Classic Poem

To the Tune of Up 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 rost it at Hell for its grease.

Let the Devil 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
To lick such a privy place.)

Though we are bereft
Of our Armes, Spits are left,
Whereon the Rump we will roast,
Wee'l prick it in the Tayl,
And bast it with a Flayl,
Till it stink like a Cole-burnt Toast.

It hath lain long in brine,
Made by the Peoples eyne,
So 'tis salt through unsavoury meat;
We'l draw it round about
With Welsh Parsley, and no doubt
It will choak Pluto's great Dog to eat.

We will not be mockt,
This Rump hath been dockt,
And if our skill doth not fail;
To fear it is good,
Or else all the blood
In the Body, will leak out at the Tail.

Then down in your Ire,
With this Rump to the fire,
Get Harrington's Rota to turn it;
If Paper be lackt,
The Assessment Act
You may stick upon't lest ye burn it.

But see there my Masters
It rises in blisters,
And looks very big on the matter;
Like a roasting Pigs ear;
It sings, do ye hear?
'Tis enough, come quickly the Platter.

Lay Trenchers and Cloth,
And away bring the Broth,
Did the Devil o' th' Fag-end make none;
But hold, by your leave
Napkins we must have
To wipe our mouths when we have done.

Come Ladies pray where?
Will you none of our Chear?
Are ye of such a squeamish nature?
Pray what is the reason?
Are Rumps out of season?
But 'tis an abuse to the Creature.

Come wee'l fall on,
Pray cut me a Bone,
The Meat may be healthfull and sound;
Fogh! come let us bury't,
To th' hole we must carry't,
This Rump it stinks above ground.

This Fire wee'l stile
The Funeral pile,
The Grave shall be under the Gallows;
The Vane shall be th' Scull
Of some Trayterous Fool,
And the Epitaph shall be as follows;

Underneath the Stones
A Rump-Corporate's bones,
Are laid full low in a sink,
And we do implore ye
Let them rest, for the more ye
Do stir them, the more they will stink.