Then in steps driv’ling Mounson to take up the squabble,
That lord which first taught the use of the woodden dagger and ladle: [61]
He that out-does Jack Pudding [62] at a custard or a caudle,
And were the best foole in Europe but that he wants a bauble.
From a Rump, etc.
More was said to little purpose,—the next news is, a declaration
From the Rump, for a free state according to the covenant of the nation,
And a free Parliament under oath and qualification,
Where none shall be elect but members of reprobation.
From a Rump, &c.
Here’s the tail firk’d, a piece acted lately with great applause,
With a plea for the prerogative breech and the Good old Cause,
Proving that Rumps and members are antienter than laws,
And that a bumme divided is never the worse for the flawes.
From a Rump, etc.
But all things have their period and fate,
An Act of Parliament dissolves a Rump of state,
Members grow weak, and tayles themselves run out of date,
And yet thou shalt not dye (dear breech), thy fame I’ll celebrate.
From a Rump, etc.
Here lies a pack of saints that did their souls and country sell
For dirt, the Devil was their good lord, him they served well;
By his advice they stood and acted, and by his president they fell
(Like Lucifer), making but one step betwixt heaven and hell.
From a Rump insatiate as the sea
Liberasti nos, Domine.
THE SECOND PART OF ST GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.
To the tune of “To drive the cold winter away.”
(March 7, 1659.)
Now the Rump is confounded
There’s an end of the Roundhead,
Who hath been such a bane to our nation;
He hath now play’d his part,
And’s gone out like a f—,
Together with his reformation;
For by his good favour
He hath left a bad savour;
But’s no matter, we’ll trust him no more.
Kings and queens may appear
Once again in our sphere,
Now the knaves are turn’d out of door,
And drive the cold winter away.
Scot, Nevil, and Vane,
With the rest of that train,
Are into Oceana [63] fled;
Sir Arthur the brave,
That’s as arrant a knave,
Has Harrington’s Rota in’s head; [64]
But hee’s now full of cares
For his foals and his mares,
As when he was routed before;
But I think he despairs,
By his arms or his prayers,
To set up the Rump any more,
And drive the cold winter away.
I should never have thought
That a monk could have wrought
Such a reformation so soon;
That House which of late
Was the jakes of our state
Will ere long be a house of renown.
How good wits did jump
In abusing the Rump,
Whilst the House was prest by the rabble;
But our Hercules, Monk,
Though it grievously stunk,
Now hath cleansed that Augean stable,
And drive the cold winter away.