The Bountifull Brewers:
Who pays the King's Taxes out of the Poor Mens Purses, rather than diminish their own golden
Stores. To the Tune of An Orange. Licensed according to Order.
|
IN this present Reign, the War to maintain,
|
A Tax being laid upon Liquor of Grain,
|
'Tis Barley made Malt, but here I must halt,
|
To give you a touch of a damnable Fault
|
of the Brewer.
|
The Parliament they, was pleased to lay
|
The Tax upon those that are able to pay;
|
May Heaven therefore, replenish their Store,
|
Yet this very Tax is now laid on the poor
|
by the Brewer.
|
On Dealers retail of strong Beer and Ale,
|
This Tax is not laid but of Traders whole-sail;
|
This was the intent of the good Parliament,
|
But some says, they had not the perfect consent
|
of the Brewers.
|
The Case being thus, they make a sad Fuss
|
Yet they will pay nothing out of their own Purse
|
But as for the Act, they vow to exact
|
Upon the poor Tradesmen, and thus they are rack'd
|
by the Brewer.
|
Their Liquors made small, their Measures they maul,
|
Nay, was I but now for to reckon up all
|
The Ways that they take, this Money to make,
|
You'd swear that the Devil had now lent a Rake
|
to the Brewers.
|
Their Conscience they stain, for Profit and Gain,
|
And yet if an honest Men chance to complain
|
They huffingly say, such Taxes they pay,
|
That it wilt be smaller before the next day;
|
wretched Brewers.
|
Their Coffers to fill, I know that they will
|
Give us a true touch of their dexterous skill;
|
Much Water they'll put to make us rat Gut;
|
Likewise it is said that their Gallons are cut,
|
wretched Brewers.
|
And were you to sink for one Cup of Drink
|
They will not part with it, but cry, Do you think
|
That Tax we can pay, by giving away?
|
They shant have as much as the smell of a Dray
|
under Six-pence.
|
They are glad of this bit, for why they will get
|
A Treble Excise by their Diligent Wit;
|
For the River and Wells, where Water excells
|
Shall pay the Kings Taxes, and get Golden Spells
|
for the Brewer.
|
The Truth to relate, their Profit is great
|
For most of them having a worthy Estate,
|
Gold, Silver beside, flows in like a Tyde
|
And they have the River of Thames on their [side]
|
wealthy Brewers.
|
We formerly here complain'd of their Beer,
|
But then they would tell us that Malt it was dear;
|
Yet now Prices fall, the Liquor is small,
|
And therefore they should get the Devill and all
|
wretched Brewers.
|
Strange ways they devise to raise this Excise,
|
The smallest of Liquor now highly they prize;
|
Such Profit they bring from every Spring,
|
That Faith, I believe, they get more than the King
|
wretched Brewers.
|
|
|
|
|
|