THE
Cheater Cheated:
OR,
Sauce for the GOOSE is good for the GANDER,
Being an Account of a Famous Foot-Race on Tetnal-Wood, near Woolver-Hampton in Stafford-shire,
where many Londoners that intended to Bubble, by Bribing the Racer,
were fairly Out-done by the Honest Country Men.
To the Tune of, Hark the Thundring Cannons Rore. This may be Printed, R.P.
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KInd Gentlemen let me request
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You lend your ears to hear a Jest,
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Pure as ever was exprest,
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in Rusty Rhime and Reason;
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Tonge and Moore (swift Foot-men) are
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Agreed for to Run with a full Carreer,
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On Tetnal Wood in Stafford-shire,
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within the Verge of Season.
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The day perfixt to all Men known,
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Brave Londoners came Trooping down,
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With Rich Fobbs to Hampton Town,
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confiding them to double;
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And to make their Spankers sure,
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A base Booty-Match they soon procure,
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Giving Gold to Runner Moore,
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his Country-men to Bubble.
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Then they follow on their Chase,
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Guinnies daily drop apace,
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Betting roundly on the Race,
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till little was remaining;
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Mean while Moore perplext in mind,
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For that to a Paper he had Sign'd,
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Rest no where that he could find,
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within himself complaining.
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Ah! what hard hap had I to choose
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This cursed way my Friends to loose,
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Rogues they are that me abuse,
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in driving such a Bargain;
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In good time a Friend draws near,
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Speaking so loud that he makes him hear,
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Courage Dick, thou need'st not dear,
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the Bond's not worth a Farthing.
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HIs heart with joy leaps to his Throat,
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He quickly changes now his Note,
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Spirits [?]ht are all afloat,
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he s[?]s to Friends acquainted,
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Wishing them no call to spare,
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But take up Betts where-e're they are,
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With what Mortal Weights they dare,
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and not at all be daunted.
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Now time is come they take the Ground,
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Where People thousands may be found,
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Rusticks Betting all the round,
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of good Returns ne'r doubting;
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Stript, they start, each other tryes,
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What speed is had for to gain the Prize,
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Dick Moore Wins, and all the Skies
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are rent and torn with Shouting.
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Citts confounded at their their State,
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Stark-mad to hear the Rabble prate,
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Leave the Ground with deadly hate,
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bidding Devil Damn them;
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Jogging on, says one, I find,
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From the matters that are left behind,
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If Hell prove not still unkind,
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in spight of Fate we'l Sham them.
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Sturgeon hath of Betts great store,
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Full two hundred pound or more,
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Which if gain'd will gaul them sore,
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I hope to leave them panting;
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Forty pound which we have had,
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Out of a Betted Guinny Bag,
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To yield to us will make her glad,
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for so much will be wanting.
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To pay for Quarters in they go,
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The Drawer call'd, they Danger show,
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What is said is said below,
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where strong March-Beer and Ale is;
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Soon convinc'd, she gives consent,
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whilst none but themselves know what is meant;
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Away she Swims incontinent,
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with Summee (Boys) Totalls.
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The Game play'd up, I now must end,
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Advising all Men as a Friend,
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In good sort their time to spend,
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dreading Hells Confusion;
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When as Ditties they do make,
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This is the way that the Poets take,
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Sinful Creatures to awake,
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before they make Conclusion.
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FINIS.
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