Nick and Froth;
OR,
The Good-fellows Complaint for want of full Measure.
Discovering the Deceits, and Abuses of Victuallers, Tapsters, Ale-Drapers; and all the rest
of the Society of Drunkard-makers: By filling their Drink in False Flaggons, Pimping Tankers,
Cans, calld Ticklers; Rabbits, Jugs, and short Quarterns, To the Grand abuse of the So-
ciety of Good-fellowship.
Good Fellows Drinks their Liquor without flinching;
Then why should Knavish Tapsters use such pinching.
Tune of, Wel Drink this Old Ale no more, no more.
|
ALl you that are Free-men of Ale-Drapers hall
|
And Tapsters where ever you be,
|
Be sure you be ready to come at my call,
|
And your Knavery here you shall see.
|
A knot of Good-fellows we are here inclind,
|
To Challenge you out if you dare,
|
A very sharp Tryal youre like to find,
|
Although it be at your own Bar.
|
Your Cheats and Abuses, we long did abide,
|
But times are so wondrous hard,
|
That Loosers may speak, it cannot be denyd,
|
Of our Measure we have been debatd.
|
But now wel show you a trick (you knaves)
|
And lay you all open to view,
|
Its all for your Froth and your Nick (you slaves)
|
And tell you no more then is true.
|
If in a cold Morning we chance to come,
|
And bid a good Morrow my Host,
|
And call for some Ale, you will bring us black Pots,
|
Yet scarce will afford us a Toast.
|
For those that drink Beer, tis true as ime here
|
Your Counterfeit Flaggons you have,
|
Which holds not a Quart, scarce by a third part,
|
And that makes my Hostis go brave.
|
BUt now pimping Tankerds are all in use
|
Which drains a Mans Pocket in brief:
|
For he that sits close, and takes of his Dose,
|
Will Find that the Tankerds a Thief.
|
Beet Tankerd or Flaggon, which of them you brag on,
|
Wel trust you to Nick and to Froth;
|
Before we can Drink, be sure it will shrink,
|
Far worser then North Country Cloth.
|
When Summer is coming, then hey brave boys,
|
The tickling Cans they run round.
|
Pray takt in good part, for a Winchester
|
Will fill six, I dare lay you a Pound.
|
Your Rabbits & Jugs, & Coffee-house Mugs
|
Are ready when ere you do call,
|
A P____ take his Trade, such Measures that made,
|
I wish that Old Nick had them all.
|
When we have a Fancy our Noses to Steel,
|
And call for some Nance of the best,
|
Be sure the short Pot, must fall to our lot,
|
For now they are all in request.
|
Scarce one House in twenty, where measure is plenty,
|
But still they are all for the Pinch;
|
Thus every day, they drive customs away,
|
And force us good Fellows to flinch.
|
Sometimes a man may, leave somthing to pay
|
Though seldom he did it before:
|
With Marlborough Cholke, you his patience provoke
|
When ever he clears off his score.
|
The women likewise, which are not precise,
|
But will take a Cup of the best,
|
Tho they drink for pleasure, theyl have their measure
|
Or else you shall have little rest.
|
Theres Billings-gate Nan, & all her whole gang
|
Complaining for want of their due:
|
True Topers they are, as ere scord at Bar,
|
For theyl drink till their Noses look blew.
|
A Pot and a Toast, will make them to boast,
|
Of things that are out of their reach:
|
So long as a Groat, remains in the Coat,
|
They over good Liquor will Preach.
|
In Shoo-makers Row, theres true hearts you know
|
But give them their Measure and weight,
|
Theyl scorn for to stir, but stick like a Bur,
|
And Tope it from Morning till Night.
|
Then theres honest Smug that with a full jug
|
Will set all his Brains on a float:
|
But you are such Sots, to fill him small Pots
|
Will scarce quench that spark in his Throat.
|
With many such Blades of several Trades
|
Which freely their Money will spend;
|
But fill them good drink, they value not chink
|
Where ever they meet with a Friend.
|
Most Trades in the Nation gives their approbation
|
How that you are much for to blame:
|
Then make no excuses, but cease your abuses
|
And fill up your Measure for shame.
|
|
|
|
|
|