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Here's the beesom of Reformation,

Which should have made clean the floor,
But it swept the wealth out of the nation,

And left us dirt good ftore.
Will you buy the states spinning-wheel,

Which spun for the ropers trade ?
But better it had stood still,
For now it has spun a fair thread.

Says old Simon, &c.


Here's a glyfter-pipe well try'd,

Which was made of a butcher's stump *,
And has been safely apply'd,

To cure the colds of the rump..
Here's a lump of Pilgrims-Salve,
Which once was a justice of

Who Noll and the Devil did serve ;
But now it is come to this.

Says old Simon, &c.



Here's a roll of the states 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 :

* Alluding probably to Major-General Harrison a butcher's for, qubo affted Cromwell in turning out the long parliament, April 20, 1653.

'Tis th' Engagement, and Covenant cookt

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 Lanthorn 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 faddle,

With which it jocky'd the nation ?
And here is the bitt, and the bridle,

And curb of Diffimulation :
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 turn'd,

Which serv'd the high-court of justice, And stretch'd until England it nourn'd:

But Hell will buy that if the worst is.

85 Here's

Here's Joan Cromwell's kitching-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 Sequeitration,
When the old wives upon their good troth,

Lent thimbles to ruine the nation.
Here's Dick Cromwell's Protector ship,

And here are Lambert's commiflions,
And here is Hugh Peters his fcrip
Cramm'd with the 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's awl, and his bristles;

With diverse other odd things : ;
And what is the price doth belong

To all these matters before ye?
I'll fell them all for an old fong,
And so I do end my story.

Says old Simon, &c.


Ver. 86. This was a cant name given to Cromwell's wife by the Royalisis, t he' her name was Elizabeth. She was taxed with exchunging the kitchen-ftuff for the candles used in the Protector's houswold, &c. See Gent. Mag. for March, 1788, p. 242.

Ver. 94. See Grey's Hudibras, Pt. I. Cant. 2. ver. 570, &c.

Ver. 100, 102. Cromwell bad in his younger years followed the brewa ing trad: at Huntirgdon. Col. Herson is said to have been eriginally a coblor.

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Given (with some correcti:ns) from a MS. copy, and colo lated with two printed ones in Roman character in the Pepys collection,


HERE was a knight was drunk with wine,

A riding along the way, fir;
And there he inet with a lady fine,

Among the cocks of hay, tir.

Shall you and I, O lady faire,

Among the grass lye down-a:
And I will have a special care

Of rumpling of your gowne-a.


Upon the grass there is a dewe,

Will spoil my damask gowne, sir:
My gowne, and kirtle they are newe,

And cost me many a crowne, lir.

I have a cloak of scarlet red,

Upon the ground I'll throwe it;
Then, lady faire, come lay thy head ;

We'll play, and none Niall knowe it.


O yonder

O yonder stands my steed fo free

Among the cocks of hay, fir;
And if the pinner should chance to see,

He'll take my steed away, sir.


Upon my finger I have a ring,

Its made of finest gold-a;
And, lady, it thy fteed shall bring

Out of the pinner's fold-a.


O go with me to my father's hall;

Fair chambers there are three, fir: And you fall have the best of all,

And I'll your chamberlaine bee, fir:


He mounted himself on his steed so tall,

And her on her dapple gray, fir:
And there they rode to her father's hall,

Fast pricking along the way, fir.

To her father's hall they arrived strait;

'Twas moated round about-a; She slipped herself within the gate,

And lockt the knight without-a.


Here is a silver penny to spend,

And take it for your pain, fir ; And two of my father's men I'll send To wait on you back again, fir.


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