The Rich FARMERS Ruine
Who Murmured at the Plenty of the Seasons, because h[e]
could not Sell Corn so Dear as his Covetous hear[t]
desired.
To the Tune of, Why are my Eyes still flowing, As it is playd on the Violin. This may be Printed, R.[P]
|
A Wealthy Man a Farmer, who had Corn great store
|
Yet he was Cruel always to the Poor;
|
And as the truth of him does very well appear,
|
He thought he ner sold his Corn too dear;
|
As to the Market one day he did go
|
Finding the Prizes of Corn to be low;
|
Sa[i]d he before I will sell ought of mine,
|
Ile carry it home for to fatten my Swine.
|
In former days, as I can make it well appear,
|
By my own Farm I got hundreds a Year;
|
I sold for Ten the Corn that will not now fetch Five,
|
Is this the way for a Farmer to Thrive?
|
Yet I will now sell no more at this Price,
|
But am resolved to stay for a Rise:
|
Thus he resolved to hoard up his store,
|
That he might then make a Prey of the Poor.
|
Another Farmer likewise then was standing by,
|
Who when he heard him he thus did reply;
|
You have a Farm and likewise Land, which is your ow[n]
|
What cause have you then to make this sad moan?
|
I that have nothing but what I do Rent,
|
With Years of plenty, rejoyce in content:
|
Give him the praise who such plenty does send,
|
Lest when you murmur you highly offend.
|
Said the Miser, what tho I have got House and Lan[d;]
|
Yet I would have you now well understand,
|
I am not free to see the wasting of it all,
|
And after that into Poverty fall:
|
Have we not reason, alas! to Complain,
|
To see the Cheapness of all sorts of Grain?
|
If it continue, as sure as the Sun,
|
I shall be ruind and clearly undone.
|
I, but Neighbour, pray tell me wherefore do you griev[e]
|
Does not a plenty the poor Men relieve?
|
Here do I find, had you your will in selling Grain,
|
Then might the Poor soon have cause to complain:
|
For you are cruel, most harsh and severe,
|
And think you can never sell it too dear:
|
Why, says the other, whats poor Men to me?
|
Ile keep my Corn till one Peck will fetch three.
|
Then home he went, and bitterly he did repine,
|
And in his Substance he soon did decline;
|
For he was soon as Poor as any Man alive,
|
For after this he by no means cou[l]d Thrive:
|
As he was walking one day round his Ground,
|
His House was Robbd of five hundred pound;
|
Yet this was but the beginning of Woe,
|
For in two Years he was brought very low.
|
His Corn did waste, and many of his Cattle dyd,
|
Also great Losses and Crosses beside;
|
Both House and Land through perfect need, at length he sold,
|
Nothing but Ruine he then could behold:
|
Tho all was blasted and clearly decayd,
|
Yet none would pitty him, but thus they said:
|
Seeing the Poor he did thus Circumvent,
|
This is no more then a just Punishment.
|
Like one forlorn and desolate, he then did Roam,
|
Having no Dyet, Apparel, or Home,
|
But his poor Life he ended Lodging in a Barn,
|
From whence all Covetous Farmers may learn,
|
How to give thanks for a Plentiful Year,
|
And not to murmur that Corn is not dear:
|
For those that shall do it most highly offend,
|
Think of this Farmers Unprosperous End.
|
|
|
|
|
|