The Sale Of Rebellious House-Hold Stuff. To The Tune Of Old Simon The King Poem by Anonymous British

Rebellion hath broken up house,
And hath left me old lumber to sell;
Come hither and take your choice,
I'll promise to use you well.
Will you buy the old speaker's chair?
Which was warm and easie to sit in,
And oft hath been clean'd I declare,
When as it was fouler than fitting.
Says old Simon the king, &c.

Will you buy any bacon-flitches,
The fattest, that ever were spent?
They're the sides of the old committees,
Fed up in the Long Parliament.
Here's a pair of bellows and tongs,
And for a small matter I'll sell ye 'um;
They are made of the presbyters' lungs
To blow up the coals of rebellion.
Says old Simon the king, &c.

I had thought to have given them once
To some black-smith for his forge;
But now I have considered on't,
They are consecrate to the church;
So I'll give them unto some quire,
They will make the big organs roar,
And little pipes to squeeke higher
Than ever they could before.
Says old Simon the king, &c.

Here's a couple of stools for sale,
One's square, and t'other is round;
Betwixt them both the tail
Of the Rump fell down to the ground.
Will you buy the states council-table,
Which was made of the good wain Scot?
The frame was a tottering Babel
To uphold the Independent plot.
Says old Simon the king, &c.

Here's the beesom of the Reformation,
Which should have made clean the floor,
But it swept out the wealth of the nation,
And left us dirt good store.
Will you buy the states spinning-wheel,
Which spun for the roper's trade?
But better it had stood still,
For now it has spun a fair thread.
Says old Simon the king, &c.

Here's a glyster-pipe well try'd,
Which was made of a butcher's stump,
And has been safely apply'd
To cure the colds of the rump.
Here's a lump of Pilgrims-Salve,
Which once was a justice of peace
Who Noll and the Devil did serve;
But now it is come to this.
Says old Simon the king, &c.

Here's a roll of the states tobacco,
If any good fellow will take it;
No Virginia had e'er such a smack-o,
And I'll tell you how they did make it:
'Tis th' Engagement and Covenant cookt
Up with the Abjuration oath;
And many of them, that have took't,
Complain it was foul in the mouth.
Says old Simon the king, &c.

Yet the ashes may happily serve
To cure the scab of the nation,
When e'er 't has an itch to swerve
To Rebellion by innovation.
A Lanthorn here is to be bought,
The like was scarce ever gotten,
For many plots it has found out
Before they ever were thought on.
Says old Simon the king, &c.

Will you buy the Rump's great saddle,
With which it jocky'd the nation?
And here is the bitt and the bridle,
And curb of dissimulation:
And here's the trunk-horse of the Rump,
And their fair dissembling cloak,
And a Presbyterian jump,
With an Independent smock.
Says old Simon the king, &c.

Will you buy a Conscience oft turn'd,
Which serv'd the high-court of justice,
And stretch'd until England it mourn'd;
But Hell will buy that if the worst is.
Here's Joan Cromwell's kitchen-stuff tub,
Wherein is the fat of the Rumpers,
With which old Noll's horns she did rub,
When he was got drunk with false bumpers.
Says old Simon the king, &c.

Here's the purse of the public faith;
Here's the model of the Sequestration,
When the old wives upon their good troth,
Lent thimbles to ruine the nation.
Here's Dick Cromwell's Protectorship,
And here is Hugh Peters his scrip
Cramm'd with the tumultuous Petitions,
Says old Simon the king, &c.

And here are old Noll's brewing vessels,
And here are his dray, and his slings;
Here are Hewson's awl, and his bristles,
With diverse other odd things:
And what is the price doth belong
To all these matters before ye?
I'll sell them all for an old song,
And so I do end my story.
Says old Simon the king, &c.