(54)
For now my Muſe is tir’d with this abominable Text Sirs.
Ridentem dicere verum, Quid vetat?
A Psalm ſung by the People, before the Bone-Fires, made in and about the City of London, on the 11th. of February.
To the Tune of, Vp tails all.
Come let’s take the Rump
And waſh it at the Pump,
For tis now in a ſhitten caſe:
Nay if it hang an Arſe,
Wee’l pluck it down the ſtares,
And roaſt it at Hell for its greaſe.
And waſh it at the Pump,
For tis now in a ſhitten caſe:
Nay if it hang an Arſe,
Wee’l pluck it down the ſtares,
And roaſt it at Hell for its greaſe.
Let the Divell be the Cook
And the roaſt overlook,
And lick his own fingers apace;
For that may be born,
(If he take it not in ſcorn
ſTo lick ſuch a privy place.)
And the roaſt overlook,
And lick his own fingers apace;
For that may be born,
(If he take it not in ſcorn
ſTo lick ſuch a privy place.)
Though we are bereft
Of our Arms, Spits are left,
Of our Arms, Spits are left,
Where-
