THE RUMP DOCK'T

TIll it be understood
What is under Monck's Hood,
The City dare not shew his horns:
Till ten daies be out,
The Speaker's sick of the Gout,
And the Rump doth sit upon thorns.
If Monck be turn'd Scot
The Rump goes to pot,
And the Good Old Cause will miscarry;
Like coals out of embers,
Revive the Old Members:
Off goes the Rump, like Dick and Harry.
Then In come the Lords,
Who drew Parlament swords,
With Robes lined through with Ermin;
But Peers without Kings
Are very useless things,
And their Lordships counted but Vermin
Now Morley and Fagg
May be put in a bagg,
And that doughty man Sir Arthur;
In despair for his Foil,
With Alderman Hoyle,
Will become a Knight of the Garter.
That Knave in Grain
Sir Harry Vane
His case then most mens is sadder;
There is little hope
He can scape the rope,
For the Rump turn'd him o're the Ladder.
That pretious Saint Scott
Shall not be forgot,
According to his own desires;
Instead of Neck-verse
Shall have it writ on his Horse,
Here hangs one of the Kings Triers.
Those nine sons of Mars
That whipt the Rumps Arse,
I mean the Commanders War-lick;
If the Rump smell strong
With hanging too long,
Shall serve to stuff it with Garlick.
That parcel of man
In length but a span,
Whose wife's Eggs alwaies are addle;
Must quit the Life-guard,
As he did when skar'd
By Lambert out of the saddle.
Lambert now may turn Florist,
Being come off the poorest
That ever did man of the Sword:
The Rump let a fart
Which took away his heart,
And made him a Squire of a Lord.
His Cheshire glory
Is a pitiful story,
There the Saints triumpht without battle;
But now Monck and his Friers
Have driven him into the Briers,
As he did Booth and his Cattle.
For the rest of the Rump,
Together in a lump,
'Tis too late to cry▪ Peccavi:
Yee have sinn'd all or most
Against the Holy Ghost,
And therefore the Divel must have ye.
But now valiant City,
Whether must thy Ditty
Be sung in Verie, ot in Prose;
For till the Rump [...]unk
For fear of Monck,
Thy Militia durst not shew Its Nose.
Base Cowards and Knaves,
That first made us slaves,
Very Rascals from the beginning;
Onely unto Moncks Sword
The Nation must afford
The honour of bringing the King in.

Printed in the year, 1660.

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