The Golden Age: Or, An Age of plaine-dealing
To a pleasant new Court tune: Or, Whoope doe me no harme good man.
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C Ome grant me, come lend me
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your listning eares:
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The golden Age now againe
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plainely appeares,
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Carowse away sorrow,
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and fling away feares,
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Leave your wife wealthy,
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Shee'l never shead teares:
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Oh this is a golden Age,
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Oh this is a Joviall Age.
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The bountifull Lawyer
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that never doth wrong,
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To plead poore mens cases
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for price of a song,
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Who is by bright Angels
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still guided along,
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For twenty two shillings,
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Hee-le lend you his tongue,
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To plead in this golden Age,
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Oh this is a Joviall Age.
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The Ladies have put away
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painting and pride,
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The foolish French fashion
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they cannot abide,
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Without Maske or Caroches,
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they civilly ride,
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And to the poore people
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Their purses ope wide:
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Oh this is a bountifull Age,
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Oh this is a liberall Age.
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Base dealing is banisht,
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and women growne chaste,
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And by their owne Husbands
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will scarce be imbrac'd,
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And will not their times
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in idlenesse waste,
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For feare in their carriage
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They should be disgrac'd:
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Oh this is an honest Age,
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Oh this is a hopefull Age.
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Your Cittizens bounty
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is growne now of late,
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To raise a poore Gallants
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decayed estate,
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Hee'l utter his wares
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at a reasonable rate,
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And unto all commers
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Keepe open his gate:
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Oh this is a bountifull Age,
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Oh this is a liberall Age.
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The valourous Souldiers
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stout manhood is spred,
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With armes on his backe,
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and Helmet on's head,
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With Pike and with Musket,
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to the field they tread,
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While the base Coward
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Lyes sleeping in bed:
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Oh this is a valourous Age,
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Oh this is a warlike Age.
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The Courtier, his Taylor
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doth pay with good will,
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The Taylor he thinketh,
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his payment is ill.
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But yet if he yeerely,
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doe cancell his Bill,
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His onely desire is
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To deale with him still:
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Oh this is a ventering Age,
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Oh this is a trusting Age.
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The Usurer that lent out
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his money before,
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Hath burned his Bonds,
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and lendeth no more,
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Because his broad conscience
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oppresseth him sore,
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The Divell still for him,
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Stood gaping at's doore:
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Oh this is a mending Age,
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Oh this is an honest Age.
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The second Part. To the same Tune.
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T He covetous aged,
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doe sore bruise their braines,
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To make their yong Gallants,
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sole Lords of their gaines:
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But being once buried,
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full little remaines,
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But idle consuming
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The fruit of their paines:
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Oh this is a wasting Age,
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Oh this is a spending Age.
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The prodigall spender
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consumeth his wit,
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With foolish devices,
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his humours to fit,
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At Ale and Tobacco,
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if he can sit,
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Like to a brave Gallant,
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Taketh he it:
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Oh this is a smoking Age,
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Oh this is a fiery Age.
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Dull Drunkards sit drinking,
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and never give o're,
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Till they have runne freely
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on the Vintners score,
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Brasse farthings in charitie,
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fly to the poore,
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While many gold pieces
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Are spent on a W---:
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Oh this is a dissembling Age,
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Oh this is a wanton Age.
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Old Robin Russet coat
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walkes without Cloake,
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Amongst our brave Gallants,
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with pictures in's poake,
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And learnes the new fashion,
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to feede upon smoake,
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A foode farre more fitting,
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The Divell to choake:
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Oh this is a burning Age,
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Oh this is a smoking Age.
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Grim the blacke Collier,
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brings Coales to the towne,
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In Sacks more then measure,
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yet spends he his crowne,
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From the broad Pillory,
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to keepe himselfe downe.
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Amongst the blue Beadles,
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To purchase renowne,
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Oh this is an honest Age,
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Oh this is a mending Age.
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The Baker, the Brewer,
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doe both mend their size,
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And with their plaine dealing,
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base falshood defies,
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Poore naked conscience,
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well cloathed now lyes,
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In thier warme Bake-house,
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Still held in great prize:
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Oh this is a changing Age,
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Oh this is a bettering Age.
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The Weaver, Miller and Tailor
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leave off for to steale,
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And with their worke-masters
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more honestly deale,
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In stead of dry browne-bread,
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they make a good meale,
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Or else to the Tapsters
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We must here appeale:
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Oh this is an eating Age,
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Oh this is a drinking Age.
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All Trades-men grow weary,
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of living by wrong.
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The Punke and the Cutpurse
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have thrived too long,
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The Hangman hath haltred
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these Raskals up strong:
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And so for one penny,
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I sell you my Song.
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Oh this is a tottring Age,
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Oh this is a hanging Age.
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