Every Mans condition.
Or every Man has his severall opinion,
Which they doe affect as the Welchman his Onion.
To the Tune of two Slips.
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A LL men are inclinde,
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To follow their minde
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although their courses be bad.
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Some men will laugh
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And some men will quaffe,
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and some againe looke very sad.
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Other sorts there be,
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That love flattery,
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but they are base in my opinion,
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Your swaggerers will rore,
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And your knaves run on score,
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but your Welchman he still loves an Onyon.
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Your citizens fine,
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Love a cup of neat wine,
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their wivvs doe love good Canary,
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Your Lawyer he,
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Well loves a large fee,
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your Courtyier he loves to be merry:
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Your Gallants and Knights,
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For their sports and delights,
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will spend out their time amongst women:
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The sparkes of our age,
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In their drinke they will rage,
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but your Welchman he still loves an Onyon.
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The Merchants likewise,
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Though they seeme precise,
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yet they covet more wealth, and more pleasure:
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By crossing the Sea,
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Inriched are they,
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thus still multipled is their treasure
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So they may get gaine,
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They care not for paine,
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but they are not of my opinion:
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Though small be my wealth,
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I pray still for health,
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but the Welchman he still loves an Onyon.
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The Taylors loves bread
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With a bottom of thred:
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his sheares, his needle and thimble:
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The sawyer his Saw,
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And the Miser loves Law,
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the Carpenter he loves his wimble:
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The Cooper his ads,
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The children their Dads,
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but this still is my chiefe opinion,
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To be merry and wise,
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And trust mine owne eyes,
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but the Welchman he still loves an Onyon.
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The Thrasher his flaile
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The Spa[nye]l his [?]lle,
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the Carman his whip and his whistle:
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The B[u]tcher his dogge,
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the Swineherd his hogge,
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the Bore delights for to bristle:
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the Rorer his wench,
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The Lecher the French,
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pray let them both packe with a winion:
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For I love my health,
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As the Farmer loves wealth,
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or the Welchman a peece of an Onyon.
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The second part. To the same tune.
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Y Our pure-seeming man
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Will deceive if he can,
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Your Papist deales all in crosses,
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The Theefe lives by stealth
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On other mens wealth
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the Traveller endures great losses.
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But time gives free scope
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For the theefe to have a rope
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tis fit for him in my opinion,
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If you will shunne shame
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Then love your own fame,
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as a Welchman his Lake or his Onion.
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The Mercer loves Cloves,
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The Dutchwoman stoves,
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[the] Grocer's a man of some reason:
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The farmer loves [corn]e,
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And the hunstman his horne,
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the Unthrift doth spend out of season:
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The Weaver his Loome,
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The Miller his thumbe,
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thus all are of severall opinion,
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Give me good old Sherry
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I love to be merry,
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as well as the Welchman his Onion.
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The Usurer Gold,
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Idle Knaves endure cold,
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because that they wil not labour,
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The Fidler he fiddle,
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The Jester his riddle
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the Piper his pipe and his tabour,
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The Cobler his last,
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The Bowler his cast,
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thus men are of severall opinion,
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The fish loves the poole,
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And my Lady her foole,
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But the Welchman, etc.
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The Smith loves his Hammer,
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And the Captaine his Drummer,
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The Soulder loves a good blade,
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The Pedler his packe,
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And the Collyer his Sacke,
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and the Horse-courser he loves a Jade.
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The Brazier his kettle,
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The Bell-sounder mettle
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addicted to severall opinions,
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The Broome-man loves Broome,
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And the Pope he loves Rome,
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but the Welchman, etc.
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The Dutchman loves Beere,
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And the Beareward his Beare,
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the Porter his frock and his Basket,
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My Mamesey nose Host
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Loves a pot and a toste,
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and the Landresse she loves a neat F[la]sket,
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The hangman the Gallowes,
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and all creating fellowes,
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deserveth in my opinion
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To end in that place,
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That lives by disgrace,
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But the Welchman he still loves an Onion.
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Let no body grudge,
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Nor ill of me judge
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because I have pend this same ditty.
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But let every man,
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These verses well scan,
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and if he please say they are pretty.
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But yet howsoever
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I doe not endeavour
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to please your base ones or coy minions:
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But to end my tale,
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I love good strong Ale
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as well as the Welchman loves Onions.
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