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.
And now Mr Prynne {65}
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 he swears he will do so no more,
And drive the cold winter away.
’Tis true there are some
Who are still for the Bum;
Such tares will grow up with the wheat;
And there they will be, till a Parliament come
That can give them a total defeat.
But yet I am told
That the Rumpers do hold
That the saints may swim with the tyde;
Nor can it be treason,
But Scripture and reason,
Still to close with the stronger side,
And drive the cold winter away.
Those lawyers o’ th’ House—
As Baron Wild-goose, {66}
With Treason Hill, Whitlock, and Say—
Were the bane of our 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 is one,
That to Devil Barebone
For his ugly petition gave thanks,
And drive the cold winter away.
But I hope by this time
He’ll confess ’twas a crime
To abet such a damnable crew;
Whose petition was drawn
By Alcoran Vane,
Or else by Corbet the Jew. {67}
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;
Then drive the cold winter away.