Poor Robins Dream, commonly calld, Poor Charity.
I know no reason but this harmless Riddle,
May as well be Printed as Sung to a Fiddle.
To a compleat Tune, known by Musicians and many others, or, Game at Cards.
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HOw now good fellow, what all a mort:
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I pray thee tell me what is the news?
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Trading is dead, and I am sorry fort.
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which makes me look worse than I use;
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If a man hath no employment whereby to get a penny
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He hath no enjoyment if that he wanteth mony,
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And charity is not used by many.
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I have nothing to spend nor ive nothing to lend,
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ive nothing to do, I tarry at home,
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Sitting in my chair, drawing near to the fire,
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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 ere a theam,
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But I could not tell what the Play did mean.
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Yet afterwards I did perceive,
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and something more did understand,
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The Stage was the world wherein we live,
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the Actors they were all man kinde,
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When the Play is ended, the Stage down theyl fling
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Then 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 protest,
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was Time with a Glass and a Sithe in his hand
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The Globe of the world upon his breast,
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to shew he could the same command,
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Thers 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 calls us all away.
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COnscience in order takes his place
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and very gallantly plaies his part,
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He fears not to flye in a Rulers face
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although it cuts him to the heart,
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He told them all this is the latter age,
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Which put the Actors into such a Rage,
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That they kickt poor Conscience from the stage.
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Plain dealing presently appears
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in habit like a simple man,
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The Actors at him mocks and jeers
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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 dye.
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Dissimulation mounted the Stage,
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but he was cloathed in galiant 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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They did entertain him in their very breast,
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There he could have harbour and quietly rest,
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For dissemblers and turn-coats fares the best.
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Then cometh in poor Charity,
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methinks she looked wondrous old.
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She quiverd and quakt most pitteously,
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it grievd me to think she was grown so cold,
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She had been ith City and in the Country,
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Likewise 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 youth in his white Lawn sleeves
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He saies the Land is full, full, full,
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too full of Rebells worse than theeves,
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The Citys full of poverty, the French are full of pride
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Phanaticks full of envy, that order cant abide,
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And the Usurers bags are full beside.
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Hark how Bellonias drums do beat,
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methinks it goes ratling through the town,
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Hark how it thunders through the street
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as if it would shake the Chimneys down,
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Then comes in Mars the great God of war
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And bids us face about, and be as we were,
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And when I awakt I sate in my Chair.
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