A new merry Ballad I have here to shew,
Come pence a peece for them, I tell you but so.
To an old tune, newly furbusht.
You'd doe so, would you not, Yes I warrant you.
|
MY Masters attend,
|
unto me give eare:
|
To speake like a friend,
|
I meane not to spare,
|
Great store of abuses,
|
unto you Ile shew,
|
Good counsell refuse not,
|
I tell you but so.
|
Take heed of false Jesuites,
|
and Masse-priests so vile,
|
That many poore people,
|
oft doe beguile:
|
If you be rul'd by them,
|
I doe well know:
|
Your Soules in great danger,
|
I tell you but so.
|
The Pope they will tell you,
|
can pardon your sinnes:
|
All deedes meritorious,
|
heaven it selfe winnes:
|
To Rome on pilgrimage,
|
if you will but goe;
|
Home againe like an Asse,
|
I tell you but so.
|
If Physicke for your health,
|
you meane to take:
|
Or seeke ease for your Teeth,
|
when they doe ake;
|
Unto Quacksalvers,
|
nor Mountebankes goe,
|
Their medicines white dogges turd,
|
I tell you but so.
|
They have a rare medicine,
|
to kill all the Fleas,
|
Great skill also
|
at parching of Pease,
|
My Breech hath caught the cough
|
of them Ide faine know,
|
Whats good for the wholesome,
|
I tell you but so.
|
Beware of false whores
|
inticing baytes,
|
To worke your destruction,
|
they'l use many sleights:
|
Remember the Proverbe,
|
put fire to towe:
|
You are in danger of burning
|
I tell you but so.
|
Their beautie is painting,
|
their love it is as tart:
|
Honey in the mouth,
|
but Gall in the heart.
|
If you keepe them company,
|
and with them goe,
|
You may ride with them to Ty-burne,
|
I tell you but so.
|
You that for nothing
|
will goe to Law,
|
Vexing your neighbours,
|
for a sticke or a straw,
|
Because of your lawing,
|
your purse will grow low:
|
You'l prove your selves Coxe-combs
|
I tell you but so.
|
Forget not I say,
|
that Embleme so rare,
|
Which teaches you how,
|
the Oyster to share,
|
Thou must have one shell,
|
the other thy foe,
|
The fish is the Lawyers,
|
I tell you but so.
|
Regard not the hatred,
|
of lewd idle people:
|
Momus doth looke awry,
|
like Grantham steeple:
|
Reveale not they secrets,
|
to friend, nor to foe,
|
There's falsehood in friendship
|
I tell you but so.
|
In gaming and drinking,
|
spend no time away,
|
Youth cannot last long,
|
age will decay.
|
Hoyse Sayles up my friend,
|
if wind doe fairely blow;
|
Yet keepe still in Compasse,
|
I tell you but so.
|
In choyce of a wife,
|
choose modest and chaste,
|
For beautie decayeth,
|
when vertue doth last,
|
Unto Fortune-tellers,
|
at no time goe:
|
For they will but cheat you,
|
I tell you but so.
|
|
|
|
|
The second part. To the same tune.
|
TAke heed how you come,
|
into the Usurers jawes:
|
Their gripes are more fearfull
|
than Eagles clawes.
|
Keep hands friend from bonds
|
and Svertiship to:
|
The Begger will catch you,
|
I tell you but so.
|
The Broker, his brother,
|
is as bad or worse:
|
If they but a little
|
money disburse:
|
They'l sucke out your marrow
|
your hearts blood also:
|
Their dangerous Vipers,
|
I tell you but so.
|
The Devill their grandsire,
|
taught them their trade:
|
Since which time they have,
|
great use of it made.
|
The poores hearts to grate,
|
so causing their woe,
|
Amend else you'le rue it,
|
I tell you but so.
|
All you wicked livers,
|
punkes, Doxies and knaves,
|
That bring many people,
|
to untimely graves.
|
The Carts they are ready,
|
the Beadles also,
|
You must tugge like Horses,
|
I tell you but so.
|
You Pimps, Cheats & Panders
|
& such roaring boyes,
|
That in Alehouse & Tavernes
|
doe still make a noyse,
|
The Carters call for you,
|
come away, so ho,
|
You must tugge lusty lively Lads,
|
I tell you but so.
|
You idle Nick-nine-holes,
|
and Tom-Pigeon-holes,
|
That spend your time id'ly,
|
not regarding your Soules,
|
The Carts they are readie,
|
the Beadles also,
|
They will lash you neatly,
|
I tell you but so.
|
You neat nimming Divers
|
of Cutpurse-Hall,
|
To draw in the Cart
|
feare you not at all,
|
New-gate's prepared,
|
there you must goe,
|
And after to Tyburne
|
I tell you but so.
|
A drunkard last night,
|
in the Watch being taken,
|
His Wenches had gull'd him
|
and himselfe forsaken.
|
The Constable asked him,
|
where he would goe,
|
His answere was alwayes,
|
I tell you but so.
|
Unto the Counter,
|
they sent him away,
|
Where swearing and roaring,
|
all night he lay.
|
A hole he did love,
|
to the hole he must goe,
|
Where he had cold comfort,
|
I tell you but so.
|
Here comes a Cavilleere,
|
fough how he doth smell,
|
Of Muske, and of Civet,
|
Cats turds would doe well.
|
Why is he perfumed?
|
O no[w] I doe know,
|
He has got Morbus Gallicus,
|
I tell you but so.
|
Five mincing Minikin,
|
in Coach must be jogg'd,
|
She hath got a great belly,
|
at playing leape-frog,
|
She sayes tis a Timpany
|
causeth her woe,
|
Tis true tis a live one,
|
I tell you but so.
|
Fine Susan at dancing,
|
doth take great delight.
|
The Garland she winneth,
|
from all the Maydes quite,
|
She has a fault in the turne,
|
but not on the toe,
|
She turnd late unto a man,
|
he turned her also.
|
The world at the first
|
of nothing was made,
|
Plaine-dealing then,
|
was the onely Trade,
|
But afterward worse & worse
|
it did still grow;
|
God mend it, or end it,
|
I tell you but so.
|
And thus to conclude,
|
an end for to make,
|
Colen doth grumble,
|
my stomacke doth ake:
|
A packing penny,
|
if you will bestow,
|
I will goe to Dinner,
|
I tell you but so.
|
|
FINIS.
|
|
|