Jack Pudding's Fegary.
There's many Men do play the Fool
Because that Wit they want;
But Honest Jack doth play the Fool
'Cause Money it is scant.
To the Tune of, I am a very good Maid, etc.
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ALL you that Delight
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in pastimes most Rare,
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Come see what brave Sights,
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are at Bartholomew-Fair:
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Such Sights out of Smithfield,
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you never did see,
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The post to the Fair,
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and be ruled by me.
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For if with your Money,
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you easily part,
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'Twill certainly vex
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every Vein of your Heart:
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To see for your Coin,
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how little you have,
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Jack Pudding is not so
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much Fool as a Knave.
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Large Speeches he makes,
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and if you him believe,
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To see how he Fools you,
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he laughs in his Sleeve:
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And when the Play's done,
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tell me if you can,
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Whether he be a Fool,
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or a politick Man.
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There's others beside,
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that for Money do wait,
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And a thousand strange things,
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they will put in your pate:
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But if you believe
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such praters as these,
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They'l tell you the Moon
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is made of Green Cheese.
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Some others there are,
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that have pretty Shows,
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Will seem as your Friends,
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but are secretly Foes:
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And will pocket the Silver,
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you got with great pain,
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By showing you Tricks
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of their Legerdemain.
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But besides what I speak of,
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beware of one Trick,
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Lest Divers your Pockets
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do Cunningly pick:
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For certain it is,
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that many there are,
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That nothing else come for,
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to Bartholomew-Fair.
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Yet some that before
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have been certainly Bitt,
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The pleasures of Smithfield,
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they cannot forget:
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But though for their Follies,
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they suffered so deep,
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Yet from this same Fair,
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they by no means can keep.
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For Gentle and Simple,
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to Smithfield do flye,
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To see Honest JACK,
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and to hear how he'l Lye:
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Yet JACK is Indued
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with gifts so profound,
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There's some that does work for him
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all the year round.
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He'l wash from his heart,
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all grief, care, and sorrow,
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And thinks there will be
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store of Fools the next morrow:
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But if in the Morning
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a Wet day appears,
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Then Jack is possessed
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with sorrows and fears.
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But the Fair on Jack Pudding
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don't wholly depend,
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For there you may meet with
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a Pockify'd Friend:
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That for a small piece,
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such a Fairing will give,
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You'l never be rid of,
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as long as you live.
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You Lusty young Lads
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that do want to be Tam'd,
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There's a place near to Smithfield,
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that must not be Nam'd:
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And there you may find
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kind Lasses great store,
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For a small piece of Coin,
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you may have a great Whore.
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But now it is time
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almost to Conclude,
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I blame not the Civil,
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but those that are Rude:
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For many there be
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that do go to the Fair,
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Whose Vertues are great,
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and their Qualities rare.
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If all should be base
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that thither do go,
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I think there would be
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such a Damnable Show,
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That Holland, or France,
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or the Kingdom of Spain,
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Could hardly produce,
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such a Rabble again.
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FINIS.
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