The Tradesmans Complaint
Upon the Hardness of the Times, Deadness of Trade,
and scarcity of Money.
Wherein he sighs and makes great moan,
How trading is (almost) fled and gone:He intreats all men in each degree,
For help in this his want and misery.
To the Tune of, In Summer time, etc. Or, Phancies Phoenix.
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OH where are now these golden times
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When gold was counted needless things?
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None loved his Neighbour for a self end,
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But once and always stood his friend:But now through want times altered are,
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Each in himself a man of War:
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Trading being dead and Money scant,
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Is the subject of this sad Complaint.
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The time has been, that in this Land,
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A mans word was as good as his Band:
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The time is now as you may see,
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New Faith hath killd Old Honesty:
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There is so much hatred one toth other,
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That there is none that loves his brother:
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Oh all good Men of each degree,
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Learn to live in Love and Unity.
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The time has been in this City round,
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A man might in a morning take a pound:
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The time is now, though ins shop he stay,
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Yet scarce takes twelve pence all the day:
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Tradings so dead, and money scant,
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Is subject of this sad complaint:
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Oh all good men of each degree,
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Redress our Countries misery.
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The times have been what tradesmen gaind,
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Hath decently their Charge maintaind;
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The time is now through trades decay,
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In street they beg, oh welladay!
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Trading is so dead, and money scant,
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Is subject of this sad Complaint:
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Oh all good men of each degree,
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Help to redress our misery.
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THe time has been each Rich Mans door,
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Was seldom shut against the poor;
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The time is now, some wives go fine,
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They care not though the begger pine:
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Trading being dead makes times so hard,
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Poor people cry without regard:
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Oh all good men of each degree,
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Help to regard our misery.
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In elder times it was indeed,
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The Rich would help the poor mans need:
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The time is now, so themselves be servd,
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They care not if poor people be starvd:
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Trading being dead, makes times so hard,
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The Rich the Poor do not regard:
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Oh all good men of each degree,
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Help to redress our misery.
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For dearth of trade all men complain,
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How can poor men their Charge maintain?
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Hardness of times makes many rue,
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How can we give Ceasar his due:
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Moneys so scant through trades decay,
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Which makes poor tradesmen sigh and say;
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Oh all good men of each degree,
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Help to release our misery.
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The Courtier he complains for gold;
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To whom the tradesmen wares hath sold,
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And having run so on his score,
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Hes forced alas to shut up door:
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times being so hard through trades decay,
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It makes poor tradesmen sign and say;
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Oh all good Men of each degree,
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Help us in our necessity.
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The poor Country-Man he doth complain,
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Of the loss of his Cattle and Grain,
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Rents being so dear, and Money scant,
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Makes him mourn forth this sad complaint:
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Which makes him sigh and make great moan,
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Whose grief would melt a heart of stone:
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Oh all good men of each degree,
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Help, help, us in our poverty.
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That trade may fleurish here again,
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That plenty may amongst us raign,
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That great mens charity may show,
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And pay poor men what they do owe:It is my prayer, and let all men,
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To this Petition, say, Amen:
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Oh all good men of each degree,
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Learn to live in Love and Unity.
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