A PROPER
NEW BALLAD
OF THE
Divels Arse a Peake, Or SATANS Beastly place,
Or, In plain Terms
OF the POSTERIORS and FAG-END of A Long PARLIAMENT.
To be said or Sung very Comfortably To the Tune of Cook Laurell.
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O Foolish Brittanicks, where are your hearts fled?
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What fiend doth the Nation bewitch;
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That since you like Rogues Cut off your own Head,
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Your Noses Close in with the Britch?
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The Britch! such a bit, Nolls paunch could never brook,
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For it put him still to his dumps;
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And though full meals of Hell-broth he oft took,
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Yet always he spew'd out the Rumps.
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Till Lambert the Knave and Fleetwood the fool
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(Though Dick perswaded them from it)
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Did overturn the Divels Close-stool,
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And like Dogs return to their Vomit.
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No sooner the Council Table was spread
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With many a vomited gull;
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But the Army grew sqeezee and turned their Head,
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For they soon had their belly full.
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The Red-coats could never this Rumpling digest,
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Till advis'd by Old Nick and his train,
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(Who good unwittingly oft may suggest)
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They spew'd up their vomit again.
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Their Surreverence was for a while out of sight
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Till Whettam began to deplore 'um,
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And Arthur the Knight of the Spur a bold wight,
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The Rump of a Rump did restore 'um.
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Then a pox light on the pitiful Rump
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That a third time above board vapers
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Which Old Nick blew out; but now turns up Trump
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As Jone farted in and out tapers.
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The House by this Legion was long time Possest,
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But at last they were Cast out of dore;
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Yet finding it swept, return'd a new guest
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Seven-times more a fiend then before.
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Away then ye pitiful Citizen slaves
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Who let such enormities pass,
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Were you but true men or not errant knaves,
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Fools durst not you ride like an Ass.
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Then dare to be Honest, and beat up your Drum,
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For when the Rogues here of your power,
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Youl'e smell what a sent proceeds from the Bum,
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From Whitehall, at least to the Tower.
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S'foot! what if these Arse-worms with gifts of our gold
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Great George to defend them should move,
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Our goods and our Liberties, then would be sold,
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And the Divel a Monk would he prove.
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Then pluck up your Spirits, and draw out your Swords
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force that must onely prevail,
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We have long enough stood out in bare Words,
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Let's now make a Rod for their Tail.
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Then Vive le Roy let's merrily Sing,
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Can any Man well in his Witts,
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Think worser of Charles our Noble good King,
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Then those who do Govern by Fits?
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Search round the great City what ill you can see,
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Which the Rascally Rump hath not done,
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And then you will wish with the Nation and me,
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That CHARLS had his Heritage won.
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For Swearing, Sacriledge, Murther, and Lies,
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KING-Killing, Hypocrisy, Cheats,
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They make no more of these Sins, then of Flies,
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HELL is almost outdam'd by their Feats.
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Then fight ye like Men for the good of the Nation,
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As ye hope to be Civilly Drunk,
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On free cost at blessed CHARLES Coronation,
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Pray hard for the trueness of Monk.
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Heaven blesse our good Soveraign, the best of all Men,
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Let the KING of our Hearts be Trump,
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That Peace and Prosperity may come agen,
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Squire Dun and Old Nick take the Rump.
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Then let the Knaves Shuffle 3 Kingdoms a while
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Till each Curr at his fellow snarls,
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Ere long they will Cut, and after the broyl
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The dealing must fall to KING Charls,
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This Flap with a Fox-taile shall have the same Lot,
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That unhorst his Tumble down Highnesse,
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For since the rest of the Members are not,
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The Rump must shortly have
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