THE
Trades-men's Lamentation;
OR,
A Discourse between WILL the Weaver, and RICHARD the
Glover, concerning the Dullness of their Trades: Together with
William's Chearful hopes of seeing the Blessed Sun of Prosperity to shine
once more upon this Land.
To the Tune of, A Touch of the Times.
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AS William one morning was walking the street,
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With his Neighbour Richard he happen'd to meet;
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Then taking each other fast hold by the Hand,
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They for a short time there disputing did stand:
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I prithee, quoth William, what News do you hear?
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Faith, none that is good, as i'le make it appear;
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Which makes my poor Visage look pitiful blew,
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For Trading is dead, I have nothing to do.
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I went to the Market to utter my Ware,
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But could take no Money when as I came there:
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Where-ever I Travel the City about,
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All Men are unwilling their Coin to lay out:
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This troubles me sore, and I being poor,
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I have not so much as a Penny in store;
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My Sorrows are many, as I tell to you,
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Trading being dead, I have nothing to do.
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Why Neighbour, quoth William, it is my own case,
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And other poor Tradesmen in every-place,
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Whose Family's large, and their substance but small,
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And none but their Care to maintain them withal:
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I well may relate, their sorrows are great,
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To think of their present deplorable state;
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All Mirth is departed, and Troubles renew,
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For Trading is dead we have nothing to do.
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All over the Nation strange Stories are told,
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And one by the other is often Controul'd:
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Some said that the Dutch-men are come to the shore,
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And others declar'd they wou'd never come o're:
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Thus we cou'd scarce find, two Men of a mind,
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But what did both waver and turn with the Wind;
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But here is one thing which we find is too true,
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All Trading is dead, there is nothing to do.
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Rich Misers now turns all their Silver to Gold,
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And those that have Houses do wish they were sold;
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And therefore dear Neighbour, I heartily fear,
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We shall have but pittiful Trading this Year:
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But let Heaven Crown, this Land with renown,
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And pull all the Force of our Enemies down,
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For now at the present Care makes us look blew,
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For Trading is dead, we have nothing to do.
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While poor Men has scarce e're a penny to use,
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The Rich are in fear they their Treasure shall loose.
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Dame Fortune she hands forth her Favours to such,
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That some has too little, and others too much;
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Yet out of their store, they'll not pity the poor;
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But still will be having, and craving for more;
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Out of poor Mens labours they something will screw
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We having but little or nothing do.
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Tho' now from our Foes a dark Cloud does appear,
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E're long we may have our Element clear;
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The Sun in much Glory and Splendor may shine,
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And e'ery man eat the fruit of his own Vine:
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This cannot long last, our Foes we may blast;
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For when all this Storm and the Tempest is past,
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Instead of bad Trading, we then shall have store,
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And flourish much better than ever before.
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Let's wait but with patience, we hope to subdue
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Those Troubles and Cares, with our Enemies too;
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The Earth in abundance brings forth her increase,
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We want nothing here but the Blessing of peace:
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Therfore my dear Friend, our Lives let's amend,
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That Heaven unto this great Land may extend,
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Toe Blessing of peace all our Joys to restore,
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And flourish more better than ever before.
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Altho' our Trouble may seem to last long,
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Yet if God stands for us, who can do us wrong?
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This Nation and People I hope he'll defend
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From all kind of Dangers unto the Worlds end;
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Then now let us pray, for this happy day,
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Wherein all our troubles may vanish away;
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The Joys of this Kingdom in peace to restore,
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To flourisn more better then ever before.
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