RATS Rhymed to Death. OR, THE Rump-Parliament Hanged 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 lose sheets, might not unfitly be called the Picture of the Members of the Rump dissolved, and stinking singly apart. Being now bound together, they may as fitly be called the Picture of the said 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 passed 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 never stink more than when they are crushed, and squeezed; and who, in spite 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 sat in the Chair, it was a kind of a new Commonwealth, or Mr. Hobs' Artificial 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 Honour, 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 entailed on us Rumps ne'er heard on before.   

3.  
But not on its Pedigree longer to think,  
(For the more it is stirred the more it will stink)  
'Tis agreed the Rump's first report in the Town  
Did arise from the wooden invention of Brown.   

4.  
Old Oliver's nose had taken in snuff,  
When it sat long ago, some unsavoury puff;  
Then up went the Rump, and was ●…kt to the quick;  
But it settled in spite of the teeth of poor Dick.   

5.  
Then the Knight of the Pestle, King Lambert and Vane,  
With a Sceptre of Iron did over it reign:  
But the Rump soon resettled, and to their disgrace,  
Like Excrements voided them out of the place.   

6.  
It did now, like a Truant's well disciplined 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 Brass.   

7.  
It endured the first heat, and proved no starter,  
But sung in the midst of the flames like a Martyr,  
And whisked 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 joint of the Rump,  
That he looked like the picture of Richard the Third,  
Or like an ejected and frostbitten t—   

9  
'Tis said that his Durindana he drew,  
And a Wight on the Road most manfully slew;  
But, pardoned by Charles, 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 fuel 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 foully trapand;  
But Time and his Office of Secretary  
Had learned him his business more private to carry.   

13.  
Some thought he arrived at his dignity first,  
By being so well in iniquity versed;  
The mystery of which he hath practised of late  
In his function, which was, to be Bawd to the State.   

14.  
Hob Morley in silence did suffer the loss  
Of his Rump, and with patience took up the Cross;  
That to see him so singed and so scorched you would swear,  
No Camel 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 burned blue;  
But straight he was cunningly seen to retire,  
For fear to endanger the Rolls in the fire.   

16.  
St. John a mortal of flesh and of blood,  
Swore by St. 
* He hath a great kindness for that Saint, not because of his Key, (which he knows he shall never make use of) but in reference to Peterborough Minster, the stones of which built his new House.  Peter the example was good:  
So facing about, and shifting his station,  
He turned o'er a new leaf in St. John's Revelation.   

17.  
Harry Nevil that looks like a Mahomet's Pigeon,  
Accused to be of a Stateman's Religion,  
Is left to his choice what Process he'll have,  
To be burnt for an Atheist, or hanged 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 shit out the fire.   

19  
But lest he without a companion should be,  
Here's Lisle that comes next stinks worse than he;  
So foully corrupt, you may placed in your Creed,  
Such a Rump could alone such a Fistula breed.   

20.  
Poor Ludlow was bogged 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 kiss.   

21.  
Ned Harby was sure an herb John in the pot,  
Yet could he not scape the dysasterous lot:  
Scarce Churched of the Gout was the trusty old Squire,  
But he hoped 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 Roisters  
Each morning his 
* Some Authors hold it was but three halfpences, but poetry will not admit of broken numbers.  twopences 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 joseph's together,  
Did suffer; but Praise-God lost the more 
* Courteous Reader, he is a Leather-seller.  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 less 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 Pembroke comes last, and does not disdain,  
Though despised by the world, to bear up the train;  
But after new lights so long he did run,  
That they brought him to 
* Not Bethlehem in judea, (for he is none of the Magi.)  Bethlehem before they had done.   

29.  
Thus the Foxes of Samson 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 Devil 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 Highness.  
To the Tune of, Last Parliament sat as snugg as a Cat.  

IN the name of the Fiend, what the Rump up again!  
The Delk, and the good old cause!  
If they settle again, 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'll sell, next our Churches must tumble.   

This poor English Nation, by this Generation  
Hath been grieved 11. years and more,  
But in that season, and not without reason,  
They ha' thrice been turned 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,  
Unless in with Oxen they drew him;  
That he once might speak true, they picked him out two,  
Sent Pembroke and Salisbury to him.   

When these Gamesters were packed, the first gracious act  
Was for pence for their friends of the Army:  
Who for any side fight, excepted 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 be so free, that the Nation do see,  
They be too free for us to be fat.   

Religion they waved, now they had us enslaved  
And got us sure in their Claw:  
They pulled 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 settled 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 Peter, 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 it 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 DOCKED.  

TIll it be understood  
What's under Monck's hood,  
The City dare not show his horns:  
Till ten days be our,  
The Speaker's sick of the Gout,  
And the Rump doth sit upon thorns.   

If Monck be turned 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 Ermine:  
But Peers without Kings  
Are very useless things,  
And their Lordships counted but Vermin.   

Now Morley and Fag  
May be put in a bag,  
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 turned him o'er the Ladder   

That precious Saint Scot  
Shall not be forgot,  
According to his own desires;  
Instead of Neck-verse,  
He shall have writ on his Hearse,  
Here hangs one of the King's Triers.   

Those nine sons of Mars  
That whipped the Rump's Arse,  
I mean the Commanders warlike;  
If the Rump smell too strong  
With hanging too long,  
Shall serve to stuff it with Garlic.   

That parcel of Man,  
In length but a span,  
Whose wife's eggs always are addle;  
Must quit the Lifeguard,  
As he did when scared  
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 let a fart  
Which took away his heart,  
And made him a Squire of a Lord.   

His Cheshire glory  
Is a pitiful story,  
There the Saints triumphed without Battle;  
But now Monck and his Friars  
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 sinned all or most  
Against the holy Ghost,  
And therefore the Devil must have ye.   

But now valiant City,  
Whether must thy Ditty  
Be sung in Verse or in Prose?  
For till the Rump stunk  
For fear of Monck,  
Thy Militia durst not show 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 Politic 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 served this Rump in with Mustard,  
The Sauce was a compound of Courage, and Custard;  
Sr. Vane blessed the Creature: Noll snufled, and Blustered.   

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 Close.   

Which no body can deny.   

Nor is it likely there to stay long,  
The Retentive faculties being gone,  
The Juggle is stolen, 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 Politic Doctors do us Teach,  
That a Bloodsucking Red-coat's as good as a Leech,  
To Relieve the Head, if applied to the Breech.   

Which no body can deny.   

But never was such a worm as Vane;  
When the State scoured last, it voided him then,  
Yet now he's crept into the Rump again.   

Which no body can deny.   

Ludlow's Fart, was a Prophetic 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 Rhyme 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 wonderful thing the strength of that Part,  
At a Blast, it will take you a Team from a Cart;  
And Blow a man's Head away with a Fart.   

Which no body can deny.   

When our Brains are Sunk below the Middle,  
And our Consciences steered 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 General with a Bastonado,  
But no way for a Rump like a Carbonado,   

Which no body can deny.   

To make us as famous in Council, as Wars,  
Here's Lenthal, a Speaker for mine—  
And Fleetwood is a man of Mars.   

Which no body can deny.   

'Tis pity that Nedham's fallen into Disgrace,  
For he order a Bum with a marvellous Grace,  
And aught to attend the Rump by his Place.   

Which no body can deny.   

Yet this in spite 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 Backdoor:  
For the Rump has a mind to the scarlet whore.   

Which no body can deny.   

And this is a Truth at all hands confessed,  
However unskilful 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 tried,  
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 dressed up in a Parliament's Hood,  
And liked, but the Tail 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 politic Breech,  
And that— Hugging the Nation as the Devil 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 Devil drives,   

Which no body can deny.    

The Reresurrection of the RUMP: Or, Rebellion and Tyranny revived.  
The third Edition.  
To the Tune of the Blacksmith.  

IF none be offended with the Sent,  
Though I foul my mouth, I'll be content,  
To sing of the Rump of a Parliament   

Which no body can deny.   

I have sometimes fed on a Rump in Souse,  
And a man may imagine the Rump of a Louse;  
But till now was ne'er 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 hanged in a Noose;  
But ours is a Rump can play fast and lose,   

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 pass 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'll 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,  
there'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'll 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,   

Which no body can deny.   

there's another Proverb gives the Rump for his Crest,  
But Alderman Atkins made it a Jest,  
That of all kind of Luck's, shitten Luck is the best,   

Which 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,   

Which 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 will spend all we have in Close-stools,   

Which no body can deny.   

There's an observation wise and deep,  
Which without an Onion will make me to weep,  
That flies will blow maggots in the Rump of a sheep,   

Which no body can deny.   

And some that can see the Wood from the Trees,  
Say, This sanctified Rump in time we may lose;  
For the Cooks do challenge the Rumps for their fees,   

Which 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 Tongue and a Fyest hath none,   

Which no body can deny.   

And whilst within the Walls they lurk,  
To satisfy us will be a good work,  
Who hath most Religion, the Rump or the Turk,   

Which no body can deny.   

A Rump's a Fag-end like the balk of a Furrow,  
And is to the whole like the Jail to the Burrow;  
'Tis the Bran that is left, when the meal is run through,   

Which no body can deny.   

Consider the World, the Heaven 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,   

Which no body can deny.   Flectere si nequeunt superos Acheronta movebunt.  

A VINDICATION Of the RUMP: or, the RUMP RE-ADVANCED.  
To the Tune of, Up Tails all.  

FUll many a Ballad hath been penned  
and scoffing Poem writ  
Against the RUMP; but I intent  
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'll say, I'm wide of the case,  
Since that music's made in a distant place,  
I answer, The breadth of your thum.   

When Alderman Atkins did bemarre  
his Hose through a panic fear,  
And Captain Rea, that Man of War:  
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 Rhetoric doth prevail  
Although he hath purchased 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 paid  
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 Coney I often have seen  
most piteously clawed 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 wherewithal for to play,  
be he never so full of the spirit.   

I wonder who first called the Parliament Rump,  
some say, that it was Jack Hobby,  
And some, fiery Pryn: good wits will jump;  
now I writ not this to bob ye,  
But only to tell ye, that good Mr. Pryn,  
For all he's cropped, 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 whipped at the Arse of a Cart:  
His Rump ('tis true) suffered 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 accrue to the Land by a Mace,  
as long as the Knave's the greatest Trump.   

Our zealous sticklers for Reformation  
will edify on the Rump of a sister;  
And it will never grow out of fashion  
to physic the Tail with a Glister.  
But beware that Monk doth not come with a bitter  
Purge to our Rump, which will make her beshit her,  
for she hath already bepissed 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 Gerrard's Mistress.  

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 waste like ravenous Boars,  
They seek our Bloods,  
Because we prise their Liberties,  
But to devour their Goods.   

Our Hands  
We dipped in Royal Blood, to have his Lands  
At our Commands,  
And made three Kingdoms headless at one Blow,  
The Strife  
We caused was chief to cut off his Life,  
With cursed Knife;  
He that was virtue'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  
Gins 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 Chair.  
But those  
We knew with our designs would never close;  
And therefore chose  
In their steads to set up Extempore-Prayer.  
Poached eyes  
And words twanged 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 Heaven 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,  
Error 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 Lies,  
You see  
The Crop-eared 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 Twilight still;  
And the Quaker half-mad, though he looks so sad,  
Grinds in the Jesuits Mill.   

Our Drums  
Did drown your Process, and your Writs; our Plums,  
Bid kiss our Bums,  
We sent your Laws and Persons to the Tower:  
From whence  
To be delivered, '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 robbed  
The Whole of Food to pamper up the Few,  
Excised your Wares,  
And taxed you round, Six pence the Pound,  
And massacred your Bears.   

But now  
Dispair's black clouds do hang upon our Brow,  
For all do Bow,  
Their Hearts, to their true Shepherd, Charles  
And we  
Their Wolfish Rulers now must Subjects be their King.  
To Destiny,  
And end our Juncto in a fatal String.  
Then learn  
All future Traitors by our Tragic Doom,  
 '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'll hope, till the sad Rope  
Says, Bid the World Farewell.   — Facit Indignatio Versum.  

The BREECH Washed, by a Friend to the RUMP.  

IN an humour of late I was,  
Cleped a doleful dump.  
Thought I— We're at a fine pass;  
Not a man stands up for the Rump,  
But let it be lashed o'er and o'er,  
While it lies like a senseless Fop—  
'Twould make a Man a Whore,  
To see a Tail tewed 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 Bess ruled the Land there was no man  
Complained: and yet now they rail:  
I beseech you what differs a woman  
From a thing that's all Tongue and Tail?   

Though a Rump, etc.   

The Charter 've sworn to defend,  
And propagate the Cause.  
What call you those of the Rump-end  
But Fundamental Laws?  
The Case is as clear as the day,  
There had been no reformation,  
If the Rump had not clawed it away,  
You had had no Propagation.   

Though a Rump, etc.   

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 convey,  
When the State hath taken a Looseness,  
(Who can hold what will away?)  
The Rump must do the buis'nesse.   

Tho' a Rump, etc.   

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, etc.   

Let no man be further misled  
By an Error past debate.  
For Sedgwick has proved it the Head,  
As well of the Church as the State.  
Honest Hugh, that still turns up the Tippet,  
When he knelt to Administer;  
Says— A Rump with Skippon's sippits  
Is a Dish for a Holy Sister.   

Tho' a Rump, etc.   

Through pride of Flesh or State,  
Poor Souls are overthrown:  
How happy then is our Fate?  
'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, etc.   

'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 Evil.  
Wash the Members as sweet as Nuts,  
And then throw them all to the Devil.   

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 Laurel.  

THe Westminster-rump hath been little at ease,  
Of which you have heard enough, one would think;  
And therefore we'll lay it aside, if you please,  
For the more we do stir in't the more it will stink.   

The County 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 conquered they were ;  
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 miss,  
Of this I am sure, it has the mark of the Beast.   

I cannot believe that our General Monck  
Intends to protect it, he's not such a fool;  
For if he were rightly informed how it stunk,  
He never would join 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 outdone;  
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 Devil 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 ,  
For that hath been an unfortunate place;  
From thence Noll was fetched, 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 Charles the Second may come,  
And our streets may echo 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'er 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 size.   

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'll lose,  
Which he and we mean you; for this we do know,  
That in spite of the Rump and all other his foes,  
He will be brought in whether you will or no    

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

SInce sixteen hundred forty and odd,  
We have sound been lashed with our own rod,  
And have bowed ourselves down at a Tyrant's nod,   

Which no body can deny.   

We have seen a new thing called a Council of State,  
Upheld by a power that's now out of date,  
Put to th' question, byth' Members of forty eight;   

Which no body can deny.   

We have seen what we hope, we shall ne'er see again,  
Now Lambert and Desbrow are snared in the gin,  
The Tail cunningly pieced unto the Skin,   

Which no body can deny.   

A Sword that has frighted our Laws out of door,  
A Backsword I wots, that must cut so no more,  
By th' Honour of Monck, now quitting that score,   

Which no body can deny.   

A Vote lately called, The judgement of th' house,  
To be esteemed and reputed not worth a Louse,  
And the Grandee of Portsmouth made a fine Chouse,   

Which no body can deny.   

We have seen an Assessment, a Thing for Taxes,  
Though the Commonwealth wain, the Private waxes:  
Swords into Plowshares, and such bills to axes,   

Which no body can deny.   

Another new story of Qualification,  
That belonged to no honest man of the Nation,  
Like the ill contrived Authors, quite of Fashion.   

Which no body can deny.   

Original sin, was damned by that Law,  
The son of a Cavalier made a Jack-straw,  
To be chewed again by their ravenous 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 ask who is't pays the seal,   

Which no body can deny.   

I wonder who pays the late Parliament Printers,  
That place they may hold as many Summers as Winters,  
And wish their Presses were broken in splinters.   

Which no body can deny.   

A great many Traitors by them lately made,  
Makes Treason be thought a common Trade,  
Sir George Booth, and Jack Lambert, a while in the shade.   

Which no body can deny.   

We shall now sure give over that word Sequester,  
Now the Tail is cured of their rankling fester,  
The twentieth of April is much about Easter,   

Which no body can deny.   

How many Thanks of the House have been idly spent  
Upon People that still have been malcontent,  
But they must fast from those dainties in this shriving Lent.   

Which no body can deny.   

That honourable 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 detained in the Tower  
And away with the new Lieutenant's power,  
Who's minting the widowed 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 only memorials of this Commonwealth's age,  
And all to be thanked, be Hazelrigg the sage,   

Which no body can deny.   

Let our Liberty-keepers be changed 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 Sceptre 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,   

Which no body can deny.    

A Proper New BALLAD of the devil's Arse a Peak, or Satan's 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 Laurel.  

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 always he spewed out the Rumps.   

Till Lambert the Knave, and Fleetwood the Fool,  
(Though Dick persuaded them from it)  
Did over-turn the devil'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 digest,  
Till advised by old Nick and his train,  
(Who good unwittingly oft may suggest)  
They spewed 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 pitiful 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 possessed,  
But at last they were cast out of door;  
Yet finding it swept, returned a new guest  
Seventimes more a Fiend than before.   

Away than ye pitiful Citizen-slaves,  
Who let such enormities pass;  
Were you but true men, or nor errand 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'll smell what a scent proceeds from the Bum,  
From Whitehall 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 Devil a Monk would he prove.   

Then pluck up your Spirits, and draw out your Swords,  
'Tis force that must only 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 worse of Charles 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 CHARLES had his Heritage won.   

For Swearing, Sacrilege, Murder, and Lies,  
KING-killing, Hypocrisy, Cheats;  
They make no more of these sins than of Flies,  
HELL is almost out-damned 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 CHARL'S Coronation,  
Pray hard for the trueness of Monck.   

Heaven bless our good Sovereign, 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 Cur at his fellow snarls;  
Ere long they will cut, and after the broil,  
The dealing must fall to KING Charles.   

This Flap with a Fox-tail shall have the same lot,  
That unhorsed his Tumbledown Highness;  
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.  

Freequarter 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,  
Can never give to old Oliver's Nose,   

Which, etc.   

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, etc.   

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, etc.   

'Tis a likely matter the world will mend,  
When so much blood and treasure we spend,  
And yet begin at the wrong end,   

Which, etc.   

We have been round, and round about twirled,  
And through much sad confusions hurled,  
And now we art got into the Arse of the world,   

Which, etc.   

But 'tis not all this our courage will quail,  
Or make the brave Seamen to the RUMP strike sail;  
If we can have no Head, we will have no Tail,   

Which, etc.   

Then let a Free Parliament be turned Trump,  
And ne'er think any longer the Nation to mump  
With your pocky, perjured, damned old RUMP,   

Which, etc.   

But what doth Rebel- Rump make here,  
When their proper place (as William. Pryn doth swear)  
Is at the devil's Arse in Derbyshire,   

Which, etc.   

Then thither let us send them a tilt,  
For if they stay longer, they will us beguilt  
With a Government that is lose in the hilt,   

Which, etc.   

You'll find it set down in Harrington's Moddle,  
Whose brains a Commonwealth do so Coddle,  
That t'as made a Rotation in his Noddle,   

Which, etc.   

'Tis a pitiful pass you men of the Sword  
Have brought yourselves to, that the Rump's your Lord;  
And Arsy-varsy must be the word,   

Which, etc.   

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 Butt-end,   

Which, etc.   

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,   

Which, etc.   

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,   

Which, etc.   

This forward Sir John (who the Rump did ne'er fail)  
Against Charles Stewart in a speech did rail,  
But men say it was without head or tail,   

Which, etc.   

Just such is the Government we live under,  
Of a Parliament thrice cut in sunder;  
And this hath made us the world's wonder,   

Which, etc.   

Old Noll when we talked of Magna Charta,  
Did prophesy well we should all smarta;  
And now we have found his Rump's Magna Farta,   

Which, etc.   

But I can't think Monk (though a Soldier and Sloven)  
To be kin to the Fiend whose feet are cloven,  
Nor will creep i'th' Rump's arse to bake in their oven,   

Which, etc.   

Then since he is coming, e'en let him come  
From the North to the South with Sword & Drum,  
To beat up the quarters of this lewd Bum,   

Which, etc.   

And now of this Rump I'll say no more,  
Nor had I begun, but upon this score,  
There was something behind, which was not    

Which &c.    

A HYMN 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 Cobbler that's gone astray  
Out of the Parliament's High way,   

Good people pity the blind.   

His name you wots well is Sir John Hewson  
Whom I intent to set my Muse on,  
As great a Warrior as Sir Miles Lewson,   

Good people, etc.   

He'd now give all the Shoes in his shop  
The Parliaments fury for to stop,  
Whip Cobbler like any Town-top,   

Good people, etc.   

He hath been in many a bloody field  
And a successful sword did wield,  
But now at last is forced to yield;   

Good people, etc.   

Oliver made him a famous Lord  
That he forgot his Cutting Bord,  
But now his thread's twisted to a Cord,   

Good people, etc.   

Crispin and he were near of kin,  
The gentle Craft have a noble Twin,  
But he'd give Sir Hugh's bones to save his skin,   

Good people, etc.   

Abroad and at home, he hath cut many a Hide,  
A Dog and a Bell must now be his Guide,  
They'll lash him smartly on the blind side,   

Good people, etc.   

Of all his warlike valiant feats,  
Of his Calf's leather, and his Neat's,  
Let him speak 'em himself when he repeats,   

Good people, etc.   

I'll only mention one exploit,  
For which when he begs, I'll give him a Doit,  
How he did the City vex and annoyed,   

Good people, etc.   

He marched 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, etc.   

And there he did the Prentices meet,  
Who jeered him as he went through the street,  
But he did them very welfavouredly greet,   

Good people, etc.   

Bears do agree with their own kind,  
But he was of such a cruel mind,  
He killed his brother Cob. before he had dined,   

Good people, etc.   

He strutted then like a Crow in a Gutter,  
That no body durst once more Mutter,  
The Capon-Citizens, 'gan to Flutter,   

Good people, etc.   

After he had them thus defeated,  
To his old quarters he retreated,  
And was by Fleetwood nobly treated,   

Good people, etc.   

He is for this I hear Indicted,  
Though the Week before by them Invited,  
But Wise Men say they had as good as Shited,   

Good people, etc.   

He cares not for the Sessions a Louse,  
They reach not a Peer of the other House,  
He's frighted to see that he is a Parliament Chouse,   

Good people, etc.   

And now he's gone the Lord knows whether,  
He and this Winter go together,  
If he be caught he will lose his Leather,   

Good people, etc.   

he'd best get in some Countrey-Town,  
And company keep with Desbrow the Clown,  
You see how the World goes up and Down,   

Good people, etc.   

His Coach, and his Horses, are gone to be Lost,  
He must vamp it and cart it and thank thee mine Host,  
there's no more to be said of an old Toast,   

Good people, etc.   

Sing Hi Ho Hewson, the State ne'er went upright,  
Since Cobblers could Pray, Preach, Govern, and Fight,  
We shall see what they'll do now you're out of Sight.   

Good people, etc.    

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 Manor of Raby,   

Which no body can deny.   

There was never such a prostitute Sight,  
That e'er profaned this purer Light,  
A Hocus Pocus juggling Knight,   

Which no body can deny.   

He was taken for a Delphic Tripus,  
Another doubt-resolving Oedipus,  
But the Parliament made him a very Quibus,   

Which no body, etc.   

His cunning State-tricks and Oracles,  
His lying wonders and Miracles,  
Are turned into Parliament Shackles,   

Which no body, etc.   

Goodly great Sir Onesimus VANE,  
The Anointed King of Saints not Reign?  
I see all Godliness is not Gain,   

Which no body, etc.   

John a Leyden that Munster's Jing,  
Was a Fool and an Ass to this pretty Thing,  
But the Parliament hated the name of a King,   

Which no body, etc.   

This holy Saint hath prayed till he wept,  
Prophesied and Divined while he slept,  
But fell in a T— when aside he stepped,   

Which no body, etc.   

He sat late in the House so discontent,  
With his Arms folded and his Brows bend,  
Like Achitophel to the Parliament,   

Which no body, etc.   

He durst not speak of a Concubine,  
Nor gave more Counsel to any Design,  
But was musing on a Hempen Line,   

Which no body, etc.   

He see Mr. Prin take a great deal of Pain,  
To get in with the rest as Members Again,  
But they were Voted as useless as VANE,   

Which no body, etc.   

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 Boat,   

Which no body, etc.   

For all his Ceremonious Cringing,  
He shall undergo a notable Swingeing,  
There is now no more need of his Engine,   

Which no body, etc.   

When first the English War began,  
His Father was a Court Trepan,  
And ' rose to be a Parliament Man,   

Which no body, etc.   

So from the Father came unto the Son,  
Whom woe and mis'ry now do wait upon,  
For Counselling Protector John,   

Which no body, etc.   

A Gemini they were, Pollux and Castor,  
One was a Teacher the other a Pastor,  
And both like R— betrayed their Master,   

Which no body, etc.   

The Devil ne'er see such two Sir Harry's,  
Such a pestilent pair nor near nor far is,  
No not at the Jesuits Sorbon of Paris,   

Which no body, etc.   

They talked of his having a Cardinal's Hat,  
They'd send him as soon an Old Nun's Twat,  
For turning in pan there was ne'er such a Cat,   

Which no body, etc.   

His dainty project of a Select Senate,  
Is Damned for a blasphemous Tenet,  
'Twas found in the budget, ('tis said) of Monk Bennet,   

Which no body, etc.   

Of this State and Kingdoms he is the Bane,  
He shall have the reward of Judas and Cain,  
And 'twas he that overthrew Charles his Wain,   

Which no body, etc.   

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,   

Which no body can deny.    

Chip's 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 will  
come you may conceive, Sirs.   

II.  
Lenthals 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 Wain, he's fit to make  
your Carter.   

iv  
Sir Harry Vane, God bless us,  
To Popery he would press us;  
And for the devil's dinner he, the Roman way would dress us.   

V  
Harry Martin never mista,  
To love the wanton twist-a;  
And lustful Aretine's bawdy Leaves are his Evangelist-a.   

VI  
Harry Nevill's no Widgeon,  
His practice truly Stygian  
Makes it a Masterpiece of wit to be of no Religion.   

VII.  
But my good Lord Glyn Man,  
Pride is a deadly sin 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 Taint Sir,  
While strafford's blood in Heavens High Court of Justice makes complaint Sir.   

IX.  
Doctor Palmer's all day sleeping,  
And into his Heart ne'er peeping,  
'tis ill he that neglects his own, should have All-souls in keeping.   

X  
Will. Bruerton's a sinner,  
And, Croyden knows, a Winner,  
But O take heed, lest he do eat the Rump all at one Dinner.   

XI.  
Robin Andrews is a Miser,  
Of Cobblers no despiser,  
And could they vamp him a new head, perhaps he would be wiser.   

XII.  
* But Baron Wild come out here,  
Show 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 Weathercocks he feeds still,  
If Heathen, Turk, or Jew should come, so he would change his Creed still.   

XIIII.  
There's half-witted William. Say too,  
A right fool in the Play too,  
That would make a perfect Ass, if he could learn to Bray too.   

XV.  
Cornelius thou wert a Linkboy,  
And born 'tis like, in a Sink boy,  
I'd 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-dean and thousands he can Ralley.   

XVII.  
But if you ask the Nation,  
Whence came his Elevation,  
They'll say he was not raised by God, but by our inundation.   

XVIII.  
Lord Fines he will not Maul 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 Whitlock Ever,  
Hath mischief under's Beaver,  
And for his ends will put the World into a burning .   

XX.  
Ashely Cowper knew a Reason,  
That Treachery was in Season,  
When at the first he turned his coat from Loyalty to Treason.   

XXI.  
And gouty Master Wallop,  
Now thinks he hath the Ballop,  
But though he trotted to the Rump, he'll run away a Gallop.   

XXII.  
There's Carew Raleigh by him,  
All good Men do defy 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, turned State Quacko;  
And got more by his feigned zeal, then by his what d'ye Lack ho.   

XXV.  
But Widdrington 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 tail is jecked 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 placed wrong, but 'tis his face, that is right fundamental.   

XXIX.  
What Knaves are more to be vexed Sirs,  
You'll hear when I sing next Sirs,  
For now my Muse is tired with this abominable Text Sirs.   Ridentem dicere verum, Quid vetat?  

A PSALM sung by the People, before the Bonfires, made in and about the City of London, on the 11th. of February.  
To the Tune of, Up 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,  
we'll pluck it down the stairs,  
And roast it at Hell for its grease.   

Let the Devil 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;  
we'll prick it in the Tail,  
And baste it with a flail,  
Till it stink like a Cole-burnt Toast.   

It hath lain long in brine,  
Made by the people's eyen,  
So 'tis salt through unsavoury meat;  
we'll draw it round about  
With Welsh Parsley, and no doubt  
It will choke Pluto's great Dog to eat.   

We will not be mocked  
This Rump hath been docked,  
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,  
With this Rump to the fire,  
Get Harrington's Rota to turn it;  
If paper be lacked,  
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 ear  
It sings, do ye hear?  
'Tis enough, come quickly the Platter.   

Lay Trenchers and Cloth  
And away bring the Broth,  
Did the Devil 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?  
Will you none of our cheer?  
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 we'll fall on  
Pray cut me a bone  
The Meat may be healthful and sound;  
Faugh! come let us buried  
To th' hole we must carry't,  
This Rump it stinks above ground.   

This fire we'll style  
The Funeral pile,  
The Grave shall be under the Gallows;  
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 ye  
Let them rest, for the more ye  
Do stir them, the more they will stink.    

LONDON'S true Character.  
To the Tune of, Cuckold's all-a-Row.  

YOu Coward-hearted Citizens,  
what is your Damned pretence,  
To keep yourselves 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,   

Cuckold's all-a-Row.   

There's some of you, whose Bishops Lands  
do so much clog your heels,  
That now you cannot stir, 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 Ramshead zeal you have  
your Brother RUMP befriended,  
To seat them in the ,  
their Wisdoms forth to show;  
But they (and you) are all alike,   

Cuckold's 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 spite of all their Acts, and Laws,  
he'll carry them down below;  
Then Hell, and City, like to like,   

Cuckold's 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:  
he'll Nose it bravely in a Tub,  
to let the City know  
That they'll be Damned, unless they Dipp,   

Cuckold's all-a-Row.   

But where's your mighty Fleetwood now,  
his Honour's worn to the Stump;  
he'll serve Ambassador to Hell,  
to make way for the Rump.  
And thus King-killers, one by one  
will to the Devil go,  
Upon the City Asaph's backs, like   

Cuckold's 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 called   

Cuckolds all-a-Row.   

But if that you would honest grow,  
and do a glorious thing;  
Which is, to Rouse and take your Arms.  
and Fight for Charles your King:  
Which Act your Credits will regain,  
and all the World shall know  
That you no more, shall then be called   

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 Blacksmith.  

DId you ne'er hear of the Baby of Mars,  
That charged Tom Fox's wife with a Tars,  
For his valour lies all in his Arse,  
Which needs must be very strong.   

A sanctified Colonel in beaten Buff,  
With a Scarlet Jump that's 
a Cudgelled by Mr. Armiger at Wells in Norfolk, Novemb. 4. 1654.  Cudgel-proof;  
And his son 
b Ran away six miles at Crowland Siege, and ne'er looked behind him.  Crowland Coward of the selfsame stuff,  
Who got the wench big with young. Probatum est.   

He's a journeyman Soldier 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 pitiful Soldier, though a cruel man,  
Let's give the Devil his due.   

To sacrifice to his fears and his pride,  
He caused a 
c He caused Parson Cooper to be hanged by judge jermy, for fear he should beat him.  Church-Champion be murdered and tried  
By the Judge of his name, and the Rope on his side;  
'Tis pity 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 goodwill for the deed,  
Though at 
d He corrupted twenty free Burghers at Risen, to give their Votes for him in the last Election for Parliament.  Risen he had not the luck to speed;  
Yet some other place may have very great need,  
If the Devil release but his hire.   

So dear was his love that he 
e He hired 100 men to come with him from Lyn with swords and guns, for fear Mr. Howard and his two men should beat him.  purchased a throng  
Of Seamen, 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 Sailors did hollow and throw up their hats,  
And the men with wide mouths that used to cry Sprats;  
But the brave spark of Arundel made them look like drowned Rats,  
When he 
f Mr. Howard gave him a box on the ear with the back of his hand, and he fell to the ground with fear.  humbled Tom Toll for his sin.   

That highborn Hero had cudgeled their Swords,  
Had they not almost expired at his words;  
But the whole design was not worth two half-turds,  
Though you throw the 
g Justice Cremar, Justice Peddar, and Justice Life.  three Justices in.   

In his last good service he 
h He took the City of Norwich when the Gates were open, and no opposition.  took the City,  
By an order from the mistaken Committee,  
Where he scaped a scouring, the more was the pity;  
For 'twas foul when 've said what you can.   

He marched into the Gates with an hundred more,  
O brave! he ne'er did the like before;  
For he used to sneak in at the 
i Mrs. Foxe's back door.  back door,  
As becomes a right modest man.   

When they entered the Town they beleaguered the Mayor,  
And with wonderful 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 The Bells were rung backward, which alarmed the City, who came in and had beat him, if he had not run away upon the noise of it.  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 wondered he should leave the Rump,  
Though his love to that end has received a Law-frump,  
But that is his god what ever is Trump;  
Yet his spirit now was blind.   

Had the Rump but once fizled, 'twas the strongest side,  
But a Fart has so routed his Troop in their pride,  
Though infallible 
l Iermy's Chaplain, that prays, and swears, and fights, and lies for him in ordinary.  Butler was his guide,  
That they are both blown down the wind.   

Yet that would be thought a true 
m Let us show ourselves true Englishmen, is his usual saying,  Englishman,  
Let him make true Latin if he can;  
Yet learned men's lives this Rascal 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 less 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 He that dranck so much Ass' milk, as, without the Parliament's mercy, he is like to be a fool for ever.  Quaker,  
This Jippoe forsooth was a great undertaker,  
And amongst other Trades a Justice-maker,  

n Two justices in Norfolk.  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,  
Without any further strife.   

I thought this Colonel would fail,  
When he was upon his Codpiece-bail,  
He got such a flap with a Fox tail,  
As more at large in your 
o Master Armiger hath the exemplification of a Verdict in a Box, wherein Iermy's bawdry with Foxe's wife, is set forth.  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 played 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 baseness but once to his face  
YE are sure enough he dies on the place,  
If he hangs not himself upon this disgrace,  
'Tis One to a Thousand he'll beat us.    

A New BALLAD,  
To an Old Tune, Tom of Bedlam.  

MAke room for an honest Red-coat,  
(And that you'll says 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'er 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 George's are flown,  
Then the Cause goes down,  
For the Lord is departed from it.   

Then away, etc.   

For Rome, or for Geneva,  
For the Table, or the Altar,  
This spawn of a Vote,  
He cares not a Groat—  
For the Pence, he's your Dog in a Halter.   

Then away, etc.   

Tho' the Name of King, or Bishop,  
to Nostrils pure may be Loathsome,  
Yet many there are,  
That agree with the Mayor,  
That their Lands are wondrous toothsome.   

Then away, etc.   

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, we'll fight for you too.   

Then away, etc.   

'Twas That first turned the King out;  
The Lords, next: then, the Commons:  
'Twas that kept up Noll,  
Till the Devil fetched his Soul;  
And than it set the Bum on's.   

Then away, etc.   

Drunken Dick, was a Lame Protector,  
And Fleetwood a Backslider:  
These we served as the rest,  
But the City's the Beast  
That will never cast her Rider.   

Then away, etc.   

When the Mayor holds the Stirrup,  
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, etc.   

And now for a fling at your Thimbles,  
Your Bodkins, Rings, and Whistles,  
In truck for your Toys,  
we'll fit you with Boys:  
('Tis the Doctrine of 
* To the Butcher's Wife.  Hugh's Epistles.)   

Then away, etc.   

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 ye are cheated.   

Then away, etc.   

The truth is, the Town deserves it;  
'Tis a Brainless, Heartless Monster:  
At a Club they may Bawl,  
Or Declare at their Hall,  
And yet at a Push not one stir.   

Then away, etc.   

Sir Arthur vowed, he'll treat them,  
Far worse than the men of Chester:  
He's Bold, now they're Cowed,  
But he was nothing so Loud  
When he lay in the ditch at Leicester.   

Then away, etc.   

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, etc.   

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, etc.   

While Divines, and Statesmen wrangle,  
Let the Rump-ridden Nation by't on't,  
There are none but we  
That are sure to go free,  
For the Soldiers still in the right-oned.   

Then away, etc.   

If our Masters won't supply us,  
With Money, Food, and Clothing:  
Let the State look to't,  
we'll find one that will do't,  
Let him Live,— we'll not damn for nothing.   

Then away with the Laws,  
And the Good old Cause,  
ne'er 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  
Was played 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,  
When a Quaker turns Italian.   

Unto our whole profession,  
A scandal 'twill be counted,  
When 'tis talked with disdain,  
Amongst the profane,  
How Brother Green was mounted.   

And in the good time of Christmas,  
Which though the Saints have damned all,  
Yet when did they hear  
Of a damned Cavalier  
e'er played such a Christmas Gamball?   

Had thy flesh, O Green, been pampered  
With any Cates unhallowed;  
Hadst thou sweetened thy gums  
With pottage of plums,  
Or profane minced pie hadst swallowed.   

Rolled up in wanton Swine's flesh,  
The Fiend might have crept into thee;  
Then fullness of gut  
Might have made thee rue,  
And the devil so have rid through thee.   

But alas, he had been feasted  
With a spiritual Collation,  
By our frugal Mayor,  
Who can dine with a Prayer,  
And sup with an Exhortation.   

'Twas mere impulse of spirit,  
Though he used the weapon carnal.  
Filly Foal, quoth he,  
My Bride thou shalt be:  
Now how this is lawful, 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 veiled, nor Kissed her,  
He took her by force  
For better for worse,  
And he used 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 carnal 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 Devil 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 Enroll  
For a Saint, Filly Foal  
Shall pass at least for a Martyr.   

Now Rome that spiritual 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-legged Quaker,  
To the Tune of the Dog and Elder's Maid; Or, The Lady's fall.  

ALL that have two or but one Ear,  
(I dare not tell ye half)  
You of an Essex Colt shall hear  
Will shame their very Calf.  
In Horsley fields near 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'll swear,  
For thence the four-legged Elder came,  
Was ever such a Pair!  
But though 'twas foul, between Swash and Jane,  
Yet this is ten times worse,  
For then a Dog did play the Man,  
But Man now played the Horse.   

Help, etc.   

The Owner of the Colt was nigh,  
(Observing their Embrace)  
And drawing nearer did espy  
The Quaker's sorrel Face:  
My Foal is ravished (than he cries,  
And fiercely at him ran)  
Thou Rogue, I'll have thee haltered twice,  
As Horse and eke as Man!   

Help, etc.   

Ah Devil, dost 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 Backed,  
Thou wickedly hast Bellied.   

Help, etc.   

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 replied, Though I for this  
Conceal thy Hugger Mugger,  
Dost think it lawful for a Piece  
A  Foal to Bugger?   

Help, etc.   

The Master saw his Colt defiled,  
Which vexed his soul with doubt;  
For if his Filly proved 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 dragged him by the Mane,  
They called him Beast, and called her Quean;  
As if she had been Jane.  
O stone him (all the Women cried)  
Nay, Geld him (which is worse)  
Who scorned us all and took a Bride  
That's Daughter to a Horse!   

Help, etc.   

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 Spurco nor Switch  
To ride the willing Colt.   

Help, etc.   

O Essex, Essex, England's pride,  
Go burn this long-tailed 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, etc.   

Though they salute not in the street  
(Because they are our Masters)  
'Tis now revealed why Quakers meet  
In Meadows, Woods, and Pastures.  
But Horsemen, Mare-men, all and some  
Who Man and Beast perplex,  
Not only from East- Horsley come,  
But from West-Middle-Sex.   

Help, etc.   

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 stolen so many steeds  
From Prince and Peer and Carrier,  
That this new Murrain rather needs  
A 
* Physician to the Earl of Pembroke, who is no Quaker nor Quacker.  FARRAR than a Farrier.   

Help, etc.   

Nay if this GREEN within the Walls  
Of Colchester left forces,  
Those Cavaliers were Cannibals,  
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, etc.   

This Centaur, uncouth Other thing,  
Will make a dreadful Breach:  
Yet though an Ass may Speak or 
* A new Sect of young Men and Women, who pray, eat, and sing extempore.  Sing,  
O let not Horses Preach!  
But Bridle such wild Colts who can  
When they'll obey no Summons,  
For things begot between Mare and Man  
Are neither Lords nor Commons.   

Help, etc.   

O Elders, Independents too,  
Though all your Powers combined,  
Quakers will grow too strong for you,  
Now Horse and Man are joined:  
While Cavaliers, poor foolish Rogues,  
Know only Maid's Affairs,  
Shee-Presbyters can deal with Dogs,  
And Quaking Men with Mares.   

Help, etc.   

Now as when Milan Town was reared,  
A monstrous Sow untamed  
With back half-Hair half-wool appeared,  
'Twas Mediolanum named:  
So Colchester must have recourse  
To some such four-legged Sister,  
For sure as Horsley comes from Horse  
From Colt 'twas called 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, etc.  

NEws, News:— Here's the Occurrences, and a new Mercurius:  
A Dialogue betwixt Hazelrig the Baffled, 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 drunk 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, etc.   

Here's the Whipper whipped by a Friend to George, that whipped Jack, that whipped the Breech,  
That whipped the Nation, as long as it could stand over it:— After which  
It was itself Re-jerked, by the sage Author of this Speech:  
Methinks a Rump should go as well with a Scotch spur, as with a Switches.   

From a Rump, etc.   

This Rump hath many a Rotten and unruly Member:  
Give the General the Oath, cries one;— but (his Conscience being a little tender,)  
I'll Abjure you, with a Horsepox, quoth George,— and make you remember  
The 'Leaventh of February, longer than the Fifth of November.   

From a Rump, etc.   

With that— Monck leaves (in Rump assembled)— the Three Estates.  
But oh,— how the Citizens hugged 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, etc.   

In truth, this Rufle put the Town in great disorder;  
Some Knaves (in Office) smiled,— expecting 'twould go further;  
But at the last,— my Life on't, George is no Rumper,— said the Recorder:  
For there never was either Honest Man, or Monk of that Order.   

From a Rump, etc.   

And so it proved, for Gentlemen, says the General, I'll make you amends:  
Our Greeting was a little untoward, but we'll part Friends,  
A little time shall show you which way my Design tends,  
And that, besides the good of Church and State, I have no other ends.   

From a Rump, etc.   

His Excellence had no sooner passed this Declaration and Promise,  
But in steps Secretary Scot,— the Rump's man Thomas,  
With Luke, their lame Evangelist,— (the Devil keep 'em from us,)  
To show Monk what precious Members of Church and State the Bum has.   

From a Rump, etc.   

And now comes the Supplication of the Members under the Rod,  
Nay, My Lord, (cries the Brewer's 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 Shrug, instead of a Nodd.   

From a Rump, etc.   

This mortal Silence was followed with a most hideous Noise  
Of Free-Parliament Bells, and Rump-confounding Boys:  
Crying, Geld the Rogues, Sindg their Tails,— when with a low Voice,  
Fire and Sword, by this Light, cries Tom, let's look to our Toys.   

From a Rump, etc.   

Never were wretched Members in so sad a Plight:  
Some were Broiled,— some Roasted,— others Burnt outright,  
Nay, against Rumps, so Pitiless was their Rage and Spite,  
That not a Citizen would kiss his wife that Night.   

From a Rump, etc.   

By this time, Death and Hell appeared 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, etc.   

But Providence, their old friend, brought these Saints off, at Last,  
And through the Pikes, and the Flames, undismembred they Passed,  
Although (God wots) with many struggle, and much Hast.  
(For— Members,— or no Members, was but a measuring Cast.)   

From a Rump, etc.   

Being come to Whitehall;— there's the dismal moan:  
Let Monck be damned, cries Arthur, in a terrible tone:  
That Traitor:— and those Cuckoldly Rogues that set him on:  
(But, tho' the Knight spits Blood, 'tis observed that he Draws none)   

From a Rump, etc.   

The Plague Bawl you, cries Harry Martin, you have brought us to this condition,  
You must be canting, and be Poxed,— with your Barebones Petition,  
And take in that Bull-headed, splay-footed Member of the Circumcision,  
That Baconfaced Jew, Corbet: that son of Perdition.   

From a Rump, etc.   

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 outdoes Jack Pudding, at a Custard, or a Caudle:  
And were the Best Fool in Europe, but that he wants a Bauble.   

From a Rump, etc.   

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, etc.   

Here's the Tail Firked; 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 ancienter than Laws:  
And that a Bumm Divided, is never the worse for the Flaws.   

From the Rump, etc.   

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 Die; (Dear Breech) thy Fame I'll celebrate.   

From a Rump, etc.   

Here lies a Pack of Saints, that did their Souls, and Country Sell  
For Dirt; The Devil was their good Lord: him they served Well;  
By his Advice, they Stood, and Acted: and by his Precedent 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 Countryman, the other a Citizen, Presented to His Excellency and the Council of State at Drapers-Hall, in London, March 28. 1660.  
To the Tune of, I'll never love thee more.  

Tom. NOw would I give my life to see,  
This wondrous man of might.  
Dick. Dost see that Jolly Lad? That's he;  
I'll warrant him he's right.  
there's a true Trojan in his Face:  
Observe him o'er and o'er.   

Chorus.  
Dick. Come Tom; If ever George be base,  
ne'er trust goodfellow more.   

He's none of that Fantastic brood,  
That murder while they pray:  
That truss and cheat us, for our good;  
(All, in a godly way.)  
He Drinks no Blood, and they no Sack  
Into their guts will pour.   

Chorus.  
But if GEORGE does not the knack;  
ne'er trust goodfellow more   

His quiet Conscience needs no guard;  
He's brave, but full of pity.  
Tom. Yet, by your leave, he knocked so hard,  
he'd like t'awaked the City.  
Dick. Fool, 'Twas the Rump that let a Fart,  
The Chains and Gates it tore.   

Chorus.  
But if GEORGE bears not a true heart,  
ne'er trust Goodfellow 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 only feel,  
The blows the City bore,   

Chorus.  
But if GEORGE be'nt as true as Steel,  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   

Come, by this Hand we'll crack a quart,  
Thou'lt pledge his health I trow.  
Tom. Tope Boy, Dick— A lusty Dish my heart,  
Away wilt; Tom.— Let it go.  
Drench me you slave in a full Bowl,  
I'll take't, an 'twere a score,   

Chorus.  
Dick. Nay, if GEORGE be'nt a hearty Soul,  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   

Tom. But hark you, Sirrah, we're too loud,  
he'll hang us, by and by.  
Dick. Me ' thinks, he should be vengeance proud?  
No more than thee, or I.  
Tom. Why then I'll give him the best Blade,  
That ere the Bilbo wore,   

Chorus.  
Dick. If GEORGE prove not a Bonney Lad,  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   

Tom. 'Twas well he came, we'd mawlled the Tail;  
— 've all thrown up our Farms.  
And from the Musket, to the flail,  
Put all our men in Arms.  
The Girls had ta'en the Members down,  
ne'er saw such things before.   

Chorus.  
Dick. If George speak not the Town our own,  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   

Dick. But prithee, are the Folk so mad,  
Tom. So mad, sayest;— They be undone,  
There's not a penny to be had;  
And every Mother's Son  
Must fight, if he intent to eat,  
Grow valiant, now he is poor.   

Chorus.  
Dick. Come— yet if George don't do the Feat,  
ne'er trust Goodfellow 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 pawned her Coat.  
The sniveling Rogues abused our Squire,  
And called our Mistress Whore.   

Chorus.  
Dick. Yet— if George done't what we desire,  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   

Tom. By this good day; I did but speak,  
They took my Py-balled Mare;  
And put the Carri'on wench to th' squeak.  
(Things go against the Hair.)  
Our Prick-ared, Cor'nell looks as big  
Still, as he did before.   

Cho.  
Dick. And yet if George don't hum his Gigg,  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   

Faith Tom: our Case is much at one;  
We're broke for want of Trade;  
Our City's baffled, and undone,  
Betwixt the Rump, and Blade.  
've emptied both our Veins and Bags,  
Upon a Factious Score.   

Chorus.  
If George Compassion not our Rags,  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   

Tom. But what dost think should be the Cause,  
Whence all these Mischiefs spring?  
Dick. Our damned breach of Oaths and Laws;  
Our Murder of the King.  
We have been Slaves since charles's his Reign,  
We lived like Lords before.   

Chorus.  
If George don't set all right again,  
ne'er trust Goodfellow 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.  
Has too much Honesty and Wit,  
To let his tongue run o'er:   

Chorus.  
If This prove not a lucky hit,  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   

 ask him, what he means to do?  
Tom.— ' Good faith, with all my heart;  
Thou makest the better Leg o' th' Two:  
Take thou the better part.  
I'll follow, if thou'lt lead the van.  
Rich. Content;— I'll march before.   

Chorus.  
If GEORGE prove not a Gallant man,  
ne'er trust Goodfellow more.   

My Lord:— in us the Nation craves  
But what you're bound to do.  
Tom.— We have lived Drudges. Ric.— And we Slaves;  
Both. We would not die so too.   

Chorus.  
Restore us but our Laws again;  
Th' unborn shall thee adore:  
If GEORGE denies us his Amen;  
Never trust Goodfellow more.    
FINIS.