Upon Rump.

Lulls swears he is all heart; but you'll suppose
By his proboscis that he is all nose.

Craw cracks in sirrop; and does stinking say,
Who can hold that, my friends, that will away?

Rook he sells feathers, yet he still doth cry
Fie on this pride, this female vanity.
Thus, though the Rook does rail against the sin,
He loves the gain that vanity brings in.

Of pushes Spalt has such a knotty race,
He needs a tucker for to burl his face.

Spokes, when he sees a roasted pig, he swears
Nothing he loves on't but the chaps and ears:
But carve to him the fat flanks, and he shall
Rid these, and those, and part by part eat all.

Truggin a footman was; but now, grown lame,
Truggin now lives but to belie his name.