Pitties Lamentation for the cruelty of this age.
To the tune of Packentons pound.
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WEll worth Predecessors, and Fathers by name.
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That lived in England long times a goe:
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Whose wondrous deedes were done for their fame,
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Which now heer in England breedeth our woe:
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Then Pitty did rest,
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In every mans brest:
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And Cruelty had no place
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To make his nest
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Oh happy England that lived in that state,
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When Pitty was Porter at every mans gate.
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But Pitty (alack) tis quite fled and gone,
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True friendship and love is banisht away:
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Plaine dealing now walketh mourning alone,
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And no man relieves him by night nor by day:
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No Pitty we see,
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In any degree,
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But fraud and deceipt,
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And vild butchery.
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Oh happy England that lived in that state,
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When Pitty was Porter at every mans gate.
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Oh what is there now in this wicked age,
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That man will not doe to accomplish the end,
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Which he hath intended in mallice and rage,
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Though halfe that he hath in his mischiefe he spend
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Men wanting the grace,
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That love to imbrace.
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Which in former times,
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Had eminent place:
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Oh happie England that lived in that state,
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When Pitty was Porter at every mans gate,
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Now grudging and envy once bred in the heart,
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Abates not by reason but still doth increase,
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Till it bring into action some Tragicall part,
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By stabbing or poysoning and never will cease,
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Till he have his due,
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That this is to true,
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Know some that the poyson,
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Of envie doe rue,
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Oh happy England that lived in that state, etc.
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Now under a colour of kindnesse and love,
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In Purges and Potions such cunning is knowne,
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A man unsuspected a murder may prove.
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But God wil have mischiefe and villanie showne,
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Tho God for a time,
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May winke at a crime,
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Yet he can discover,
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When sins in the prime.
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Be happy Oh England to live in that state,
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Let Pitty be Porter stil at thy gate,
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Looke in the Scriptures and there you may read,
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That Murther Adultery has never good end,
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I never read yet that well they did speed,
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As late hath bene seene in this our good land.
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But God turn their hearts,
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That thus play such parts,
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For Poysons and Potions,
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Will turne to there smarts.
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O would that good Conscience did live in these dayes
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Then such kind of people would take better wayes
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Poore ragged Conscience, where dost thou live?
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Banisht (I doubt me) from Towne and from Citty:
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Poverty beggeth yet few men wil give,
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And plentie is sparing the more is the pitty,
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For gorgious aray.
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Now beareth such sway
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That by her continuance,
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All things decay,
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O happy England that lived in that state, etc.
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Good house keeping now is quite laid aside,
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No Butler stands ready to doe an almes deed,
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And all to maintaine fond fashions of pride,
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A thousand good fellowes do stand in great need,
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Most faire to the eye,
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Are houses built high,
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Onely for pleasure
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Of them that passe by,
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But Oh happy England to live in that state,
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Let Pitty be Porter still at thy gate.
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The Second Part of Pitties Complaint. To the same tune.
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SInce Coaches here florisht so much in in this Land,
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One servant or two now serveth the turne:
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Forty good Geldings were else at command,
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As many good fellowes uprising each morne:
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Then Tables were spred,
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With good beefe and bread,
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But now this good order,
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From England is fled,
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Bee happy, O England,
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When Pitty was Porter at every man gate.
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Whole Farmes are consumed in pride for the back,
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In Shoo-strings and Garters of silver or gold:
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Which well might suffice to feed them that lack.
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And keepe the poore widdow from hunger and cold.
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But hardnes of heart,
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Hath so plaid his part,
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That Pitty now weepeth,
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To heare of our smart,
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Oh happy England that liv'd in that state,
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Let Pitty be Porter still at thy gate.
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Yea happy was England before it did know,
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Such pride in apparrell as many doe weare:
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In warme Russet clothing our Gallants did goe,
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And Kertles were garments for Ladies most faire:
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Then mallice and spight,
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Did live with no wight,
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True love and friendship,
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Was each mans delight.
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Oh happy England, etc.
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A bushell of wheat for sixe pence was sold,
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An Ore for a Marke fat from the stall:
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A score of fat Lambes for an Angell was sold,
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With heart and good will in payment with all:
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And then at each doore,
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Sate feasting the poore:
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The Like to that time
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Will never come more.
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Oh happy England, etc.
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When such a good world was heere in this Land,
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Neighbour with neighbour did fall at no strife,
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Then needlesse were bonds and wills of their hands,
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Mens words were not broken but kept as their life.
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But now in these dayes,
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All credit decayes,
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Truth is not used,
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We see any wayes.
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Oh happy England, etc.
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The time is quite changed we find it by proofe,
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Poore Conscience a begging now walkes in the field:
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And Charity blinded, keepes her aloofe,
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And cannot finde where her house for to build,
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No Pitty we see,
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In any degree,
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But fraud and deceipt,
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A vile usury.
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Oh happy England,
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If this happy world would once againe more,
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Returne to her former vertue and grace:
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All men with bounty would part with there store,
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To build by poore Pitty a perpetuall place:
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So Pitty will rest,
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In every mans brest:
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And Cruelty find no place,
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To make his nest.
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Be happy O England to live in that state,
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When Pitty was Porter at every mans gate.
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FINIS.
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