“That’s the fat foole of the Curtin,
and the lean fool of the Bull:
Since Shancke did leave to sing his rimes,
he is counted but a gull.
The players on the Bankside,
the round Globe and the Swan,
Will teach you idle tricks of love,
but the Bull will play the man.
“But what do I stand tattling
of such idle toyes?
I had better go to Smith-Field
to play among the boyes:
But you cheating and deceiving lads,
with your base artillery,
I would wish you to shun Newgate,
and withall the pillory.
“And some there be in patcht gownes,
I know not what they be,
That pinch the country-man
with nimming of a fee;
For where they get a booty,
they’le make him pay so dear,
They’le entertain more in a day,
then he shall in a year.
“Which makes them trim up houses
made of brick and stone,
And poor men go a begging,
when house and land is gone.
Some there be with both hands
will swear they will not dally,
Till they have turn’d all upside down,
as many use to sally.
“You pedlers, give good measure,
when as your wares you sell:
Tho’ your yard be short, your thumb will slip
your tricks I know full well.
And you that sell your wares by weight,
and live upon the trade,
Some beams be false, some waits too light;
such tricks there have been plaid.
“But small coals, or great coals!
I have them on my back:
The goose lies in the bottom;
you may hear the duck cry quack.
Thus Grim the black collier,
whose living is so loose,
As he doth walk the commons ore,
sometimes he steals a goose.
“Thou usurer with thy money bags
that livest so at ease,
By gaping after gold thou dost
thy mighty God displease;
And for thy greedy usury,
and thy great extortion,
Except thou dost repent thy sins,
Hell fire will be thy portion.
“For first I came to Houns-Ditch,
then round about I creep,
Where cruelty was crowned chief
and pity fast asleep:
Where usury gets profit,
and brokers bear the bell.
Oh, fie upon this deadly sin!
it sinks the soul to hell.
“The man that sweeps the chimneys
with the bush of thorns,
And on his neck a trusse of poles
tipped all with horns,
With care he is not cumbered,
he liveth not in dread?
For though he wear them on his pole,
some wear them on their head.
“The landlord with his racking rents
turns poor men out of dore;
Their children go a begging
where they have spent their store.
I hope none is offended
with that which is endited
If any be, let him go home
and take a pen and write it.
“Buy a trap, a mouse trap,
a torment for fleas!
The hangman works but half the day;
he lives too much at ease.
Come let us leave this boyes play
and idle prittle prat,
And let us go to nine holes,
to spurn-point, or to cat.
“Oh! you nimble fingered lads
that live upon your wits,
Take heed of Tyburn ague,
for they be dangerous fits;
For many a proper man,
for to supply his lack,
Doth leap a leap at Tyburn,
which makes his neck to crack.
“And to him that writ this song
I give this simple lot:
Let every one be ready
to give him half a pot.
And thus I do conclude,
wishing both health and peace
To those that are laid in their bed,
and cannot sleep for fleas.
W. Turner” |
