Roaring Dick of Dover:
OR,
The Joviall good fellow of Kent,
That ne'r is willing to give over,
Till all his money be spent.
To the tune of Fuddle, roare and swagger.
|
H Eeres a health to all good fellowes,
|
that intend with me to joyne,
|
At the Taverne, or the Ale-house,
|
and will freely spend their quoyne.
|
But for such as hate strong liquor,
|
are not for my company,
|
O it makes my wits the quicker,
|
when I taste it thorowly.
|
I can fuddle, roare and swagger,
|
sing and dance in severall sort,
|
And give six pence to a begger,
|
in all this there's little hurt.
|
Whilst some churle thats worth a million,
|
will give nought in charity,
|
But to himselfe he proves a villaine:
|
judge who's better he or I.
|
There's many men get store of treasure,
|
yet they live like very slaves:
|
In this world they have no pleasure,
|
the more they have, the more they crave.
|
Hang such greedy-minded misers,
|
that will ne'r contented be,
|
I have heard by good advisers,
|
that content lives merrily.
|
Wherefore should we live in sorrow,
|
since we may imbrace true joy?
|
To day alive, and dead to morrow,
|
as most commonly they'll say.
|
He is a foole that pines his carkais
|
[if] he have to serve his turne,
|
And perhaps sometimes in darkenesse,
|
grafted is his head with horne.
|
Hee's no right true-hearted fellow,
|
that in company will drinke,
|
Till such time as he is mellow,
|
and not freely spend his chinke.
|
Let such sharking base companions,
|
be kickt out of company,
|
For they be but beastly hang on's;
|
and will call, but we must pay.
|
Come my Lads, be blythe and merry,
|
sing and drinke and trace your ground,
|
And let's have a cup of Sherry;
|
that (me thinks) goes kindly downe.
|
Lets not spare whilst we have money,
|
for to pay for what we call,
|
We needs must spare when we have not any,
|
that's the greatest plague of all.
|
|
|
|
|
The second part, To the same tune.
|
H Onest Hugh , Tom , Will and Harry ,
|
they will joyne their money round,
|
Kate, Nan, Besse and bouncing Mary ,
|
will not shrinke, but still are sound.
|
They are Lads and honest Lasses,
|
that to each others are kinde,
|
They'l sing & roare, breake pots and glasses,
|
when their heads are tipt with wine.
|
Some mens wives will brawle & wrangle,
|
if their husbands spend a pot,
|
But my selfe I will intangle,
|
with a Lasse to pay my shot.
|
I doe hate these base conditions
|
of a devillish scolding Queane,
|
Jealous heads have bad suspition[s],
|
you may thinke of w[hom I] meane.
|
Women [kind] let [me] in[tre]at you,
|
that you will n[ot br]awle and scold,
|
For it makes your husbands beat you,
|
some men will not be contrould,
|
Therefore rest your selves contented:
|
best I hold it so to be:
|
In your minds be not tormented:
|
but take part as well as he.
|
Me thinkes it is a worldly pleasure,
|
for to have a wife prove kind,
|
Tis a joy beyond all measure,
|
I my selfe the same doe finde.
|
If I had a scolding creature,
|
I should never merry be,
|
Sure I many times should beat her,
|
with her I could not agree.
|
Tapster, come and take thy reckoning,
|
tell me kindly what's to pay,
|
Yet Peeces in my pockets rattling,
|
bidde me longer here to stay,
|
Come bring a pipe of good Tobacco,
|
let it be the very best,
|
Thats the thing that here we take so,
|
then come drinke with us thy guests.
|
Hang up sorrow, I can borrow
|
money for to buy two pots,
|
Who can say to live to morrow?
|
then let's never sit like sots.
|
When I have spent away my money,
|
I will goe and worke for more,
|
And I have a kinde sweet hony
|
that sometimes will pay my score.
|
He that hath aboundant treasure,
|
hence shall nothing beare away:
|
Then let's take some part of pleasure,
|
drinke and sing and freely pay.
|
Whilst our time and money lasteth,
|
let's not prove Curmudgeon boores,
|
Time indeed away it hasteth:
|
come let's goe and pay our scores,
|
Thus for to conclude my Ditty,
|
heeres a health to all true blades,
|
Remembring, Kate, Nell, Sis, and Betty ,
|
and all other kinde true Maides:
|
I love Meg, Nan, Alice, and Mary,
|
Jane , and Jone , and my fine Doll ,
|
With Winifred , and my sweet Sara .
|
Thus, kinde hearts, I leave you all.
|
|
|
|
|