Spring out of this, as from a seed
All sorts of vegetals proceed;
From whence the learned sons of art
Os Sacrum justly stile that part. 
Then what can better represent 1625
Than this Rump Bone the Parliament;
That, alter several rude ejections,
And as prodigious resurrections,
With new reversions of nine lives,
Starts up, and like a cat revives? 1630

But now, alas! they’re all expir’d,
And th’ House, as well as Members, fir’d;
Consum’d in kennels by the rout,
With which they other fires put out: 
Condemn’d t’ ungoverning distress, 1635
And paultry, private wretchedness;
Worse than the Devil, to privation,
Beyond all hopes of restoration;
And parted, like the body and soul,
From all dominion and controul. 1640
We, who cou’d lately with a look
Enact, establish, or revoke;
Whose arbitrary nods gave law,
And frowns kept multitudes in awe;
Before the bluster of whose huff, 1645
All hats, as in a storm, flew off;
Ador’d and bowed to by the great,
Down to the footman and valet;
Had more bent knees than chapel-mats,
And prayers than the crowns of hats; 1650
Shall now be scorn’d as wretchedly;
For ruin’s just as low as high;
Which might be suffer’d, were it all
The horror that attends our fall: 
For some of us have scores more large 1655
Than heads and quarters can discharge;
And others, who, by restless scraping,
With publick frauds, and private rapine,
Have mighty heaps of wealth amass’d,
Would gladly lay down all at last; 1660
And to be but undone, entail
Their vessels on perpetual jail;
And bless the Dev’l to let them farms
Of forfeit souls on no worse terms.

This said, a near and louder shout 1665
Put all th’ assembly to the rout,
Who now begun t’ out-run their fear,
As horses do from whom they bear;
But crowded on with so mach haste,
Until th’ had block’d the passage fast, 1670
And barricado’d it with haunches
Of outward men, and bulks, and paunches,
That with their shoulders strove to squeeze,
And rather save a crippled piece
Of all their crush’d and broken members, 1675
Than have them grilled on the embers;
Still pressing on with heavy packs
Of one another on their backs: 
The van-guard could no longer hear
The charges of the forlorn rear, 1680
But, born down headlong by the rout,
Were trampled sorely under foot: 
Yet nothing prov’d so formidable
As the horrid cookery of the rabble;
And fear, that keeps all feeling out, 1685
As lesser pains are by the gout,
Reliev’d ’em with a fresh supply
Of rallied force enough to fly,
And beat a Tuscan running-horse,
Whose jockey-rider is all spurs. 1690