Rump, or, An exact collection of the choycest poems and songs relating to the late times by the most eminent wits from anno 1639 to anno 1661.

The Reformation.

TEll not me of Lords or Laws, Rules or Reformation, All that's done's not worth two straws, To the welfare of the Nation. Men in power do ra••t it still, And give no reason but their will, For all their domination. Or if they do an act that's just, 'Tis not because they would▪ but must, To Gratifie some parties lust, Or merely for a fashion.

2.

Our expence of blood and purse Has produc'd no profit. Men are still as bad or worse, And will be what e're comes of it. We've shuffled out, and shuffled in, The persons, but retain the sin, To make our game the surer, Yet spite of all our pains and skill, The Knaves all in the pack are still, And ever were and ever will, Though something now demurer.

3.

And it cannot but be so, Since those toys in fashion, And of Souls so base and low, And mere Bigots of the Na••ion, Whose designs are power and wealth▪ At which, by rapines, fraud, and stealth,

Audaciously they vent ye, They lay their Consciences aside, And turn with every winde and tide, Puff'd on by Ignorance and Pride, And all to look like Gentry.

4.

Crimes are not punish'd 'cause their Crimes, But 'cause they're low and little, Mean men for mean faults in these times Make satisfaction to a tittle; While those in office and in power, Boldly the underlings devour Our Cobweb laws can't hold 'um. They sell for many a Thousand crown, Things which were never yet their own, And this is law and custom grown. 'Cause those do judge that sold 'um.

5.

Brothers still with Brothers brawl, And for trifles sue 'um, For two Pronouns that spoyl all, Those contentious Meum, Tuum, The wary Lawyer buyes and builds, While the Client sells his fields, To sacrifice to's fury; And when he thinks to obtain his right He's baffled off, or beaten quite, By th' Judges will, or Lawyers slight, Or ignorance of the Jury.

6.

See the Trades-man how he thrives With perpetual trouble, How he ••heats, and how he strives His Estate t'enlarge and double,

Extort, oppress, grind and encroach, To be a Squire, and keep a Coach, And to be one o'th' Quorum, Who may with's Brother worships ••it, And judge without law, fear or wit, Poor petty Thieves that nothing get, And yet are brought before 'um.

7.

And his way to get all this Is mere dissimulation, No factious Lecture does he miss, And scapes no schism that's in fashion. But with short hair and shining shooes, He with two Pens and's Note-book goes, And winks and writes at randome; Thence with short meal and tedious Grace, In a loud tone and Publick place, Sings Wisedoms hymnes, that trot and pace, As if Goliah scan'd um.

8.

But when death begins his threats, And his Conscience struggles, To call to mind his former cheats Then at heav'n he turns his juggles. And out of all's ill-gotten store, He gives a dribling to the poor, In a Hospital or School-house, And the suborned Priest for's hire Quite frees him from th' infernal fire, And places him ith' Angels quire, Thus these Jack-puddings fool us.

9.

All he gets by's pains ith' close, Is that he dyed worth so much,

Which he on's doubtfull seed bestows, That neither care nor know much, Then Fortunes favourite his heir, Bred base, and ignorant and bare, Is blown up like a bubble, Who wondring at's own suddain rise, By Pride, Simplicity and Vice, Falls to's sports, drink, drab and dice And makes all fly like stubble.

10.

And the Church the other twin, Whose mad zeal enrag'd us, Is not purify'd a pin, By all those broyles in which she engag'd us, We, our Wives turn'd out of doors, And took in Concubines and Whores, To make an alteration Our Pulpitteers are proud and bold, They their own Wills and factions hold, And sell salvation still for Gold, And here's our Reformation.

11.

'Tis a madnesse then to make, Thriving our employment, And lucre love, for Lucres sake, Since we've possession, not enjoyment. Let the times run on their course, For opposition makes them worse, We ne're shall better find 'um, Let Grand••es wealth and power ingrosse, And honour too, while we sit close, And laugh and take our plenteous dose, Of sack and never mind 'um.