New Mad Tom of Bedlam
OR,
The Man in the Moon drinks Clarret,
With Powder-beef, Turnep and Carret.
The Tune is, Grays-Inn-Mask
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FOrth from my sad and darksome Cell,
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Or from the deep Abiss of Hell,
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Mad Tom is come to view the world again,
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To see if he can ease his distempered Brain:
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Fear and care doth pierce the Soul,
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Hark how the angry Furies howl;
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Pluto laughs and Proserpine is, glad,
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To see poor naked Tom of Bedlam mad:
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Through the world I wander night and day,
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to find my stragling sences,
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In an angry mood I found ol Time,
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with's Pentarchy of Tenches,
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When me he spies,
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Away he flies,
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For time will way for no man,
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In vain with cries,
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I rend the skies,
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For pitty is not common.
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Cold and comfortless I lye,
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Help, O help, or else I dye,
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Hark I hear
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Appoll's Theam,
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The Carman gins to Whistle,
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Chast Diana
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Bends her Bow,
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The Boar begins to Bristle:
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Come Vulcan with Tools and with Tackle:
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shake off my troublesome shackle,
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Let Charles make ready his Wain,
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To bring my sences again.
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Last night I heard the Dog-Star bark
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Mars met Venus in the Dark,
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Leaping Vulcan het an Iron-Bar,
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And furiously did run at the God of War,
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Mars with his Weapon laid about,
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But Vulcans Temples had the Gout,
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His broad horns did so hang in his sight,
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He could not see to aim his Blows aright:
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Mercury the Nimble Post of heaven,
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Laid still to see the Quarrel,
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Gorrel bellied Baccus Gyant-like,
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bestri'd a strong Beer Barrel:
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To me he drank,
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I did him thank,
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But I could get no Syder,
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He drank whole Buts,
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Till he crackt his Guts,
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But mine were ne'r the wider.
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Poor naked Tom is very dry,
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A little drink for Charity:
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Hark I hear
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Acteon's Hounds,
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The Huntsman whoops and Hollows,
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Ringing Royster,
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Bowman Jowler
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At the chase now follows:
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The man ith Moon Drinks Clarret,
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With Powder beef Turney and Carret,
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A Cup of Old Mallago Sack,
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Will fire the Bush at his back.
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The Man in the MOON Drinks Clarret.
As it was lately Sung at the Curtain Holy-Well.
To the same Tune.
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BAcchus the Father of drunken Nowles
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Full Mazers, Beakers Glasses, Bowles
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Greasie Flapdragons, Flemish Upsie freeze;
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With health stab'd in arms upon naked knees
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Of all his Wines he makes you tasters,
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So you Tipple like Bumbasters:
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Drink till you reel, a welcome he doth give,
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O how the boon Claret makes you live:
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Not a Painter purer Colour shows,
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then what's laid on by Clarret,
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Pearl and Ruby doth set out the Nose
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when thin small Beer doth mar it.
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Rich Wine is good,
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It heats the blood,
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It makes an old man lusty,
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The young to brawl,
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And Drawers up call,
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Before being too much musty.
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Whether you drink all or little,
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Pot it so your selves to wittle,
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Then though twelve
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A Clock it be,
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Yet all the way go Roaring,
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If the Band
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Of Bills cry siand,
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Swear that you must a Whor------
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Such Gambols, such tricks such Fegaries,
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We fetch though we touch no Canaries:
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Drink wine till the Welkin roars,
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And cry out out a Pox of your Scores.
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In Wine we calls for Bawdy Jggs,
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Catzoes, Rumbilloes, Whirligigs,
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Campo got in Huff-Cap vain,
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The Devil in the place you wot were raign,
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Brave wine it thus tickles our Heels,
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Mull'd well in wine none sorrows feels:
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Our moon-man and his powder beef mad crew
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thus caper thrugh the liquor sweet turnep drew
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Round about over Tables and joyn'd-stools
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let's dance with naked Rapiers,
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Cut the Fiddle-strings and then like fools
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kick out the fum fum scrapers:
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There is no sound
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That cares can wound,
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As lids of wine pots clinking;
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Theres no such sport,
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When all amort,
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Men cry lets fall a drinking:
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O 'tis Nappy Geer,
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Would each Belly was filled here,
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Herrings pickl'd
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Must be tickel'd'
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Down to draw the Liquor:
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The salt Sammon,
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And fat Gammon,
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makes our Wine drink quicker.
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Our man in the Moon drinks Clarret,
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If he doth so, why should not you,
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Drink until the sky looks blew.
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Hey for a turn thus above ground hey,
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O my Noddle too heavy doth weigh,
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Metheglin, Perry Syder, nor strong Ale,
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Are half so heady be they ne'r so stale:
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Wine in our Guts can never rumble,
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Down now & then though it maks us stumble
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Yet scrambling up a drunkard feels no pain,
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But cryes Sirrah Boy, tother Pottle again
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We can drink no more unless we have
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full pipes of Trinnidado,
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Give us the best it keeps our brains,
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more warm then can freezado.
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It makes us sing,
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And cry hey ding,
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And laugh when Pipes lye broken,
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For which to pay
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At going away,
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We scorn a Mustard token,
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Never curse the sawcy score,
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Out-swear the Bar you'l pay no more:
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In these days
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He is no Gallant
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That cannot puff and swagger,
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Though he dare
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Not kill a sheep,
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Yet our must flye his Dagger.
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If then you do love my Hoast's Clarret,
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Fat powder beef, Turnep and Carret,
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Come agen, and agen,
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And still welcome Gentlemen.
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