Poor ROBINs DREAM:
Commonly called
POOR CHARITY.
Tune The New Pack of Cards.
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HOW now! good Fellow, what all amort?
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I prithee tell me what is the news?
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Trading is dead, and Im sorry fort.
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Which makes me look worse than I use.
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If a Man has no Employment whereby to get a Penny,
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He has no Enjoyment, if that he wanteth Money,
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And Charity is not usd by any.
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I have nothing to spend, nor Ive nothing to lend,
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Having nothing to do, I tarried ar home,
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Sitting in my Chair. I drew near to the Fire,
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Where I fell asleep like an idle Drone.
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And as I slept, I fell into a Dream,
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I saw a Play acted without eer a Theme,
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But I could not tell what the Play did mean.
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But afterwards I did plainly perceive,
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And something more I did understand;
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The Stage was the World wherein we live,
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And the Actors were all Mankind.
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And when the Plays ended, the Stage down they fling.
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There will be no Difference in this Thing
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Between a Beggar and a King.
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The first that acted I do protest
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Was Time with a Glass and a Scythe in his Hand,
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With the Globe of the World upon his Breast,
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To shew how the same he could command.
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Theres a Time for to work, and a Time for to play,
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A Time for to borrow, and a Time for to pay,
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And a Time that will call us all away.
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Conscience in Order first takes Place,
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And very gallantly plays his Part:
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He fears not to fly in a Rulers Face,
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Although it cuts him to the Heart:
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He tell them all, that this is the latter Age,
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Which put the Actors into such a Rage,
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That they kickd poor Conscience off the Stage.
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Plain-Dealing presently appears,
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In Habit like to a simple Man.
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The Actors at him did mock and jeer;
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Pointing their Fingers as they ran.
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How came this Fellow into our Company?
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Away with him, many a gallant did cry,
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For Plain-Dealing will a Beggar die.
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Dissimulation mounted the Stage,
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But he was cloathed in gallant Attire.
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He was acquainted with Youth and Age;
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Many his Company did desire:
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And they entertaind him in their very Breast,
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For there he could have Harbour, and quietly rest,
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Since Dissemblers and Turn-Coats fare the best.
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Then cometh in poor Charity:
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Methought she looked very old.
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She quiverd and quakd most piteously.
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It grievd me to think she lookd so cold.
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She had been in the City, and in the Country,
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Amongst the Lawyers, and the Nobility,
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But there was no Room for poor Charity.
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Then comes in Truth, not cloathed in Wool,
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But like unto a Youth in his Lawn Sleeves.
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And said the Land it it full, full, full,
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Too full of Rebels, worse than Thieves.
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The Citys full of Poverty, the Country full of Pride.
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Fanaticks full of Envy, who Order cant abide,
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And the Usurers Bags are full beside.
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Hark! how Bellonas Drums they do beat,
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Methinks they go rattling through the Town.
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Hark! how they thunder through the Street,
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As though theyd shake the Chimnies down.
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Then came in Mars, the great God of War.
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Ahd bid us Face about, and be as we were.
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But when I awoke, I sat in my Chair.
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