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Chipps of the Old Block; or, Hercules cleanſing the Ægæan Stable.
To the Tune of, The Sword.
I.
Now you, by your good leave, Sirs,
Shall ſee the Rump can cleave, Sirs,
And what Chips from this Treacherous Block wil come you may conceive, Sirs.
Now you, by your good leave, Sirs,
Shall ſee the Rump can cleave, Sirs,
And what Chips from this Treacherous Block wil come you may conceive, Sirs.
II.
Lenthal’s the first of the Lump ſure,
A Fart, and he may jump ſure,
For both do ſtink, and both we know, are Speakers of the Rump ſure.
Lenthal’s the first of the Lump ſure,
A Fart, and he may jump ſure,
For both do ſtink, and both we know, are Speakers of the Rump ſure.
III.
That Mine of fraud Sir Arthur,
His Soul for Lands will barter;
And if you’d ride to Hell in a Wayn, he’s fit to make your Carter.
That Mine of fraud Sir Arthur,
His Soul for Lands will barter;
And if you’d ride to Hell in a Wayn, he’s fit to make your Carter.
IV.
Sir Harry Vane, God bleſſe us,
To Popery he would preſſe us,
And for the Devill’s dinner he, the Roman way would dreſſe us.
Sir Harry Vane, God bleſſe us,
To Popery he would preſſe us,
And for the Devill’s dinner he, the Roman way would dreſſe us.
V.
Harry Martin never miſt-a,
To love the wanton twiſt-a,
Harry Martin never miſt-a,
To love the wanton twiſt-a,
E
And
