The Crafty Scotch Pedler:
OR, THE
Downfal of TRADING,
By that wonderful Swarm of Catterpillers, who does not only
Devour our Shopkeepers in City and Country, but likewise the poor of
our Nation, by their false Dealing, etc. Tune of, Mary live long.
Licensed according to Order.
|
HEre is a new song,
|
Good people pray mind it,
|
No doubt but you'l find it,
|
Who suffers the wrong
|
by pedling Scots:
|
[In] their packs they do bear
|
[A]ll sorts of shop-ware,
|
and trudge up and down,
|
Which ruins good trading,
|
Which ruins good trading,
|
in City and Town.
|
They first under-sell,
|
And yet by their greeting,
|
Their shaming and cheating,
|
A man might as well
|
give still the full price,
|
For in measure or weight
|
They will sharp what they bait;
|
I'll bet you a crown
|
Such rogues ruins trading,
|
Such rogues ruins trading,
|
in City and Town.
|
Their very Scotch cloath,
|
They cheat in their measure,
|
And do it with pleasure,
|
They come from the North,
|
that nursery of knaves;
|
In your face they will smile
|
And cheat you the while;
|
i'll bet you a crown
|
They are the worst dealers,
|
They are the worst dealers,
|
in City and Town.
|
Good Shop-keepers now
|
Though trade be decaying
|
Great taxes are paying,
|
We then must allow
|
they should have a trade,
|
But each Scot with his pack,
|
Crys, Maids what do you lack?
|
and range up and down,
|
This ruins good trading,
|
This ruins good trading,
|
in City and Town.
|
Though taxes are large,
|
On honest housholders,
|
Maintaining of souldiers,
|
Yet they are at no charge,
|
'tis very well known
|
They can range too and fro,
|
And where-ever they go
|
run e're trade down,
|
To ruin shop-keepers,
|
To ruin shop-keepers,
|
in City and Town.
|
An insolent Scot,
|
Will boast he'll sell cheaper,
|
Then any shopkeeper,
|
For he pays no lot,
|
nor scot to the king,
|
Nor maintaining of poor,
|
And twenty things more,
|
which shop-keepers do,
|
That shows that the Scots are,
|
That shows that the Scots are,
|
a runagate Crew.
|
In barns they lye,
|
And scarce spend a tester,
|
From Easter to Easter;
|
Bag-pudding or pye
|
they'll beg were they sell;
|
And thus in the main,
|
Tho' small is their gain,
|
they will have their due;
|
This shows that the Scots are,
|
This shows that the Scots are,
|
a beggerly Crew.
|
There's not one in ten
|
But know's how to shurck ye,
|
A capon or turkey,
|
And some times a hen;
|
'tis all one to him,
|
A fat pig or a goose,
|
Nay, turn the knave loose
|
Much more he can do;
|
This shows that the Scots are,
|
This shows that the Scots are,
|
a pilfering Crew.
|
I cannot deny,
|
But the poor of our nation
|
Wou'd make lamentation,
|
And want a supply,
|
were pedling put down;
|
But the Scots are a crew
|
Of the devil knows who,
|
there never was more,
|
They sworm from their nation,
|
They swarm from their nation,
|
to eat up our poor.
|
If ought may be got,
|
Without fraud or stealing,
|
By honest plain dealing,
|
Pray why should the Scot,
|
that freedom enjoy?
|
Let the poor of our land
|
Take their callings in hand
|
their sorrow to cure,
|
Their nearest related,
|
Their nearest related,
|
to us I am sure.
|
|
|
|
|
|