Colonel John Okeis
LAMENTATION,
OR A
RUMPER
CASHIERED.
To the tune of, And a Begging we will go.
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OF a Famous Brewer my purpose is to tell,
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Now mighty Roaring Oliver and Pride are gone to Hell,
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The Noble Stoker Okey that doth the rest Excel,
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And give him more Ale and Grains:
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The Rumps great Champion, the defender of the State,
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The Commonwealths Sir Guy orecome by cunning Fate,
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Packing out of England, with the Divels Excise Rate,
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And give, etc.
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And I (quoth this John) must now bring up the Rear,
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And Tally the Account of our State Stinking Beer,
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I wish I had my complices again to help me here,
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And give, etc.
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My Trade hath had the Honour, the State to overturn,
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How often times did I, and Pride the House Adjourn?
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I know I must be hangd for Im too Wett to Burn,
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And give, etc.
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Yet when I think how slyly, my partners me forsooke,
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And never put the totall Summe to Bible nor to Book,
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I wish the Divl for compny had Okey also took,
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And give, etc.
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Then had I spard my angry Corking Knife,
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Which I drew at th Exchange against a Hawkers Wife,
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For crying against the Rump to end our gainful strife,
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And give, etc.
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They say I am indited, for Secluding of the Members,
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One thousand six hundred forty eight in December,
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Would the Inditement was rakt in my Stoake hole Embers,
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And give him, etc.
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My slicing Irons beaten into broad Swords and Spears,
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My thick Smoke did vanish into Jealousies and Fears,
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But now all my wash is limbeckt into Tears,
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And give him, etc.
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A Fat Tub-woman was my Goddesse great of War,
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My Hostesse big Bellona that lived at the Starr,
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No matter if to Tyburn, I ride in Dray or Carr,
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And give him, etc.
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But my Dray is transformed to An Ammunition Wagon,
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My Horses swopt for light Nags, for service of the Dragoon,
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With which I overtooke the Welch, when they ran from St. Fagon,
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And give him, etc.
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My brazen impudence, now leaves me at my Copper,
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And that will go ere long, then Ile be bottle stopper,
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And then Sepulchres Bell, O how I fear that Clapper,
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And give him, etc.
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Adieu then all my Vailes, my Tilts, my Dregs and Yest,
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A Rump, and a Free State, shield me from an Inquest,
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I am not bound for Portsmouth but Tyburn in the West.
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And give him, etc.
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Ile now betake my self again unto the old Mash Tun,
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And with my Brewing Oares, Ile Row to Wimbleton,
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I Murdered Charls the Father, I maynt endure the Son,
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And give him, etc.
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My old guile will be best, now I am stricken out oth Role,
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Ile Cunningly retreat again into my warm Stoke Hole,
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Sir Arthur is to find me store of Newcastle Cole.
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And give him more Ale and Grains.
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