Truth in Mourning:
OR,
Conscience kick'd out of Countenance by City and Coun-
try, and, at last, Murder'd by a Pack of rustick Millers, near Man-
chester ; to the unspeakable grief of his two mourning Friends,
Truth and Plain-dealing .
To the Tune of, Scotch Hay-makers .
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C Onscience, for a fancy, rambl'd forth to find
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Some friendly Entertainment, but Men was most unkind:
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Of a truth, it will appear, as he rambl'd far and near,
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The common Traders, truth invaders, they was most severe;
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Like cruel Tigers on him they fall,
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Declaring if he staid, he would clearly starve them all:
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Then Conscience, in a heat, they kick'd about the Street;
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Thus they abus'd him, none excus'd him, O how he was beat !
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To the passing Gallants, poor Conscience took his way,
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But, ne'rtheless, among them they wou'd not let him stay;
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Those that had been most unjust, in betraying of their trust,
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Did then degrade him, and upbraid him, nay, they rav'd and curs'd,
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When Conscience enter'd within their Gates,
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Protesting, if he staid, they shall never get Estates;
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So Conscience, in a heat, they kick'd about the Street,
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There was few excus'd him, but abus'd him; O how he was beat !
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To the Lawyer's Chamber, poor Conscience came at last,
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And there the doors against him was lock'd and bolted fast,
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That he could not enter in; then to call he did begin,
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The Lawyer crying and replying, Make not such a din:
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Conscience, I'll ne'er be control'd by thee,
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Nor yet will I forsake my old road of Bribery.
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Thus Conscience, in a heat, he kick'd about the Street;
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His woful Ditty, few would pity, Conscience still was beat .
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To the wretched Miser, poor Conscience hasten'd then,
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To tell him of his grinding the poor distressed Men,
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By the rigour of the Laws, as they fell into his Claws.
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The Miser maul'd him, rav'd and call'd him, lean and famish Jaws:
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Conscience, depart from my presence, streight,
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For I will not be check'd by you at so vile a rate.
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Thus Conscience, in a heat, he kick'd about the Street;
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Whose doleful Ditty few would pity: O how he was beat !
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Thomas Stitch , the Tailor, poor Conscience came to next,
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And told him of his cheating: Oh, how the Rogue was vex'd!
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Shall we learn indeed of you, what a Tailor ought to do?
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By Cock and Bacon, you'r mistaken: then in wrath he flew
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At honest Conscience with pointed Shears,
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And swore, if long he staid, he would clip off both his Ears.
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Then Conscience, in a heat, he kick'd about the Street;
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Whose doleful Ditty few would pity: O how he was beat !
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Conscience through the City did visit many more,
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Who at his first appearance did thrust him out of door.
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Will , the Baker, fierce and grim, swore he'd tear him limb from limb,
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In heat of passion and vexation, if he troubl'd him:
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And many others did him pursue.
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Poor Conscience scarce could get form that horrid cheating Crew,
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For, in their wrath and heat, they kick'd him round the Street,
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Whose doleful Ditty few would pity: O how he was beat !
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Seeing this distraction, poor Conscience left the Town,
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And therefore to the Country he took his ramble down:
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When the Millers came to know, that he would reprove them so,
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In Buff and Leather, all together, in one body go;
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Against poor Conscience their force they raise,
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Of lusty rugged Millers, who bow'd to end his days:
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Quoth they, we never shall nor will be at his call.
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With this confusion, in conclusion, Conscience left them all .
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Conscience, thus abus'd, was forc'd his Head to hide,
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And some now has reported, that, of his Wounds, he dy'd;
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For he's not to be found, tho' we search the Nation round;
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Those wicked Millers, Conscience-killers, gave the fatal wound:
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Besides, there's many more in this Land,
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That, for destroying Conscience, did put their helping-hand.
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If I the truth may tell, he has took his Last Farewel;
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He is gone for ever, now, or never, ring his Passing-bell .
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