A Mad Crue; Or, That shall be tryde.
To the tune of, Pudding-Pye Doll.
|
WAlking of late through London streets,
|
A crue of good-fellowes together meets,
|
Not one of them sober, if not belyde,
|
Well, quoth the Maultman, that shall be tryde.
|
From thence I traveld, to see a new Play,
|
Whereas an old Widdow in gallant array,
|
Sate pleasantly smirking, like a yong Bride,
|
Well, quoth the Fiddler, that shall be tryde,
|
Then to a Tobacco house, smoking hote
|
Went I, and call'd for my Pipe and my Pot,
|
The Weed was strong, but hardly well dryde,
|
Well, quoth the Horse-courser, that shal be tryde.
|
The Market of Cheape, I faine would then see,
|
Where soone a fine Cut-purse unmonyed me,
|
And ventur'd a joynt, to Tybourne to ride,
|
Well, quoth the Hangman, now that shall be tryde.
|
I afterward went, and tooke up mine Inne,
|
Where as I found out, an Aunt of my kinne,
|
Who feared no lashing, though all were espyde,
|
Well, quoth the Beadle, now that shall be tryde.
|
I met with a Gallant, that sold all his Land,
|
And after tooke money up, bound by Band,
|
Who when the day came, the paiment denyde,
|
well, quod the Sergeant, now that shall be tryde.
|
I faine would then see a close Bowling Alley,
|
Where to a fine Cheater, I payd for my folly,
|
His slights were so nimble, they could not be spide
|
Well, quoth Justice too-good, that shall be tride.
|
Moore Fields being pleasant, the same I would see,
|
where Maids of our City, stil whiting cloathes be,
|
For forty weekes after, my love I there tyde.
|
Well, quoth the Midwife, now that shal be tryde.
|
I went to Pye-Corner, to looke for my Dinner,
|
where dining with smoke, it made me look thinner,
|
The reckoning being call'd for, the same I denyde,
|
well, quoth the Cooke, now that shall be tryde.
|
And then in Smithfield I bought me a Nagge,
|
Where of all the foure, not halfe a good legge,
|
Being tyde to the Manger, he left me his Hyde,
|
Well, quod the Beareward, now that shall be tryde.
|
A Sute of good Sattin I made me as then,
|
Where as five yards were stole out of ten,
|
And foure of the others at last were denyde.
|
Well, quoth the Broker, now that shall be tryde.
|
I met then a Collier, that sold me good Coales,
|
Where two, of foure Bushels, ran out at the holes,
|
Yet more then full measure, the Collier still cryde.
|
Well, quoth the Pillory, that shall be tryde.
|
|
|
|
|
The second Part. To the same tune.
|
GReat store of good liquor the Thames doth contain,
|
Where of the old Maltman doth greatly complaine,
|
That in the hot Kettle, the Mault will not bide.
|
Well, quoth the Brewer, now that shall be tryde.
|
The Carrier that travels by night very late,
|
When good Ale hath quelled the strength of his pate,
|
Without either money, or wit, he may ride,
|
well, quoth the Thiefe, now that shall be tryde.
|
A Wench of plaine dealing, makes use of her owne,
|
The Beadles of Bridewell her shoulders have known,
|
The rod of correction, she will not abide,
|
Well, quoth Meg merry-tricks, that shall be tryde.
|
The good man, that leadeth a cumbersome life,
|
Where no day he scapeth the fist of his Wife:
|
And being thus beaten, his neighbour must ride,
|
Well, quoth the Milke-wife, now that shall be tryde.
|
The Good wife, that wasteth her state unto naught,
|
In gawdy apparell her husband hath bought,
|
May walke like a Peacock, her hands by her side,
|
Well, quoth the Cuckold, now that shall be tride.
|
He that his garments will pawne for good Ale,
|
And at his poore Wife like a Drunkard will raile,
|
May dayly goe naked, without any pride,
|
Well, quoth the Begger, now that shall be tride.
|
She that a house and a charge will maintaine,
|
Yet will not for lazinesse take any paine,
|
May like a Sow fatten, that's filthily styde.
|
Well, quoth the Drunkard, now that shall be tryde
|
She that by scolding still payes all her debts,
|
To the ease of her belly, sore sicke of the frets,
|
May gallantly on the Cucking-stoole ride,
|
Well, quoth the Oyster-wench, that shall be tride.
|
He that each morning will call for his quart
|
At the Labour in Vaine, to comfort his heart,
|
May feare no ill favours, that Night-men abide.
|
Well, quoth the Jakes-Farmer, that shall be tryde.
|
Now those that my Ditty will kindely regard,
|
A Pipe of Tobacco shall have for reward,
|
With a Cup of Old Sherry, well suger'd beside,
|
Well, quoth the Ballad-singer, that shall be tride.
|
|
|
|
|