
(Like Lucifer) making but one step betwixt Heaven, and Hell.
From a Rump insatiate as the Sea,
Liberasti nos Domine.

A Dialogue betwixt Tom and Dick, The former a Country-Man, the other a Citizen, Presented to His Excellency and the Councill of State at Drapers-Hall, in London, March 28. 1660.

To the Tune of, Ile never love thee more.
Tom. NOw would I give my life to see,
This wondrous man of might.
Dick. Do'st see that Jolly Lad? That's he;
I'le warrant him he's right.
Ther's a true Trojan in his Face:
Observe him o're and o're.
Chorus.
Dick. Come Tom; If ever George be base,
Ne're trust good-fellow more.
He's none of that Fantastique brood,
That murther while they pray:
That trusse and cheat us, for our good;
(All, in a godly way.)
He Drinks no Blood, and they no Sack
Into their gutts will poure.
Chorus.
But if GEORGE does not the knack;
Ne're trust good-fellow more
His quiet Conscience needs no guard;
He's brave, but full of pitty.
Tom. Yet, by your leave, he knock'd so hard,
H'ad like t'awak'd the Citty.
Dick. Fool, 'Twas the Rump that let a Fart,
The Chains and Gates it tore.
Chorus.
But if GEORGE beares not a true heart,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Tom. Your Citty-blades are cunning Rooks,
How rarely you collogue him?
But when your Gates flew off the Hooks,
You did as much be-rogue him.
Dick. Pug'h. — 'Twas the Rump did onely feel,
The blowes the City bore,
Chorus.
But if GEORGE be'nt as true as Steel,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Come, by this Hand wee'l crack a quart,
Thou'lt pledge his health I trow.
Tom. Tope Boy, Dick — A lusty Dish my heart,
Away w'ot; Tom. — Let it go.
Drench me you slave in a full Bowle,
I'le take't, an 'twere a score,
Chorus.
Dick. Nay, if GEORGE be'nt a hearty Soul,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Tom. But heark you, Sirrah, we're too loud,
Hee'l hang us, by and by.
Dick. Me 'thinks, he should be vengeance proud?
No more then thee, or I.
Tom. Why then I'le give him the best Blade,
That ere the Bilbo wore,
Chorus.
Dick. If GEORGE prove not a Bonney Lad,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Tom. 'Twas well he came, we'd mawll'd the Tail;
— We've all thrown up our Farms.
And from the Musket, to the Flayl,
Put all our men in Arms.
The Girles had ta'ne the Members down,
Ne're saw such things before.
Chorus.
Dick. If George speak not the Town our own,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Dick. But pre'thee, are the Folk so mad,
Tom. So mad, say'st; — They 're undone,
There's not a penny to be had;
And ev'ry Mother's Sonne
Must fight, if he intend to eate,
Grow valiant, now he is poor.
Chorus.
Dick. Come — yet if George don't do the Feat,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Tom. Why Richard, 'tis a Devilish thing.
We're not left worth a groat.
My Doll has sold her wedding-ring,
And Sue has pawnd her Coat.
The Sniv'ling Rogues abus'd our Squire,
And call'd our Mistresse Whore.
Chorus.
Dick. Yet — if George don't what we desire,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Tom. By this good day; I did but speak,
They took my Py-ball'd Mare;
And put the Carri'on wench to th' squeak.
(Things go against the Hair.)
Our Prick-ar'd, Cor'nell looks as bigg
Still, as he did before.
Cho.
Dick. And yet if George don't humme his Gigg,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Faith Tom: our Case is much at one;
We're broak for want of Trade;
Our City's baffled, and undone,
Betwixt the Rump, and Blade.
We've emptied both our Veins and Baggs,
Upon a Factious Score.
Chorus.
If George Compassion not our Raggs,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Tom. But what doest think should be the Cause,
Whence all these Mischiefs spring?
Dick. Our damned breach of Oaths and Laws;
Our Murther of the King.
We have been Slaves since CHARL'S his Reign,
We liv'd like Lords before.
Chorus.
If George don't set all right again,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Tom. Our Vicar — (And bee's one that knows)
Told me once, — I know what: —
(And yet the Thief is woundly Close)
Rich. 'Tis all the better; — That.
Ha's too much Honesty and Witt,
To let his tongue run o're:
Chorus.
If This prove not a lucky hitt,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
Shall's ask him, what he means to do?
Tom. — 'Good faith, with all my heart;
Thou mak'st the better Leg o' th' Two:
Take thou the better part.
I'le follow, if thou't lead the van.
Rich. Content; — I'le march before.
Chorus.
If GEORGE prove not a Gallant man,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
My Lord: — in us the Nation craves
But what you're bound to do.
Tom. — We have liv'd Drudges. Ric. — And we Slaves;
Both. We would not die so too.
Chorus.
Restore us but our Laws agen;
Th' unborn shall thee adore:
If GEORGE denies us his Amen;
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.
FINIS.

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