An excellent Medley,
Which you may admire at (without offence)
For every line speakes a contrary sence.
The Tune is, Tarletons Medley.
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IN Summer time when folks make Hay,
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All is not true that people say,
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The Fools the wisest in the Play,
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tush take away your hand.
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The Fidlers boy hath broke his Base,
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Sirs is it not a pitteous case,
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Most gallants loath to smell the Mace,
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of Woodstreet.
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The City followes courtly pride,
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Jone sweares she cannot John abide,
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Dicke weares a Dagger by his side,
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come tell us whats to pay.
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The Lawyers thrives by others fall,
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The weakest alwayes goes to th wall,
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The Shoomaker commandeth all
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ats pleasure.
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The Weaver prayes for Huswives store,
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A pretty woman was Jane Shore,
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Kicke the base Rascall out o th doore,
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peace, peace, you brawling curres.
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A Couckolds band weares out behind,
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Tis easie to beguild the blind,
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All people are not of one mind,
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hold Carman.
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Our women cut their haire like men,
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The Cocks ore-mastred by the Hen.
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Theres hardly one good friend in ten,
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turne there on the right hand:
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But few regard the cryes oth poore,
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Will spendeth all upon a whore,
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The Souldier longeth to go ore,
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brave knocking.
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What shall we doe in these sad dayes?
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Will not the wicked mend their wayes,
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Some loose their lives in drunken frayes,
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the pudding burnes to th pot:
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The Cooper sayes the Tubs be pist,
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The Cobler preaches what he list,
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Their knavery now is manifest,
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hold halter.
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When the fifth Henry saild to France,
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Let me alone for a Country dance,
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Nell doth bewaile her lucklesse chance,
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fie on false hearted men:
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Dicke Tarleton was a merry wagge,
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Harke how that prating Asse doth bragge.
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John Dorv sold his ambling Nagge,
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for Kick-shawes.
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The Saylor counts the Ship his house,
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Ile say no more but Duns the Mouse,
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He is no man that scornes a Louse,
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vaine pride undoes the Land:
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Hard-hearted men makes Corne so deare,
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Few French-men love well English Beere
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I hope ere long good newes to heare,
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hey Lustick,
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Now Hides are cheape, the Tanner thrives,
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Hang those base knaves that beat their wives
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He needs must go whom the Devill drives,
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God blesse us from a Gun:
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The Beades make the lame to runne,
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Vaunt not before the battels wonne,
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A Cloud sometimes may hide the sunne,
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chance medley.
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The second part, To the same Tune.
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THe Surgeon thrives by fencing schooles,
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Some for strong liquor pawn their tooles,
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For one wise man theres twenty fooles,
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oh when shall we be married?
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In time of youth when I was wilde,
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Who toucheth pitch shall be defild,
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Mol is afraid that shes with child,
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peace Peter.
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The poore still hopes for better dayes,
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I doe not love these long delayes,
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All love and charity decayes,
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in the dayes of old:
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Ime very loath to pawn my cloak,
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Meere poverty doth me provoke,
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They say a scald head is soon broke,
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poore trading.
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Harke, mother harke, theres newes in town,
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What tell you me of halfe a Crowne,
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Now the Excise is going downe,
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thou pratest like an Asse:
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I scorne the coyne give me the man,
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Pray pledge the health Sir, I began,
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I love King Charles say what you can,
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God save him.
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The Dutch-men thrive by Sea and Land,
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Women are Ships and must be mand,
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Lets bravely to our colours stand,
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Courage my hearts of Gold:
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I read in modern Histories,
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The King of Swedens victories,
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At Islington theres Pudding Pyes,
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hot Custards.
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The Tapster is undon by Chalk,
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Tush tis in vaine to prate and talke,
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The Parrat prattles, walke knaves, walke
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Duke Humphery lies in Paules:
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The souldiers hath but small regard;
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Theres weekly newes in Pauls-Church Yard,
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The poore man cries the world grows hard,
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cold winter.
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Heigh for New-England, hoyse upsaile,
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The truth is strong and will prevaile,
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Fill me a cup of nappy Ale,
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hang care, the Kings a comming,
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This Egge hath long a hatching bin,
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When you have done then weell begin,
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Oh what an age do we live in.
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hang pinching.
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From Long-lane cloath, & Turn-stile boots,
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O fie upon these scabbed Cootes,
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The cheapest meat is Reddish roots,
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come, all for a penny:
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Light my Tobacco quickly here,
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There lies a pretty woman neere,
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This Boy will come to naught I feare,
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proud Coxcombe.
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The world is full of odious sins,
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Tis ten to one but this Horse wins,
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Fools set stools to break wise mens shins,
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This mans more knave then foole,
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Jane oft in private meets with Tom,
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Husband thou art kindly welcome home,
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Hast any money? lend me some,
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Ime broken.
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In ancient times all things were cheap,
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Tis good to look before you leap,
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When Corn is ripe, tis time to reap,
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once waiking by the way.
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A jealous man the Cuckow loathes,
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The Gallant complements with Oathes.
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A wench will make you sell your cloathes,
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runne Broker.
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The Courtiers and the Countryman,
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Lets live as honest as we can,
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When Arthur first in Court began,
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his men wore hanging sleeves.
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In May when Grasse and Flowers green,
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The strangest sight that ere was seen,
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God send our graciou Kings and Queen
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to London.
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