%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> THE RVMP ULULANT, / OR / PENITENCE per FORCE; / BEING. / The Recantation of the old rust-roguy-rebellious-rampant, And / now ruinous rotten-rosted / RUMP. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer ?-? Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 03/03/2016 35036

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

R211612 1 Gerrards Mistresse Gerard's Mistress Gerards Mistress FArewell / False Honours, and usurped Power Farewell, Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 1 THE RVMP ULULANT, / OR / PENITENCE per FORCE; / BEING. / The Recantation of the old rust-roguy-rebellious-rampant, And / now ruinous rotten-rosted / RUMP. THE RUMP ULULANT, OR PENITENCE per FORCE; BEING The Recantation of the old rust-roguy-rebellious-rampant, And now ruinous rotten-rosted RUMP. THE RUMP ULULANT, OR PENITENCE per FORCE; BEING. The Recantation of the old rust-roguey-rebellious-rampant, And now ruinous rotten-roasted RUMP. ?-?

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family Featured folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 3/3/2016 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America country/ nation politics/ government religious groups royalty Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 3/3/2016 2:58:55 PM XBallad Bell, Erik Created XML Version of Ballad 3/3/2016 2:58:55 PM Transcription Supervisor Palmer, Megan Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/3/2016 2:58:55 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/3/2016 2:58:55 PM Transcriptionist Two Adkison, Katie Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/3/2016 2:58:55 PM Transcriptionist One Cole, Marla Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/12/2015 Checker Rachel LevinsonEmley Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 2/29/2016 Checker Katie Adkison Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 12/16/2014 Bibliographer Rachel LevinsonEmley Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 11/16/2015 Checker Erik Bell Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">THE RUMP ULULANT,</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">OR</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">PENITENCE per FORCE;</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">BEING</hi></seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The Recantation of the old rust-roguy-rebellious-rampant, And</hi></seg> <seg n="6" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">now ruinous rotten-rosted</hi></seg> <seg n="7" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">RUMP.</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="8" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To the Tune of <hi rend="bold">Gerrards Mistresse.</hi></hi></seg>
FArewell False Honours, and usurped Power Farewell, For the great Bell Of Justice rings in our affrighted Ears. The Gripes, Of wounded Conscience far exceed all Stripes, Yet are small Types, Of those sharp Payns Rebellion justly fears, See how, Th' unmasked People hisse us out of Doors, And call us Knaves, Because though We, Their Servants be, We made them but our Slaves. For since We layd the Country wast like ravenenous Bores, They seek our Blouds, Because we prize, their Liberties, But to devour their Goods. Our Hands We dip'd in Royal Bloud, to have his Lands At our Commands, And made three Kingdoms headless at one Blow, The Strife We caus'd was chiefly to cut off his Life, With cursed Knife; He that was Vertues Friend, must be our Foe. We made Religion do our Drudgery to base Ends, But now we find, They that do sow Pretences, mow A Harvest of the Wind. And now When clamorous Vengeance Calling for Amends Begins our Grief, Our Friend the Devil, with his Evil, Can give us no Relief. Go search All Lands beneath the Suns Star-spangled Perch, You'll find no Church Like Ours, whilst reverend BISHOPS held the Chayr. But those We knew with our Designs would never close; And therefore chose In their steads to set up Extempore Prayer. Poachd Eyes And words twang'd through a whining Lecturers Nose, Did fill our Purses, That many have Rings, and better Things, Which now give only Curses. And thus Hell was our Text, though Heav'n were our Gloze, And Will our Reason, Religion we made free of Hocus trade, And voted Loyalty Treason.
Since We With wicked Arms have made the Crosier flee, Errour is free, To lay her Nets, to make weak Minds her Prize. All Sects, Schismes, cursed Heresies with stubborn Necks, Corrupt our Texts, And Crane up Scripture to maintain their Lyes. You see The Crop-ear'd Anabaptist sowing Tares In every Ground, Though the Plagues of Warr, wherever they Are The Church and State Confound. So do The Roman Noses vend their Popish Wares, By Twylight still; And the Quaker half mad, though he looks so sad, Grinds in the Jesuites Mill. Our Drums Did drown your Processe, and your Writs; our Plums, Bid kiss our Bums, We sent your Laws and Persons to the Tower: From whence To be deliver'd, 'Twas in vain to Fence By talking Sence; No Habeas Corpus in the Court of Power. The Gown Did stoop his reverend Velvet to a Crew In short red Coats, Who many a Day, Have made you pay, For cutting your own Throats. We rob'd The Whole of Food to pamper up the Few, Excis'd your Wares, And tax'd you round, Six pence the Pound, And massacred your Bears. But now Dispayrs black clowds do hang upon our Brow, For All do Bow, Their Hearts, to their true Shepheard, Charles their King. And We Their Wolfish Rulers now must Subjects be To Destiny, And end our Juncto in a fatal String. Then learn All future Traytors by our Tragick Doom, E're 'tis too late; Lest when you make, Kingdoms to shake, You Copy out our Fate. We know Our High Affronts to Church and State make Room For Us in Hell; But yet We'll Hope, till the sad Rope Sayes, Bid the World Farewell.
Facit Indignatio Versum. FINIS.