The Second Part of
Saint George for England.
To the Tune of, To drive the cold Winter away.
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NOw the Rump is confounded,
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There's an end, of the Roundhead,
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Who hath been such a bane to our Nation,
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He hath now plaid his part,
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And's gone out, like a fart,
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Together with his reformation,
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For by his good favour,
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He hath left a bad savour,
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But's no matter, wee'l trust Him no more;
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Kings and Queens may appear
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Once again in our Sphere,
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Now the Knaves are turn'd out of door.
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And drive the cold Winter away.
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Scot, Nevil, and Vane,
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With the rest of that train,
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Are into Oceana fled,
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Sir Arthur, the brave,
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That's as arrant a Knave,
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Has Harringtons Rota in's head,
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But hee's now full of cares
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For his Foals, and his Mares,
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As when he was routed before:
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But I think he despairs,
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By his Arms, or his Prayers,
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To set up the Rump any more.
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And drive the cold Winter away.
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I should never have thought,
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That a Monk could have wrought
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Such a reformation so soon;
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That House, which of late
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Was the Jaques of our State,
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Will ere long, be a House of renown;
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How good Wits did jump,
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In abusing the Rump,
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Whilst the House was press'd by the Rabble;
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But our Hercules Monk,
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Though it grievously stunk,
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Now hath cleans'd that Augaean-stable.
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And drive the cold Winter away.
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And now Mr. Prynne,
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With the rest may come in,
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And take their places again,
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For the House is made sweet,
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For those Members to meet,
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Though part of the Rump yet remain,
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Nor need they to fear,
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Though his Breeehes be there,
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Which were wrong'd both behind and before,
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For he saith, 'twas a Chance,
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And forgive him this once,
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And he swears, he will do so no more.
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And drive the cold Winter away.
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'Tis true there are some,
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Who are still for the Bum,
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Such Tares will grow up with the Wheat,
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And there they will be, till a Parliament come,
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That can give them a total defeat:
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But yet I am told,
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That the Rumpers do hold,
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That the Saints may swim with the tyde;
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Nor can it be Treason,
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But Scripture and reason,
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Still to close with the stronger side.
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And drive the cold Winter away.
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Those Lawyers 'oth House,
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As Baron Wild-goose,
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With treason, Hill, Whitlock, and Say,
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Were the bane of our Laws,
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And our Good Old Cause,
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And 'twere well if such were away.
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Some more there are to blame,
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Whom I care not to name,
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That are Men of the very same ranks,
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'Mongst whom there is one,
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That to Devil Barebone,
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For his ugly Petition gave thanks.
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And drive the cold Winter away.
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But I hope by this time,
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Hee'l confess 'twas a crime,
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To abet such a damnable Crew,
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Whose Petition was drawn,
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By Alcoran Vane,
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Or else by Corbet the Jew:
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By it you may know,
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What the Rump meant to do,
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And what a Religion to frame;
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So 'twas time for St. George,
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That Rump to disgorge,
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And to send it from whence it first came, etc.
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Then drive the cold Winter away.
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