The Mad-Man’s SONG.
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THere can be no Glad-man compar’d to the Mad-man,
His Mind is still void of Care;
His Fits and his Fancies, are above all Mischances,
And Mirth is his ordinary Fare.
Then be thou Mad, Mad, Mad let’s be,
Nor shall the foul Fiend be Madder than we.
The Wise and the Witty, in Court and in City,
Are subject to sorrow and Pain;
While he that is Mad, knows not why to be Sad,
Nor has any cause to complain:
Then be thou Mad, &c.
We laugh at you Wise Men, that thus do despise Men,
Whose Senses you think to Decline;
Mark well and you’ll see, what you count but Frenzy,
Is indeed but Raptures Divine.
Then be thou Mad, &c.
Let the Grave and the Wise, pluck out their Eyes,
To set forth a Book worth a Groat;
We Mad-men are quicker, grow Learn’d with good Liquor,
And Chirp a Merry note.
Then be thou Mad, &c.
Hast thou lost thy Estate Man, why, care not for that Man,
What Wealth may’st not fancy thy own;
More than Queen Dido, or her Ass-Ear’d Midas,
That great Philosopher’s stone.
Then be thou Mad, &c.
Pompey was a Mad-man, and so long a Glad-man;
But at length he was forc’d to flee;
For Cæsar from Gallia beat him in Pharsalia,
’Cause a madder Fellow then he.
Then be thou Mad, &c.
’Twas this Extasie brave, that the great Courage gave,
If your Eyes were but ope’d and would see;
To great Alexander, that mighty Commander,
As Mad a Fellow as could be.
Then be thou Mad, &c.
Then around goes a Health to the Lady o’th’ House,
If any Man here does forsake it;
For a Fool let him go, we know better Manners,
And so we mean to take it.
Then be thou Mad, &c.
There’s no Night Mirth’s going, nor any Lad wooing,
But Mad-men are privy unto it;
For the Stars so peep, into every such thing,
And wink upon us as you do it.
Then be thou Mad, &c.
When the Frost, Ice and Snow, do benumb things below,
We Chirp as merry as Larks;
Our Sack and our Madness, consumes cold and sadness,
And we are the Jovial Sparks.
Then be thou Mad, &c.
Has thy Mistress frown’d on thee, or thy Rival out-gone thee?
Let Sober and Wise Fellows pine;
Whilst bright Miralind and goodly Dulcind,
And the rest of the Fairies are thine.
Then be thou Mad, &c.
A Mad-man needs baulk no manner of talk,
His Tongues never guilty with Treason;
But a Wise Knave would suffer, if the same he should utter,
For a wise Man’s Guilt is his Reason.
Then be thou Mad, &c.
A SONG.
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