The Character of a Seat’s-man; written by one of the Craft: To be Sung on Crispin-Night. Tune Packington’s Pound.
[[Listen]]
I Am one in whom Nature has fix’d a Decree,
Ordaining my Life to happy and free;
With no Cares of the World I am never perplex’d,
And never depending, I never am vex’d:
I’m neither of so high nor so low a degree,
But Ambition and Want are both strangers to me;
My life is a compound of Freedom and Ease,
I go where I will, and I work when I please:
I live above Envy, and yet above Spight,
And have Judgment enough for to do my self right;
Some greater and richer I own there may be,
Yet as many live worse, as live better than me,
And few that from Cares live so quiet and free.
When Money comes in I live well ’till it’s gone,
So with it I’m happy, Content when I’ve none:
I spend it Genteelly, and never repent,
If I lose it at Play, why I count it but Lent:
For that which at one time I Lose among Friends,
Another Night’s Winnings still makes me amends:
And though I’m without the first Day of the Week,
I still make it out by Shift or by Tick:
In Mirth at my Work the swift Hours do pass,
And by Saturday Night, I’m as rich as I was.
Then let Masters drudge on, and be Slaves to their Trade,
Let their Hours of Pleasure by Business be stay’d;
Let them venture their Stocks to be ruin’d by Trust,
Let Clickers bark on the whole Day at their Post:
Let ’em tire all that pass with their rotified Cant,
“Will you buy any Shoes, pray see what you want”;
Let the rest of the World still contend to be great,
Let some by their Losses repine at their Fate:
Let others that Thrive, not content with their store,
Be plagu’d with the Trouble and Thoughts to get more.
Let wise Men invent, ’till the World be deceived,
Let Fools thrive thro’ Fortune, and Knaves be believed;
Let such as are rich know no Want, but Content,
Let others be plagu’d to pay Taxes and Rent:
With more Freedom and Pleasure my Time I’ll employ,
And covet no Blessings but what we enjoy.
Then let’s celebrate Crispin with Bumpers and Songs,
And they that drink Foul, may it blister their Tongues,
Here’s two in a Hand, and let no one deny ’em,
Since Crispin in Youth was a Seat’s-man as I am.
The Female Scuffle. To the foregoing Tune.
OF late in the Park a fair Fancy was seen,
Betwixt an old Baud and a lusty young Quean;
Their parting of Money began the uproar,
I’ll have half says the Baud, but you shan’t says the Whore:
Why ’tis my own House,
I care not a Louse,
I’ll ha’ three parts in four, or you get not a Souse.
’Tis I, says the Whore, must take all the Pains,
And you shall be damn’d e’er you get all the Gains;
The Baud being vex’d, straight to her did say,
Come off wi’ your Duds, and I pray pack away,
And likewise your Ribbonds, your Gloves, and your Hair,
For naked you came, and so out you go bare;
Then Buttocks so bold,
Began for to Scold,
Hurrydan was not able her Clack for to hold.
Both Pell-Mell fell to’t, and made this uproar,
With these Compliments, th’art a Baud, th’art a Whore:
The Bauds and the Buttocks that liv’d there around,
Came all to the Case, both Pockey and Sound,
To see what the reason was of this same Fray,
That did so disturb them before it was Day;
If I tell you amiss,
Let me never more Piss,
This Buttocks so bold she named was Siss.
By Quiffing with Cullies three Pound she had got,
And but one part of four must fall to her Lot;
Yet all the Bauds cry’d, let us turn her out bare,
Unless she will yield to return her half share;
If she will not, we’ll help to strip off her Cloaths,
And turn her abroad with a slit o’ the Nose:
Who when she did see,
There was no Remedy,
For her from the Tyranous Bauds to get free;
The Whore from the Money was forced to yield,
And in the Conclusion the Baud got the Field.