A New SONG
In Praise of the
Gentle-Craft.
Written by R. Rigby of the same Trade.
To the Tune of, The Shoomakers Travels to London, Oxford, Cambridge, and a Thou-
sand places more.
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To all true-hearted Shoomakers
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these lines I do present,
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And better would, if that I could
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my Brains get to invent.
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In honour of the Gentle-Craft,
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that Subjects true hath been,
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Who proffers still with a good-will
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to serve their King and Queen.
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And in defence of Englands Cause,
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'gainst Popery they'l fight
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Tyrconnel[,] Monsieur, or by the Turk,
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maintaining Englands Right.
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Let Weavers, Butchers, and the like,
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that dares not shew their face
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In loyalty to King and Queen,
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to Shoomakers give place.
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For why? the Shoomakers of old
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most valiant hearts did bear,
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Who feard no men by Land or Sea,
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for fire, arms, sword, or spear.
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There's Crispin and Crispianus both
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true Kings Sons they were born,
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Who stoopt so low the Craft to know,
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and thought it not a scorn.
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Till Crispianus that brave Prince,
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whose warlike deeds were known,
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Whose loyalty for ever free,
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brave Shoomakers have shown.
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And now Shoomakers with all speed
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packs up their working geer,
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In loyalty to the King and Queen ,
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and for their Country dear.
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To help poor Protestants at need,
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whose troubles great are seen,
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In hopes of their delivery,
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by our good King and Queen.
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Let Bowels earn within you then,
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put case it were your own,
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That for the King, Queen, and Gospel-sake,
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your Valour may be shown.
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Let every Trade, whate'er they be,
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with Shoomakers consent,
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And for their pains they'l reap the gains,
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blind Popery to prevent.
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Poor Protestants they waiting are
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for help of Englands aid,
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Our King and Queen for to embrace;
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then let it ne'r be said,
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That English boys should Cowards be,
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and are so much unman'd,
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Who with those Teagues before did fight
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and banisht them their Land.
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Then let them know we do not fear
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no Talbot nor no Dog,
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'Gainst whom brave Shoomakers will fight
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and run them int' a Bog.
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And when that we have caught him there
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Dear-Joys you'l have the rout,
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And cry, O hone! it is in vain,
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King William to stand out.
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Then what becomes of all your Priests?
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this bout will fright them dead,
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For Protestants will smell them out,
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and get five pounds a head.
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Return thanks unto God on high.
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who is our heavenly King,
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And set us free from popery;
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his praise for ever sing.
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And tho' some think Ireland is lost,
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our God, when he sees good,
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Can turn their hearts and then convert
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without much loss of blood.
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Take courage then my hearts of gold,
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brave Shoomakers so free;
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For why? your fame and valor bold
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Recorded sure shall be.
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