Knavery in all Trades,
OR,
Here's an age would make a man mad.
To the tune of, Ragged and torne and true.
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AS I was walking of late,
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within the fields so faire,
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My minde to recreate,
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well nye orecome with care:
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I heard two men discourse,
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as I along did walke,
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It mov'd mee with remorse,
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to hearken to their talke,
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Full oftentimes they said,
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(to heare them I was sad)
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All honesty is decay'd,
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here's an age would make a man mad.
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The one to the other did say,
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what course shall I take to live,
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For none can thrive at this day,
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but such as their mindes doe give?
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To over-reach and deceive,
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and doing of others wrong,
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All they that such courses leave,
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may sing the Begger-Boyes Song,
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A man can scarce thrive by his trade
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mens consciences are so bad,
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All honesty is decay'd,
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here's an age will make a man mad.
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Hee that is rich already,
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is like still to bee so,
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And he that is poore and needy,
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his burthen must undergoe;
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Tis a Proverb us'd in our Towne,
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it hath beene and ever will,
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That if a man be once downe,
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the world cryes downe with him still,
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How shall a man finde a trade,
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whereby true meanes may be had,
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All honesty is decay'd,
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here's an age would make a man mad.
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If a poore man be wrong'd by a rich,
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as alas we daily see,
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Without money to goe through stitch,
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in a pittifull case is hee:
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He were better to pocket up wrong,
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than himselfe into trouble to draw,
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For unlesse his pockets be strong,
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tis but folly to meddle with Law,
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This makes many men dismay'd,
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for the fee makes a case good for bad,
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All honesty is decay'd,
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here's an age would make a man mad.
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Betweene the Lawyer and
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the money-begetting Mizer,
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Men lose both house and land,
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and afterwards wish they had bin wiser:
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Although we have plenty of Graine,
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yet the rich make among us a dearth,
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Which causeth the poore to complaine,
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as though little grew on the earth,
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Ingrossing is growne such a trade,
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that the poore have great cause to be sad,
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All honesty is decay'd,
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here's an age would make a man mad.
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One tradesman deceaveth another,
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and sellers will conycatch buyers,
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For gaine one wil cheat his own brother,
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the world's full of swearers and lyars:
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Men now make no conscience of oathes,
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and this I may boldly say,
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Some Rorers doe were gallant clothes,
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for which they did never pay:
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The rich shall a Saint be made,
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though his life be never so bad,
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All honesty is decay'd,
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here's an age would make a man mad.
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The second part. To the same tune.
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THe Taylor can never live well,
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as many men plainely perceives,
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Unlesse he have gaines from hell,
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or lives upon Cabidge leaves;
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O is't not a pittifull case,
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and a thing which few men beleeves?
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A Taylor that will live in grace,
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cuts out of one gowne three sleeves:
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Thus they must use their Trade,
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or else little meanes can be had,
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All honesty is decay'd,
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here's an age would make a man mad.
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The Victualers, Tapsters and Cookes,
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are hindered very sore,
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With man[y] sharking Rookes,
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that use to encroch on their skore:
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And when they are once in chalke,
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the hoose they will refraine,
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And to other places they'l walke,
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but never come there againe,
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This trusling without being paid,
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breakes many an honest Lad,
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All honesty is decay'd,
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here's an age would make a man mad.
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Plaine dealing now is dead,
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and truth is so rare to finde,
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That most men now are led,
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contrary unto kinde:
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Where one man's just and sound,
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whose words and deeds agree,
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A dozen may be found,
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that will from their promise flee,
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Such knaves makes men afraid,
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to beleeve a tru[e] hearted Lad,
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For honesty is decay'd,
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here's an age would make a man mad.
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Such horrible abuse,
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is practis'd in this Nation,
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A fashion now in use,
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next month is out of fashion:
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Our men are effeminate,
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which all their manhood disgraces,
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And makes our foes of late,
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to jeere us to our faces,
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They were of us afraid,
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when English hearts wee had,
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Our honour is much decay'd,
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here's an age would make a man mad.
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A man I may rightly say,
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may be mad to note these times,
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Since Vertue doth decay,
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and Vice to preferment climes:
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Now covetousnesse and pride,
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is ore the Land bespread,
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All charities laid aside,
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and conscience is quite dead:
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The Master abuseth his Maid,
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which makes the Mistris sad,
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Thus honesty is decay'd,
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here's an age would make a man mad.
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Some men that have wives at home,
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both beautifull, vertuous, and chaste,
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Abroad amongst whores doe rome,
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and with them their meanes they wast:
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While the wife at home doth stay,
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the husband in Tavernes doth roare,
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She thinkes he is busie all the day,
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indeed so he is with his whore:
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In briefe no more need be said,
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all things doe appeare too bad,
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For honesty is decay'd,
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here's an age would make a man mad.
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