Poor Man's Complaint:
OR,
The Sorrowful Lamentation of Poor Plain-Dealing,
at this Time of Distress and Trouble
To the Tune of Let Mary live long.
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A Trend to the Moan
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Of Honest Plain-Dealing,
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A sensible feeling,
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Of Sorrows alone,
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I have I declare:
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With watery Eyes,
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I behold the Excise,
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which Troubles me sore;
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I weep when I think of
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I weep when I think of
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the Cry of the Poor.
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The Times they are hard,
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yet those that have Treasure,
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and Wealth out of measure
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They little regard
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poor Labouring Men,
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Who are out of Emply,
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Whose Children cry;
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which troubles them sore:
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I weep when I think of
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I weep when I think of
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the Cry of the Poor.
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The Tax must be paid
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all over the Nation
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without Disputation;
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Yet where is the Trade?
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that's clearly run down
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By Strangers from France,
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With others perchance;
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this troubles me sore:
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They run down all Labour,
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They run down all Labour,
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which pinches the Poor.
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It once was Decreed,
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to make a Collection,
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for Strangers protection,
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In order to feed,
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and nourish them here:
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Which encourag'd them so,
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That from hence they'll not go,
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but live on our shore;
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And ruine all Labour,
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And ruine all Labour,
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which pinches the Poor.
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The Taxes are laid
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on each large Possession;
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yet by their Oppression,
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The same must be paid
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by Tenants at Will;
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For the Landlords invent
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Still the raising of Rent,
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and Twenty things more
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To pay the King's Taxes,
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To pay the King's Taxes,
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by pinching the Poor.
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Rich Misers have Gold,
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yet scarce a poor Penny,
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they'll part with to any;
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For Charity's cold,
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all over the Realm:
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We find e'ery thing dear,
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Through the Land far and near,
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which troubles me sore:
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I weep when I think of
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I weep when I think of
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the Cry of the Poor.
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It is but in vain,
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to tell your Condition,
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with humble Submission;
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For tho' you Complain,
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you're never the near:
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E'ery Time-serving Elf,
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Builds a Nest for himself,
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increasing his Store;
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By cruel Oppression,
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By cruel Oppression,
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in pinching the Poor.
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Some that heretofore,
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has kept a good Table,
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now now are not able
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To keep form the Door,
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the ravenous Wolf:
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Those that use to relieve,
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Now are glad to receive;
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this troubles me sore;
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I weep when I think of
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I weep when I think of
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the Cry of the Poor.
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In every Town,
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sad Poverty's reigning,
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the poor are complaining,
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King Heavens look down
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and pity this Land;
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Give the Blessing of Peace,
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That our Joys may encrease,
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and flourish once more,
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Defend us from Ruine,
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Defend us from Ruine,
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and pity the Poor.
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