%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> A / PSALME / SUNG / By the PEOPLE, before the / BONE-FIRES, / Made in and about the City of / LONDON, / On the 11th. of February. 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 06/30/2021 36696

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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

R211560 1 Up tayles all Up Tails All Up Tails All COme lets take the Rump / And wash it at the Pump, British Library - Thomason Tracts Editor none none none none Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 23: 43 A / PSALME / SUNG / By the PEOPLE, before the / BONE-FIRES, / Made in and about the City of / LONDON, / On the 11th. of February. A PSALM SUNG By the PEOPLE, before the BONFIRES, Made in and about the City of LONDON, On the 11th of February. ?-?

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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 6/30/2021 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 6/30/2021 11:08:37 AM XBallad Henderson, Olivia Created XML Version of Ballad 6/30/2021 11:08:37 AM Transcription Supervisor McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/30/2021 11:08:37 AM Double-Key Comparison and Merging McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/30/2021 11:08:37 AM Transcriptionist Two Roepe, Madeleine Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/30/2021 11:08:37 AM Transcriptionist One Raychawdhuri, Anita Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/4/2019 Bibliographer Kristen McCants Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">A</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">PSALME</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">SUNG</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">By the <hi rend="bold">PEOPLE,</hi> before the</hi></seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">BONE-FIRES,</hi></seg> <seg n="6" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Made in and about the City of</hi></seg> <seg n="7" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">LONDON,</hi></seg> <seg n="8" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">On the 11th of <hi rend="bold">February.</hi></hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="9" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To the Tune of <hi rend="bold">Up tayles all.</hi></hi></seg>
COme lets take the Rump And wash it at the Pump, For tis now in a shitten case: Nay if it hang an Arse Weel 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 borne, (If he take it not in scorne 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 laine long in brine, Made by the peoples eyne, So tis salt though unsavory meat; Wee'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 dock't, And if our skill doth not fail; To feare it is good, Or else all the blood In the body, lean out at the Tayl. Then downe in your Ire With this Rump to the fire, Get Harrington's Rota to turne it; If paper be lack't The Assessment Act You may stick upon't least ye burn it.
But see there my Masters It rises in blisters And lookes very big on the matter; Like a roasting Pigs eare It sings, doe yee heare enough come quickly the Platter. Lay Trenchers and Cloth And away bring the broth, Did the Divell o'th Fag end make none; But hold by your leave Napkins we must have To wipe our mouthes when we have done. Come Ladyes pray where? Will you none of our cheare? Are yee of such a squeamish nature? Pray what is your 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 Funerall pile, The Grave shall be under the Gallowes; The Vane shall be th'scull, Of some Trayterous Fool, And the Epitaph shall be as followes. Underneath these Stones A Rump-Corporates bones Are laid full low in a sink, And we doe implore yee Let them rest, for the more yee Doe stir them, the more they will stink.
THE RUMP END.