The Second Part of St. George for England.
To the Tune of, To drive the cold Winter away.
Now the Rump is confounded, there's an end to the Round-head,
Who hath been such a bane to our Nation;
He hath now plai'd his part, and 's gone out like a fart,
Together with his 'Reformation'.
For by his good favour, he hath left an ill 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.
Scot, Nevil and Vane, with the rest of that train,
are into 'Oceana' fled;
Sir Arthur the brave, that's as arrant a Knave,
Has Harrington's 'Rota' in's head.
But he's now full of cares, for his foals and his mares,
As when he was routed before,
But I think he dispairs, by his arms or his prayers,
To set up the Rump any more.
I should have never have thought that a Monk could have
wrought
Such a reformation so soon:
That House, which of late was the jakes of the State,
Will ere long be a House of Renown.
How good wits did jump, in abusing the Rump,
Whilst the House was press'd by the Rabble;
But our Hercules Monk, though it grievously stunk,
Now hath cleansed that Augean-stable.
And now Mr. Prynne with the rest may come in, and take their
places again;
For the House is made sweet, for those Members to meet,
Though part of the Rump yet remain;
Nor need they to fear though his breeches be there
Which were wrong'd both behind and before,
For he saith, "'twas a chance," and "forgive him this once!"
And swears he will do so no more.
'Tis true, there are some who are still for the Bum
Such tares will grow up with the wheat;
And there they will hum till a Parliament come
That can give then a total defeat.
But yet, I am told, that the Rumpers do hold
That the Saints may swin with the tyde;
Nor can it be treason, but Scripture and Reason,
Still to close with the stronger side.
Those Lawyers o' th' House, as Baron Wild-goose,
With Treason Hill, Whitlock and Say,
Were the bane of Laws, and our 'Good Old Cause,'
And 'twere well if such were away.
Some more there are to blame, whom I care not to name,
That are men of the very same ranks;
'Mongst whom there are one, that to-devil Barebone,
For his ugly Petition gave thanks.
But I hope, by this time, hee'l confess 'twas a crime
To abet such a damnable crew,
Whose Petition was drawn by Alcoran Vane,
Or else by Corbet the Jew.
By it you may know what the Rump meant to do,
And what a Religion to frame;
So 'twas time for St. George that Rump to disgorge,
And to send it from whence it first came.
Finis for the Rump's Finis.
|
|
Return
to the Blackletter Ballad Page.