A New-Years GIFT
FOR
Covetous COLLIERS.
To the Tune of The Orange. Licensed according to Order.
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THe Parliament all, near Westminster Hall
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Have rated the Coals, for the great and the small,
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A Bonefire let's make, bonny boys for their sake,
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And thank them for this Noble Act that they make,
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For the Collier.
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Though Coals we had store, the wretched and Poor,
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The Widdows, and Orphans, might starve within door,
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The Price was so high, that the Poor could not buy,
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And their Bushels so short, that the Nation cry'd Fye,
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On the Collier.
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Old Nick that is black, as the Colliers foul Sack,
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Will carry them all, (e're belong) Pick a Pack,
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Since the Price of their Coales, they did rise more and more,
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And for starving the Poor, as I told you before,
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O brave Collier.
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But now let us Sing, and let all the Bells Ring,
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But all things in order, first, God save the King,
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And the Parliament Men, agen, and agen,
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And let all the whole Realm, to this Act say Amen.
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For the Collier.
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Their Covetousness, kind Heav'n did not Bless,
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The Colliers-Caball, will no more have success,
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'Twas Black, and twas Base, as the Colliers foul-face,
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But this (my Masters) a pittiful Case,
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For the Collier.
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We here might enlarge, and tell of our Charge,
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Since their Conscience was long as their Lyter or Barge
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As thick, and as Teugh, very much of that Hue,
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And the Nation, and People abus'd by the Crew,
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Of the Colliers.
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In sharp Winter weather, these Rooks hung together,
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And like very Black-Birds were all of a Feather,
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Their prizes they rais'd, but 'tis now, thanks be prais'd,
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As the Parliament pleases, and that has amaz'd
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the Old Colliers.
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We have heard of Old Cole, a Jolly Old Soul,
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That would take off his Bottle, and drink off his Bowl,
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Sure he was no Kind, nor yet any good Freind,
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When he liv'd in the World to this damnable Fiend,
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The Black Collier.
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If there comes but one Frost, the Coles must more cost,
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For he cares not a T--- if the poor were all lost,
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If they can get Sack, and if nothing they lack,
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They mind not what others do bear on their Back,
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O brave Collier.
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Thus they fill their Purse, and the Realm fares the worse,
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Both the good honest Granum, and old honest Nurse,
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When they want some Fire, to broil their Beef-Stake,
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How often they wish that the Devil may take,
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The Old Collier.
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Alas! how we look, in the Chimney-nook,
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When we want meat, and Fire, and are quite forsook,
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As cold as the Clay, we appear all the day,
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And this is the damnable fault I must say.
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of the Collier.
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'Tis Coals that we want, and 'tis Coals that are scant,
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And that is the truth, and the short, and long on t,
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Then can this be Civil, when all this same Evil,
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We know does proceed from that covetous Devil:
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the Collier.
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My Masters I tell ye, Im'e sure that the belly,
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Cannot be kept warm, if that Nick or young Nelly,
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No Sea-cole have got, for to put in the Pot
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And this same falls heavy, because of the Sot,
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The old Collier,
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Then lads stout and tall, old Grannums and all,
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Let us thank our good friends near to Westminster-Hall,
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Our case it was sad, and so wondrous bad
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It soon would have made any Mortal man mad,
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But the Collier.
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