The Devills Arse as Peake

To be said or sung very comfortably.

To the Tune of Cook Laurel .

O Foolish Brittanicks, where are your hearts fled?
What fiend doth the Nation bewitch;
That since you like Rogues cut off your own Head,
Your Noses close in with the Britch?

The Britch! such a bit, Nolls paunch could never brook,
For it put him still to his dumps;
And though full meals of Hell-broth he oft took,
Yet alwaies he spew'd out the Rumps.

Till Lambert the Knave and Fleetwood the fool
(Though Dick perswaded them from it)
Did overturn the Devils Close stool,
And like Dogs return to their Vomit.

No sooner the Councel Table was spread
With many a vomited gull
But the Army turn'd squeazie and turned their Head,
For they soon had their Belly full

The Red-coats could never this Rumbling digest,
Till advis'd by Old nick and his train,
(Who good unwittingly oft may suggest)
They spew'd up their Vomit again.

Their Surreverence was for a while out of sight,
Till Whettam began to deplore 'um,
And Arthur the Knight of the Spur a bold wight,
The Rump of a Rump did restore 'um.

Then a pox light on the pittifull Rump,
That a third time above board vapers,
Which Old Nick blew out; but now turns up Trump,
As Jone farted in and out Tapers.

The House by this Legion was long time possest,
But at last they were cast out of dore;
Yet finding it swept, returned a new guest
Seven-times more a fiend than before.

Away then ye pittifull Citizen slaves,
Who let such enormities pass,
Were you but true men or but errant Knaves,
Fools durst not you ride like an Ass .

Then dare to be Honest, and beat up your Drum,
For when the Rogues hear of your power,
You'll smell what a scent proceeds from the Bum,
From Whitehall , at least to the Tower .

S' foot! what if these Ars-worms with gifts of our gold
Great George to defend them should move
Our goods & our Liberties, then would be sold,
And the Devil a Monk would he prove.

Then pluck up your Spirits, and draw out your Swords,
'Tis force that must only prevail,
We have long enough stood out in bare Words,
Lets now make a Rod for their Tayl.

Then Vive-le Roy let's merrily Sing,
Can any Man well in his Wits,
Think worser of Charles our Noble good KING,
Than those who do govern by Fits?

Search round the great City what ill you can see,
Which the Rascally Rump hath not done,
And then you will wish with the Nation and me,
That CHARLES had his Heritage won.

For Swearing, Sacriledge, Murther, and Lyes,
KING-Killing, Hypocrisy, Cheats,
They make no more of these Sins, then of Flies,
HELL is almost out-damned by their Feats.

Then fight ye like men for the good of the Nation
As ye hope to be civilly Drunk,
On free cost at blessed CHARLES Coronation,
Pray hard for the trunesse of Monk .

Heaven bless our good Soveraign, the best of all Men,
Let the King of our Hearts be Trump,
That Peace and Prosperity may come agen,
Squire Dun and Old Nick take the Rump.

Then let the Knaves shuffle three Kingdoms awhile
Till each Curr at his Fellow snarles,
Ere long they will Cut, and after the Broyle
The Dealing must fall to KING Charles .

This Flap with a Fox-tail shall have the same lot,
That unhorst his Tumble-down Highness,
For since the rest of the Members are not,
The Rump must shortly have FINIS .
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