THE RUMP Roughly but righteously handled, In a New BALLAD:  
To the tune of Cook Lorrel.  
MOre sacks to the Mill, here comes a fresh Wit,  
That means without Mittens (as you shall see  
To hundle a RUMP that's all to be shit,  
Sir reverence of the company.  
2. And let other sinners that love a whole Skin,  
Keep out of my reach, for fear of a Stone;  
For I'm like the hangman, who (when's hand was in)  
Said he had as good truss up forty as one.  
3. First I'll tell you whence this Rump-regnant came,  
When England to Faction and Schism was bent,  
By means of long peace to settle the same,  
Our noble King summoned a Parliament.  
4. A Parliament which may make old men grieve,  
And Children that ne'er shall be born complain;  
I mean such as died before they did live,  
Like Harrington's Rota, and th' engine of Vane.  
5. This Parliament, like a wild skittish Tit,  
Unmaned and unbacked, and unapt to obey,  
Would let neither Prince, Peer, nor Prelate sit,  
Yet stammel nosed OLIVE● smelled out a way.  
6. With Pistol and musket he brought the Beast under,  
And aw'd●it so much, and so far did prevail,  
That comely he docked it, and (to all men's wonder)  
He cast off the Colt, and saddled the Tail:  
7. Which shortly began to kick at's Command,  
And restive it grew, and left its true pacing,  
Which made him resolve on his own Legs to stand,  
And turn the RUMP out of the Stable a grazing.  
8. The Red-coats, with breath like my Lady's Bum-blast,  
This Parliament-snuff blew twice out and in:  
But North and West-winds will so out it at last,  
That nought but Hell fire shall out it again,  
9 Though now they tempt Monk with a thousand per annum  
In hopes that to worship, his face he'll fall flat on;  
Yet he's wise enough to resist and disdain 'em,  
And cry, Get behind me, thou Bob-tail of Satan.  
10. Right pat with St. Georg's this story will jump,  
Poor England's the Damsel appointed for slaughter,  
And Monk the St. George to kill Dragon RUMP,  
And safely restore to the King his fair Daughter.  
11. The RUMP thus in gross no more shall be played on,  
But now I will whet my Pen (if it please ye)  
To joint it, and show what foul parts it is made on,  
God grant that your stomachs prove not over-queasy.  
12. Here's Lenthall once Mouth to the Parliament's mind,  
Though he at length acted the Fundaments part,  
Whose speech was not breaking of silence, but Wind,  
And's giving the Thanks of the House, but a Fart.  
13. 'Tis said he's now sick, and if't be the POX,  
I'd wish him in time his Disease to disclose,  
And call Dr. Ba●…s, who's excellent at Nocks,  
Although his skill failed him in his own Nose.  
14. Or let Jesuitical ●ri●●an be got,  
Of whose crabbed humours the Doctors come short all  
And as for Sir Walter Py●, he had not  
Died under his hands, had he been immortal.  
15. But if his Gold-greedy Soul will be gone  
Out at Postern Gate, he hath 'mong his waiters  
At Cat-in-pan Pedant the way to make known  
To th' General Rendezvous of all traitors.  
16. But many I find this Opinion are firm in,  
That he has no real distemper at all,  
But feigns it; and like a prophetical Vermin,  
Runs from an old House that is ready to fall.  
17. If Ludlow the state of Grace had been in,  
And kept himself safe from th' Committee of Safety,  
For's father's sake, Deputy Fart he had been,  
Instead of the F●rst, they call 〈◊〉 the G●afty.  
18. Next comes the Rump's god-fly, the John-like driver,  
King-abjuring ARTHUR; Sir, you (if I ken you)  
O'th' Bishop's uriah-like fall were Contriver,  
To get the fair Bersheba of their Revenue.  
19 But 'twas a more carnal concupiscence  
That at bristol-vicarage set you a neighing,  
Which you enjoyed and occupyd in the sense  
Which puts-pretty Maids to pishing and sighing.  
20. Nay you like the Trojan-Adulterer swore  
To those that once saved you from the King's Fury,  
That rather than Helen of Duresm restore,  
Their Troynovani in its own ashes you'd burn.  
21. But I dare no farther his passion provoke  
For fear of a prejudice which it may do me,  
For with his own Choler should he chance to choke,  
The hangman in Action of Trespass might sue me.  
22. Then have at Sir Harry the interest Refiner,  
Who's not of the Church, but Society of JESUS,  
And can make Divinity's self-Diviner,  
And model new Heavens and new Earths to please us.  
23. 'twas he that injected the sublimed matter  
To late-Lady Lambert, and she to th' Squire,  
Which made him Protector and Parliament-hater,  
And to be Fift Monarch devoutly aspire.  
24. Like Grub from sheep's tails since the Rump doth him throw,  
He'll creep to some placket of Sanctification,  
And come forth a flesh-fly next Summer, and blow  
New Maggots in's Church, of more whimsical fashion.  
25. Methinks in his eyes the Waters do gather,  
As if the Lord Stafford's Dust troubled his sight;  
Perhaps he repents, and intends (like his Father)  
Even in his own Garter to do his Ghost right.  
26. There goes the twice treacherous bankrupt Sallaway  
From Westminster Wolves, to tower Lions bound,  
'cause he from one Treason to another did fall away,  
And will fall again, but not quite to the ground.  
27. The next is a politic penman that got-land  
By●s Knavery more than his birth, and 'tis his-hope  
That Laembeth shall ever and ever be Scot-land,  
And Seat of an Arch-one, but not of a bishop.  
28. Here's Nevil, (who to be made in Scot's stead,  
A State-Secretary) did practise a New art,  
To th' Office, by Letters (unto the House read)  
He courted himself in the name of Charles Stuart.  
29. Now see with a POX, where Martin comes on,  
The Seed of corrupt and sinful loins,  
Who a Worthy had been, if as near Solomon  
In Wisdom, as number of Concubines.  
30. If in utter darkness there should be a failing  
of Horror, the RUMP may furnish it with  
Squire Fleetwood to help out the weeping and wailing,  
And Sir William Brereton for gnashing of teeth.  
31. Now Mildmar, and Whitlock, and L●s●… I might call in,  
And Master Lord Salesbury (from noble house,  
Who seems not descended, so much as down fallen)  
And others, which well may serve a fresh Muse.  
32. And now the RUMP's set in the Salt, and Monk▪  
Hath offered full fairly his own for to make it,  
But finding himself by the Devil out-drunk,  
He honestly cries, Nay then let him take it.  
33. But for 'em when hence they go, (such were their follies  
Above nor beneath, there no quiet place is,  
King Charles is in heaven, in hell tyrant NOL is,  
Who (as God used Fleetwood) will spit in their faces.  
34. Now mark what sweet Morsels hell swallowed of late,  
There's Cromwell, and Prideaux, and Bradshaw, and there's  
He that made Old Nick (when he entered his Gate)  
Cry, Oh my Son Pride, are you there with your Bears?  
35, And now I no longer will rake in this sink,  
But shortly the RUMP is for Tyburn, and then  
I'll tell you mo●e of it; but you (as I think)  
Do now stop your Noses, and I'll stop my pen.