A NEW-YEARS-GIFT
FOR THE
RUMP.
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YOu may have heard of the Politique Snout,
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Or a tale of a Tub, with the bottom out,
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But scarce of a Parliament in a shitten clout.
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Which nobody can deny.
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'Twas Atkins first serv'd this Rump in with Mustard,
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The Sawce was a compound of Courage, and Custard;
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Sr. Vane bless'd the Creature: Noll snufled, and Bluster'd.
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Which nobody can deny.
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The Right was as then, in Old Olivers Nose,
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But when the Devil, of that did dispose,
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It Descended from thence, to the Rump, in the Cloze.
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Which nobody can deny.
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Nor is it likely there to stay long,
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The Retentive faculties being gone,
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The Juggle is stale, and Money there's none.
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Which nobody can deny.
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The Secluded Members made a Trial
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To Enter, but them the Rump did defy all,
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By the Ordinance of Self denial.
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Which nobody can deny.
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Our Politique Doctors do us Teach,
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That a Bloud-sucking Red-coat's as good as a Leech,
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To Relieve the Head, if appli'd to the Breech.
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Which nobody can deny.
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But never was such a worm as Vane;
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When the State scour'd last, it voided him then,
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Yet now he's crept into the Rump again.
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Which nobody can deny.
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Ludlows Fart, was a Phrophetique Trump:
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(There never was anything so Jump)
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'Twas the very Type, of a vote of this Rump.
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Which nobody can deny.
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They say 'tis good Luck, when a Body rises
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With the Rump upward; but he that advises
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to Live in that Posture, is none of the wisest.
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Which nobody can deny.
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The Reason is worse, though the Rime be Untoward,
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When things proceed with the wrong end Forward,
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But they say their's sad news to the Rump, from the Nor'ward.
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Which nobody can deny.
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'Tis a wonderfull thing the strength of that Part,
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At a Blast, it will take you a Team from a Cart;
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And Blow a mans Head away with a Fart.
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Which nobody can deny.
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