Betwixt them both, the tail

Of the Rump fell down to the ground. Will you buy the State's council-table, Which was made of the good wain-Scot? The frame was a tottering Babel,

To uphold th' Independent plot.
Says old Simon, &c.

Here's the besom of Reformation,

Which should have made clean the floor; But it swept the wealth out of the nation, And left us dirt good store.

Will you buy the State's spinning-wheel,
Which spun for the roper's trade?
But better it had stood still,

For now it has spun a fair thread.
Says old Simon, &c.

Here's a glyster-pipe well tried,

Which was made of a butcher's stump, And has been safely applied

To cure the colds of the Rump.

Here's a lump of pilgrim's-salve,
Which once was a justice of peace
Who Noll and the devil did serve,-
But now it is come to this!
Says old Simon, &c.

Here's a roll of the State's tobacco,
If any good fellow will take it;

No Virginia had e'er such a smack-o,
And I'll tell you how they did make it :
'Tis th' Engagement and Covenant cooked
Up with the abjuration-oath,

And many of them that have took't
Complain it was foul in the mouth.
Says old Simon, &c.

Yet the ashes may happily serve
To cure the scab of the nation,
Whene'er't has an itch to swerve
To rebellion by innovation.
A lantern here is to be bought;
The like was scarce ever gotten,
For many plots it has found out
Before they ever were thought on.
Says old Simon, &c.

Will you buy the Rump's great saddle,
With which it jockeyed the nation?

And here is the bit and the bridle,
And curb of dissimulation;

And here's the trunk-hose of the Rump,
And their fair dissembling cloak;
And a Presbyterian jump,

With an Independent smock.
Says old Simon, &c.

Will you buy a conscience oft turned,
Which served the High Court of Justice,
And stretched until England it mourned?—
But hell will buy that, if the worst is.
Here's Joan Cromwell's kitchen-stuff tub,
Wherein is the fat of the Rumpers,

With which old Noll's horns she did rub
When he was got drunk with false bumpers.
Says old Simon, &c.

Here's the purse of the public faith;

Here's the model of the Sequestration,

When the old wives upon their good troth
Lent thimbles to ruin the nation.
Here's Dick Cromwell's Protectorship,
And here are Lambert's commissions,
And here is Hugh Peters his scrip,
Crammed with tumultuous petitions.
Says old Simon, &c.

And here are old Noll's brewing-vessels,
And here are his dray and his flings;
Here are Hewson's1 awl and his bristles,
With diverse other odd things.
And what is the price doth belong
To all these matters before ye?
I'll sell them all for an old song,
And so I do end my story.
Says old Simon, &c.

THE DEVIL'S PROGRESS ON EARTH; OR, HUGGLE DUGGLE.

FRIAR BACON walks again,

And Doctor Faustus too;

Proserpine and Pluto,

And many a goblin crew.

With that, a merry devil

To make the airing vowed;
Huggle Duggle, Ha! ha! ha!
The Devil laughed aloud.

Colonel Hewson, originally a shoemaker.

2 This savage stroke of grotesque humour was no doubt the model for the poem of like subject written by Southey and Coleridge, and thence for those of Shelley and Byron.

Why think you that he laughed ?
Forsooth he came from court;
And there amongst the gallants
Had spied such pretty sport;
There was such cunning juggling,
And ladies gone so proud;
Huggle Duggle, Ha! ha! ha!
The Devil laughed aloud.

With that into the city
Away the Devil went ;
To view the merchants' dealings
It was his full intent :
And there along the brave Exchange
He crept into the crowd.
Huggle Duggle, Ha! ha! ba!

The Devil laughed aloud.

He went into the city,

To see all there was well.

Their scales were false, their weights were light,
Their conscience fit for hell;
And Pandars chosen magistrates,

And Puritans allowed.

Huggle Duggle, Ha! ha! ha!

The Devil laughed aloud.

With that unto the country
Away the Devil goeth;
For there is all plain dealing,

For that the Devil knoweth.

But the rich man reaps the gains

For which the poor man ploughed.

Huggle Duggle, Ha! ha! ha!

The Devil laughed aloud.

With that the Devil in haste

Took post away to hell,

And called his fellow furies,

And told them all on earth was well:

That falsehood there did flourish,

Plain dealing was in a cloud.

Huggle Duggle, Ha! ha! ha!

The devils laughed aloud.

THE DESPONDING WHIG1

WHEN Owls are stripped of their disguise,
And wolves of shepherd's clothing,
Those birds and beasts that please our eyes
Will then beget our loathing;

When foxes tremble in their holes
At dangers that they see,

And those we think so wise prove fools,—
Then low, boys, down go we.

If those designs abortive prove
We've been so long in hatching,
And cunning knaves are forced to move
From home for fear of catching;

The rabble soon will change their tone
When our intrigues they see,

And cry "God save the Church and Throne!"
Then low, boys, down go we.

The weaver then no more must leave
His loom, and turn a preacher,

Nor with his cant poor fools deceive
To make himself the richer.

Our leaders soon would disappear
If such a change should be,

Our scribblers too would stink for fear,—
Then low, boys, down go we.

No canvisars would dare to show
Their postures and grimaces,

Or prophesy what they never knew,
By dint of ugly faces;

But shove the tumbler through the town,

And quickly banished be,

For none must teach without a gown;

Then low, boys, down go we.

If such unhappy days should come,
Our virtue, moderation,

Would surely be repaid us home
With double compensation;

For, as we never could forgive,
I fear we then should see
That what we lent we must receive,-
Then low, boys, down go we.

Should honest brethren once discern
Our knaveries, they'd disown us,

1 Modelled partly on Quarles's chant, "Hey then up go we," p. 100.

And bubbled fools more wit should learn,—
The Lord have mercy on us!

Let's guard against that evil day,
Lest such a time should be,

And tackers should come into play,-
Then low, boys, down go we.

Though hitherto we've played our parts
Like wary cunning foxes,

And gained the common people's hearts
By broaching heterodoxies,-

But they're as fickle as the winds,

With nothing long agree,

And, when they change their wavering minds, Then low, boys, down go we.

Let's preach and pray, but spit our gall
On those that do oppose us,

And cant of grace, in spite of all
The shame the Devil owes us :

The just, the loyal, and the wise,
With us shall Papists be,

For if the High Church once should rise,
Then, Low Church, down go we.

THE CAMERONIAN CAT.

THERE was a Cameronian cat
Was hunting for a prey,

And in the house she catched a mouse
Upon the Sabbath-day.

The Whig, being offended

At such an act profane,

Laid by his book, the cat he took,

And bound her in a chain.

"Thou damned, thou cursed creature!
This deed so dark with thee!
Think'st thou to bring to hell below
My holy wife and me?

"Assure thyself that for the deed
Thou blood for blood shalt pay,
For killing of the Lord's own mouse
Upon the Sabbath-day."