A Warning and good Counsel to the
WEAVERS.
Tune of, The Country Farmer. Or, The Devonshire Damosels. This may be Printed, R.P.
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YOu Gentlemen all come listen a while,
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I'll sing you a jest that will make you to smile,
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How the Weavers in Norwalk is grown very poor,
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Some work Journey-work, and some shut up the door,
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The wholesale Men breaks, and to London mkes way:
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For that the poor Weavers full dearly do pay,
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If they bite them agen, they have learn'd them the way,
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'Fore they part with their stuffs, in their hands to have pay.
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I'de have all the Weavers be ruled by me,
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And unto my Ditty now soon to agree.
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And trust no more stuff then their trade will maintain,
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If they can'nt have their Money bring ware back again:
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That is the way for the Weavers to live,
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To have of their own and be able to give,
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If they trust any more they will themselves slave,
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For a sprat at a meal, and no more they must have.
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The spinners have vowed they will spin no more,
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The Wool-man has vowed he must shut up door,
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Let them think of me in these excellent charms,
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If they can't have mony-keep their stuff in their arms:
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The Women cry out both in City and town.
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Their trade won't afford them a new Mantua Gown,
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Also the poor Wool-men begin for to frown,
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The Weavers have pulled the spinnig trade down.
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There was some brave Weavers that had an Estate,
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And prodigal was as long as they ha't,
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They jeer'd the poor Weavers that could not set up,
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'Cause they were good fellows and loved a Cup.
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They have pulled the Journeymens wages down,
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And sent in their stuffs so fast to next town,
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The Merchants have broke that were of high renown,
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And the money for the Weavers is red out of town.
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The Weavers do say they will take up in time,
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And since they've drank small beer they'l go & drink wine,
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Good victuals to their Prentices allow,
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The Merchants shall live with the sweat of their brow:
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And now they'r resolv'd to leave trusting again,
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And leave all the Merchants themselves to maintain.
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For if they get in debt they to London make way,
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And poor Weavers Prentices for it must pay.
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I'd have all the Weavers both great and small,
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Take warning by me, and be ruled all,
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Now trading is dead, i'd have you hold your hand,
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And trust no more stuffs to go out of the Land:
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You have trusted so much you your selves have undone,
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Some Merchants have spoil'd you as sure as a Gun
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You have fed them so fat they are ready to burst,
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Whilst poor weavers Prentices sit with a crust
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Now this is the thing I needs must declare,
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For trading is down both in Market and Fair,
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Not only with Weavers, but other Trades too,
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With their families they know not how for to do:
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The poor Husbandman he works day and night,
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For to Till his ground it is all his delight,
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With his Oxen and Horses he plows all the Land,
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So let us all pray for the good Husband-man.
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Now all ye Weavers I bid you adieu,
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I hope I have penned no mo[r]e then is true,
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If ye had but these verses but two years before,
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You had kept the great woolf away from the door:
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You have your stuffs so far over the Sea,
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And for it full dearly you Weavers must pay,
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For to work again it is the best way
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And er'e you part with your stuffs in your hands take pay.
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