The Rump Carbonadod. Or, A New Ballad,
To the Tune of the Black-smith.
|
LEnd me your ears, not cropt, and I'le sing
|
Of an hideous Monster, or Parliament thing,
|
That City and Country doth wofully wring,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Take care that no Sectary be in this place,
|
For if you offend the least Babe of Grace,
|
The Rump will be ready to flie in your face,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
They fram'd a Remonstrance, to set all on fire,
|
Which took with the People, as they did desire,
|
And forc'd them to Covenant that they would conspire,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
No sooner exalted was Essex his H[o]rn,
|
But Gods law, and mans too, the Cuckold did scorn,
|
To ruine our Country this Rebell was born,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Take Warwick along, if company you lack,
|
No Admiral like an old Puritan Jack,
|
A verier knave you can't finde in the Pack,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
These arm'd with Commissions by Sea and by Land,
|
Did send forth their Forces the King to withstand,
|
Till of all that was good, they had soon made an hand,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
In glory and wealth, we once so ab[o]unded,
|
And were in Religion s[o] throughly grounded,
|
That none could have shatter'd us thus but the Round-head,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Which pluck'd down the King, the Church, and the Laws,
|
To set up an Idol, then N[i]ck-nam'd the Cause.
|
Like Bell and Dragon, to gorge their own Mawes,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
They banisht all Royallists out of the Line,
|
And scarce could endure to hear any Divine,
|
That would not for company cogge, lye and whine,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
So frantickly zealous they were at that season,
|
That the five rotten Members impeacht of high Treason,
|
They guarded against all Right, Law and Reason,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Will foole was counted the worst of the twaine,
|
Till Tom foole Lord Fairfax the Cause to maintain,
|
His Honour and Conscience did fearefully staine,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Sir William at Run-away-downs had a bout,
|
Which him and his Lobsters did totally rout,
|
And his Lady the Conquerour could not help him out,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Though General Brown doe now fawn and beseech,
|
The Caveleeres found him a blood-sucking Leech,
|
He would seem a Convert, but he stincks of the breech,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
All will confesse that Saint Oliver Cromwell,
|
Had learn'd in his raign the three Nations to scum-well,
|
Although it be true that he did love a Bum-well,
|
Which nobody will deny.
|
But young Dick and Harry, not his Heirs but his brats:
|
As if they had lesse wit and grace than Gib-Cats,
|
Slunk from their Commands, like a paire of drow[n]'d Rats,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
The sound of a Rump, neer heard of before,
|
In their addle pates, did so whistle and roare,
|
That straight they betook themselves to the back doore,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
When Haselrige o' the Rump brought up the rear,
|
The Army was in such a bodily fear,
|
That no one Commander durst ever appear,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Down goes the Publick, when Knaves usurp Power,
|
The Rump by one Ordinance can more men devoure,
|
Than all the great Guns shot from the Tower,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Pennington long since was broken to fitters,
|
Yet sits with the Rump of Sects to Pig-litters;
|
And such as come near him, he all to besquitters,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
If Alderman Atkins you keep not in minde,
|
Heele take it so ill, that hee'le flie out behinde,
|
And make you remember with every winde,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Tichborn could preach, pray, and prate by the spirit,
|
And Ireton little better, who rang'd like a Ferret,
|
And Tyburn thinks long to give them their merit,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Lord Gourney was right, whom the City betraide;
|
Now the City would be right, were the Mayor not a Jade:
|
Till such as he be made examples, ne're look for better Trade,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Ne're did any Nation so court their own good,
|
As we have all offer's of mercy withstood,
|
God's judgement on our rapine, and shedding of blood,
|
Which nobody can deny
|
All wise men and good, say it is a mischeivous fate,
|
A Kingdome to turn into a popular State;
|
Yet weele take no warning, untill it be too late.
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
A desperate crew of self-seeking elves,
|
Doe wilfully force us on quicksands and shelves;
|
This we see, yet we seek not to safeguard ourselves.
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
For when the poore Cits are plunder'd by force,
|
Their grievances finde full as little remorse
|
I'th man-beast, the Mayor, as in his great horse,
|
Which nobody can deny
|
The Rump yet sits brooding upon their close stoole,
|
In labour to bring forth a Knave or a Foole;
|
Begotten by a new Legislative Toole,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Sir Henry Vane Prince of the last modell'd rout,
|
Was known as a traytour, both cunning and stout,
|
Yet for being too rampant, the Rump shit him out,
|
Which nobody can deny
|
James Harrington knight or knave, choose you whether,
|
For in the Rump still knight and knave go together;
|
The times cannot mend till hee's tyed to his tether,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Harry Martin and Scot, with some thirty eight more,
|
Are resolv'd on the question to keep us all poore,
|
Whilest they have the power to Plunder and Whore,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Who can gain-say that it was a strong fart,
|
Which blew the Lord Desborough back to his Cart,
|
And taught silly Fleetwood of crying the Art?
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Tis pity that Huson the Lord should have dyed,
|
For peircing his brother, the Coblers Hide;
|
Since the word of command came from his blinde-side,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Luke Robinson wants both his Bristles and Aule,
|
To stitch up his lame leg, and help him to craule,
|
Who down-right hath halted betwixt God and Baal,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
The Prentices once put the troupers to flight,
|
And the Red-coats for fear, then were ready to shite,
|
When Lambert the Atheist march't Northward to fight,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
The Greeks that sack Troy from the belly did come
|
Of Epriis his horse; but with Musket and drum
|
The war among us is carried on by the Bum,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Jack Presbyter struts up and down in a jump,
|
Curtail'd on purpose for feare least the Rump
|
Should sit on his skirts and give him a thump,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Instead of an Use of divine Consolation,
|
The Hypocrite publish't a late Exhortation,
|
To Trepan this poore Citie, and beggar the Nation,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
For what is call'd Christian, it is no great matter,
|
So they may but gather, they care not who scatter;
|
They cannot be gifted unlesse they doe flatter,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Since Charls was beheaded, we h[a]ve backward gone,
|
And now are brought even to the bare Rump-bone,
|
Which speak's in no other but Atkinses tone,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Tis hard to say, how much these Arse-wormes doe urge us,
|
We now need no Quack, but these Jacks, for to purge us,
|
For resisting our Head, the tayle now doth scourge us,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Lenthall now Lords it, though the Rabble him mock
|
In calling him Sneaker, and Speaker to the Dock,
|
For an hundred pound more, he'ele kiss their very Nock,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
And now if we crave but a Parliament Free,
|
We are sure to feele Plunder, or Prison to see;
|
They'le gore us, and bore us, and slaves we must be,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
We are sensible now, that there is no one thing,
|
Can full satisfaction to all Interests bring,
|
Till in spite of all Traytors, we fetch in the King,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Monck, like the Oracle, play's fast and loose;
|
We know not yet, whether hee's a Fox or a Goose;
|
He had need look about him, for his neck's in a noose,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
Then to Conclude this innocent Song,
|
Least the Rump should infect you, which smelleth so strong:
|
Old Nick bless them all, and take them e're long,
|
Which nobody can deny.
|
|
|
|
|
|