The Shop-keepers Complaint:
Containing the loud Lamentation of many worthy Citizens for the Downfall of Trading.
To the Tune of, Russels Farewel.
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ALas! poor Brother Shop-keepers,
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what must we follow now?
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Our Callings they are grown so low,
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to live we know not how:
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If Heaven do's not cast a Smile,
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we shall to Ruin fall,
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And in a very little while,
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we must to Begging all.
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House-keeping is no little charge,
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besides our Rents are dear,
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And that which does our grief enlarge
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small Takings do's appear;
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The like before I never knew,
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which makes our comfort small,
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Alas, alas, what shall we do,
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we must a Begging all.
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Our Wives which did large Portions bring,
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a splended Life to lead,
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They now a woful Ditty siing,
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which makes our Hearts to bleed:
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For in their Shops they sit all day,
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while takings are but small
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And then at Night they sighing say,
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we must a Begging all.
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That little Trading that we have,
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'tis ten to one we trust,
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While our Snoil-footed Customers,
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declares, that wait we must:
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While they proclaim their Penneries,
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as loud as they can ball,
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This sorrow do's our Senses sieze,
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we must a Begging all.
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Our Creditors come raving first,
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and blames a long delay,
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They ne'er consider how we trust,
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but Dun us e'ery day;
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They must have Mony out of hand,
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thus they like Hectors ball:
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Our Callings surely cannot stand,
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we must a Begging all.
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There must be then no longer let,
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they will not be deny'd,
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For if we cannot pay the Debt,
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a Serjeant is imploy'd:
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Then to the Compter must we go,
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where Comfort is but small;
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Now Neighbour since the case is so,
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we must a Begging all.
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Among our many Griefs and Care,
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if on the Road we go,
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Our sinking Station to repair,
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why this brings grief and woe:
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Now what to do we cannot tell,
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since Trading thus does fall,
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All Happy Days we bid farewel,
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we must a Begging all.
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The Glory of the Gold[e]n Age,
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has took its last Good-Night,
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While Grief and Sorrow mounts the Stage,
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and puts our Joy to flight:
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Against proud France let us contend,
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and give their Pride a fall;
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For if these times do never mend;
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we must a Begging all.
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Great William our renowned King,
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with brave Commanders bold,
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Their Fame shall through fair Flanders Ring,
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like noble Hearts of Gold.
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And storm the Towns with loud Alarms,
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and roaring Cannon-Ball,
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Therefore let us away to Arms.
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and fight like Soldiers all.
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Why should we tarry here in Town,
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let's march with speed away,
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To purchase Honour and Renoun,
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and in the bloudy Fray:
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The Mighty Force of France shall yield,
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and soon for mercy call,
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For why our Swords shall reap the Field,
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we'll Fight like Soldiers all.
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FINIS.
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