THE
Troubles of this World;
OR,
Nothing Cheap but Poor Mens Labour.
Concluding with a Line of Comfortable Consolation, to Chear up
our Drooping Hearts, in a time of Trouble.
To the Tune of The Spinning Wheel. Licensed according to Order.
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LET honest Tradesmen now attend,
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And bear a mournful part with me,
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It is to you these Lines I send,
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For to Condole our Misery;
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I see the times which makes me weep,
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Here's nought but poor mens labour cheap.
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The Smiles of Fortune now are fled,
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And Gloomy Clouds with grief appear,
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Since times are hard, and tradeing dead,
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And e'ery thing excessive dear;
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Which makes some thousands sigh and weep,
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There's none but poor mens labour cheap.
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Some persons, that was free to give
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Relief to their poor Friends of late,
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Do hardly now know how to live;
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The Taxes being grown so great,
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Since things are dear there own they'll keep,
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There's nought but poor mens labour cheap.
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From Forreign-Lands all Merchantdise,
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As Linnen, Silks, Fruit, Sugar, Spice,
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They to the Nation sorrow rise,
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And to a vast excessive price,
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We have just cause to sigh and weep;
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Here's nought but poor mens labour cheap.
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Those that have thousands lying by,
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Will hardly now the Poor regard,
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Tell them your grief and they reply,
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That trading's dead and times are hard,
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And therefore what they have they'll keep,
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There's nought but poor mens labour cheap.
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The working man may pinch and spare,
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To bring the weary week about,
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At length there comes another care,
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How he shall lay his money out,
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Since at a price all things they keep,
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There's nought but poor mens labour cheap
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'Tis to be feard that some there are,
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Who do in private make their moan,
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Opprest with poverty and care;
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Yet cannot make their sorrow known,
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All things at a high price they keep,
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There's nought but poor mens labour cheap.
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There's not a Loaf of Bread we By,
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But costs a double price or more,
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Of what it went at formerly,
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Now this must needs oppress the poor;
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And give them cause to sigh and weep,
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There's nought but poor mens labour cheap.
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Wee see in Country Court, or Town,
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The rich will small Compassion show,
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Upon their sorrows they will frown,
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Of those that are but mean and low,
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Those things I see which makes me weep,
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There's nought but poor mens labour cheap.
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The Rich men they, continually,
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run down the Poor Mens Labour still,
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If he'll not work so; strait they cry,
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begon, we know another will,
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And thus the poor in awe they keep;
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There's nothing but their labour cheap
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The working man he strait complys,
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because of his young Children small,
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For half a Loaf of Bread he Crys,
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is better far then none at all,
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Because he hath a charge to keep,
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He's forc'd to work and labour cheap.
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When little Babes crys for Relief,
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the one for Bread, the other Beer,
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There cannot be a greater Grief,
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to tender loving Parents dear,
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Than for to hear them make their moan,
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For Bread, perhaps, when they have no[ne]
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Alas, to well, we understand
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what causes all our grief and care,
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It is the Wars by Sea and Land,
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Alas, Alas, who can forbear,
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In these hard times, to sigh and weep,
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There's nought but poor mens labour cheap.
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Let's pray to God, intreat him still,
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to look upon our grief and pain,
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And if it be his blessed will,
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to send the Nation Peace again,
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For while these Wars and Troubles are,
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Here's none but Sorrows, Grief, and Care.
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