Rebellion given over House-keeping: OR, A General Sale of Rebellious Houshould stuff. Being a Pleasant New Song. To the Tune of, Old Simon the King .
|
R Ebellion hath broken up House,
|
and hath left me Old Lumber to sell:
|
Come hither and take your choice,
|
I'le promise to use you well.
|
Will you buy the Old Speaker's Chair,
|
which was warm, and easie to sit in,
|
And oftentimes hath been made clean,
|
when as it was fouler then fiting:
|
Says Old Simon the King,
|
says O[l]d Simon the King,
|
With his thread-bare Cloaths, and his Mamsey Nose,
|
sing hey ding, ding, a ding ding.
|
Will you buy any bacon flitches?
|
they're the fattest that ever were spent;
|
They're the sides of the old Committees,
|
fed up with th' long parliament.
|
Here's a pair of bellows and tongs,
|
and for a small matter i'le sell'em;
|
They're made of the Presbiters Lungs,
|
to blow up the Coals of Rebellion,
|
Says old Simon the King, etc .
|
I had thought to have given them once
|
to some Black-Smith for his Forge;
|
But now I have consider'd on't,
|
I for them have found other use:
|
For i'le give them to some Choir,
|
to make the Organ to roar,
|
And the little Pipes squeek higher
|
then ever they did before,
|
Says old Simon the King,
|
says Old Simon the King,
|
With his Thread-bare Cloaths, and his mamsey Nose
|
sing hey ding, ding, a ding ding.
|
Here,s a couple of Stools for sale,
|
the one square and t'other is round;
|
Betwixt them both the Tail
|
of the Rump fell unto the Ground.
|
Will you buy the States Council Table,
|
which was made of the good wain-Scot;
|
The frame was a tottering Bable
|
to uphold th'independent plot;
|
Says old Simon the King, etc .
|
Here's the Beeson of Reformation,
|
which should have made clean the Floor;
|
But it swept the wealth out of th 'Nation
|
and left us Dirt good store.
|
Will you buy the States Spining wheel,
|
which spun for the Ropers Trade?
|
But better it had stood still,
|
for now in has spun a Fair Thred?
|
Says old Simon the king, etc.
|
Here's a very good Clyster Pipe,
|
which was made of a Butchers stump?
|
And oft-times it hath been us'd
|
to cure the Colds of the Rump.
|
Here's a lump of Ignorance,
|
which once was a Justice of peace,
|
Who Nel and the Devil did serve;
|
but now it is come to This,
|
Says old Simon the King, etc .
|
Here's a Role of States Tobacco,
|
if any Good Fellow will take it:
|
It's nither Virginia nor Spanish,
|
but i'le tell you how they do make it;
|
Tis Covenant mixt with Engagement,
|
with an Abjuration Oath;
|
And many of them did take it
|
complain it was foul in the Mouth,
|
Says Old Simon the King, etc .
|
Yet the Ashes may happily serve
|
to sure the Scab of the Nation,
|
When they have an itch to serve,
|
a Rebellion by Innovation,
|
A Lanthorn here is to be bought,
|
the like was scarce e're begotten:
|
For many a Plot't has found out,
|
before they ever were thought on,
|
Says old Simon the King, etc .
|
Will you buy the Rumps great Saddle,
|
which once did carry the Nation;
|
And here's the Bitt and the Bridle,
|
and Curb of Dissimulation?
|
Here's the Breeches of the Rump,
|
With a fair dissembling Cloak,
|
And a Presbiterian Jump,
|
with an Independent Smock,
|
Says old Simon the King, etc .
|
Will you buy a Conscience ne'r turn'd,
|
which served the High Court of Justice?
|
And stretch'd until England it mourn'd,
|
but Hell will buy that if the worst is:
|
Here's Joan Crumwels Kitching-stuff-Tub,
|
wherein is the Fat of the Rumpers,
|
With which she Old Noll's Horns did rub,
|
when he was got drunk with full Bumpers :
|
Says Old Simon the King, etc .
|
Here's the Purse of the Publique Faith ,
|
here's the Model of Sequestration,
|
Here are the old wives who on good troth,
|
lent Thimbles to ruine the Nation:
|
Here is Dick Crumwel's Protectorship,
|
and here is Lambert's Commission,
|
And here is Hugh Peters his Scrip,
|
cram'd with the Tumultuous Petitions.
|
Says Old Simon the King, etc .
|
Here's Olivers Brewing Vessels,
|
and here's his Dray and his Slings:
|
Here's Hewsons Aul and his Bristles,
|
with divers other odd things.
|
And what doth the price belong
|
to all these matters before ye?
|
I'le sell them all for an old song,
|
and so I do end my story
|
Says old Simon the King,
|
Says old Simon the King,
|
With his thread-bare cloaths, & a Mamsey Nose
|
Sing hey ding, ding, a ding ding.
|
|
FINIS.
|
|
|
|