Alas poore Scholler,
whither wilt thou goe:
OR
Strange altrations which at this time be;
Theres many did thinke they never should see.
To the tune of, Halloo my Fancy, etc.
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IN a melancholly studdy
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None but my selfe,
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Methought my muse grew muddy,
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After seaven yeares reading
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And costly breeding,
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I felt, but could finde no pelfe:
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Into learned raggs
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Ive rent my Plush and Sattin,
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And now am fit to begg
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in Hebrew, Greeke and Lattin,
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Instead of Aristotle,
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would I had got a Patten:
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Alasse poore Scholler whither wilt thou go?
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Cambridge now I must leave thee
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And follow Fate,
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Colledge hopes doe deceive me,
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I oft expected
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To have beene elected,
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But desert is reprobate:
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Masters of Colledges
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have no common graces,
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And they that have Fellowships
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have but common places,
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And those that Schollers are,
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they must have hansome faces:
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Alas poore Scholler whither wilt thou goe?
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I have bowd, I have bended,
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And all in hope,
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One day to be befrended,
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I have Preachd, I have Printed
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What ere I hinted,
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To please our English Pope;
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I worshipt towards the Cast,
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but the Sunne doth now forsake me,
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I finde that I am falling,
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the Northerne winds doe shake me,
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Would I had been upright,
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for bowing now will breake me:
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Alas poore Scholler, whither wilt thou goe?
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At great preferment I aymed
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Witnesse my silke,
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But now my hopes are maimed,
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I looked lately,
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To live most stately,
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And have a Dairy of Bell-ropes milks:
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But now alasse,
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my selfe I must not flatter,
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Begamy of Steeples
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is a laughing matter,
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Each man must have but one,
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and Curates will grow fatter.
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Alas poore Scholler, whither wilt thou goe?
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The second part, to the same Tune.
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INto some Country Village
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Now I must goe,
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Where neither Tith nor Tillage,
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The greedy Patron
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And parched Patron,
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Sweare to the Church they owe:
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Yet if I can preach
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and pray too on a sudden,
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And confute the Pope
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at adventure without studdying,
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Then ten pounds a yeare
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besides a sunday pudding.
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Alas poore Scholler whither wilt thou goe?
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All the Arts I have Skill in,
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Divins and Humane,
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Yet alls not worth a shilling,
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When the women heare me,
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They doe but jeare me,
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And say I am profane:
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Once I remember,
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I Preached with a Weaver,
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I quoated Austine,
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He quoated Dodd and Cliver,
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I nothing got,
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he got a Cloke and Beber.
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Alas poore Scholler whither wilt thou goe?
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Shipps, Shipps, Shipps I discover,
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Crossing the Maine,
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Shall I in and goe over
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Turne Jew or Atheist,
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Turke or Papist,
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To Geneva or Amsterdam:
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Bishoppricks are voyde
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in Scotland, shall I thither,
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Or follow Windebanke
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and Finch to see if either
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Doe want a Preist to shrive them,
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O no tis blustring weather.
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Alas poore Scholler whither wilt thou goe?
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Ho, ho, ho, I have hit it,
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Peace goodman foole,
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Thou hast a trade will fit it,
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Draw thy Indenture,
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Be bound at adventure,
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An Apprentice to a Free-schoole;
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There thou mayst command
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By William Lillies Charter,
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There thou mayst whipp, stripp
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and hang and draw and quarter,
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And commit to the red Rod,
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both Will. and Tom. and Arthur,
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I, I, tis thither, thither will I gee.
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