Wits never good till tis bought:
OR,
Good counsell for improvident men,
Fit to make use of now and then.
To the tune of Basses Carreere.
|
ONce musing alone,
|
upon things many a one,
|
Well observd and knowne by my selfe,
|
especially how,
|
that which late did flow,
|
I have wasted and now I want pelfe:
|
this vexed me sore,
|
and made me deplore,
|
That I had not before of it thought,
|
from experience I learnd,
|
what I since have discernd,
|
That true wits never good till tis bought.
|
Full many a time,
|
when I was in my prime,
|
My ambition to climbe honors hill,
|
did me forward pricke,
|
but my jade did so kicke,
|
And dame fortune a trick found to kill,
|
my hope in the bloome,
|
and debased my plume:
|
I did further presume than I ought,
|
then I wisht I had stayd,
|
at my owne proper trade,
|
But true wits never never good till tis bought.
|
To fight and to brawle,
|
and to quarrell with all,
|
And my betters miscall, I have usd,
|
but with woe I did find,
|
all are not of one minde,
|
Though I oft in some kinde was excusd,
|
yet sometimes I got,
|
a knocke with a pot,
|
When to speake and when not, thus Ime taught,
|
now where ever I come,
|
Ile keepe peace in the roome,
|
Thus true wits never good till tis bought.
|
I used to roare,
|
and to drinke on the score,
|
And I never thought more on the shot
|
come Tapster said I,
|
one tooth still is dry,
|
Then fills (by and by) tother pot,
|
I cald still apace,
|
but within a short space,
|
Into a strong place, was I bought,
|
then for eight houres wast,
|
foure dayes I must fast,
|
Thus true wits never good till tis bought.
|
I once had command,
|
of houses and Land,
|
Thus my case well did stand, among men:
|
but moved with pride,
|
and contention beside,
|
I would wrangle or chide, now and then:
|
if a horse I but found,
|
to leape into my ground,
|
Straight away to the pound, he was brought:
|
now I wish I had still,
|
kept my neighbours good will,
|
But true wits never good till tis bought.
|
This rancor and spleene,
|
my ruine hath beene,
|
As may plainly be seene, by my state:
|
contention in Law,
|
did my purse empty draw,
|
Which I never saw fore til tis too late,
|
upon every slight thing,
|
I my action would bring,
|
But my hands now I wring, with the thought:
|
now I wish I had that,
|
which hath made others flat.
|
But ttue wits never good till tis bought.
|
|
|
|
|
The second part, To the same tune.
|
IN company base,
|
that are voyd of all grace,
|
I came often in place, by meere chance,
|
but being with them,
|
whom alone Ide condemne,
|
Ide in presence esteeme, and advance:
|
but being apart,
|
catechising my heart,
|
It much sorrow & smart hath me brought:
|
then with sad melancholly,
|
I weepe for my folly.
|
Thus wits never good till tis bought.
|
Besides now and then,
|
I have hapned with men,
|
That too cunning have bin, at the catch:
|
And then in my drinke,
|
I with paper and inke,
|
Have made I did thinke, a good match:
|
but after when I,
|
more deliberately,
|
The businesse to try-all had brought,
|
I have foynd my selfe cheated,
|
and basely defeated,
|
Thus wits never good till tis bought.
|
Moreover I have,
|
told my mind to a knave,
|
Thinking him truly grave, truly just:
|
I my heart have exposd,
|
and my secrets disclosd,
|
As a friend I reposed, on his trust:
|
but the Rascall ignoble,
|
his heart being double,
|
Mee much woe and trouble hath wrought
|
but Ive learnd ere since that,
|
to take heed of my chat,
|
Thus true wits never good till tis bought.
|
When I was a Lad,
|
a good service I had,
|
Then my minde was to gadding full bent,
|
though I nothing did lacke,
|
nor for belly nor backe,
|
Yet I was not with that well content,
|
but upon small distaste,
|
my selfe I displast,
|
Thus my downfall in haste then I sought,
|
since I wisht to obtaine,
|
what I oft did disdaine,
|
Thus true wits never good till tis bought.
|
Too willing I was
|
my owne credit to passe,
|
Now I find it alas, to my paine,
|
that with setting my hand,
|
to another mans band,
|
For to sell house and Land, I was faine,
|
I have passed my word,
|
for what others have scord,
|
And I oft like a bird have bin caught,
|
in the prison to stay,
|
where I sung Lachrima,
|
Thus true wits never good till tis bought.
|
If any of those,
|
that are (causelesse) my foes,
|
Should so rashly suppose, in their hearts,
|
that all in this song,
|
to my selfe doth belong,
|
Their conjecture is wrong, for their part,
|
whoever they be,
|
where they something may see,
|
By which every degree, may be taught,
|
what eres thy profession,
|
thou maist learne this lesson,
|
That wits never good till tis hought.
|
|
|
|
|