A True CHARACTER
OF
Sundry Trades & Callings
OR,
A New Ditty of innocent Mirth.
This Song is New, and perfect true,
theres none can this deny;
For I am known, Friend, to be one
that scorns to tell a Lye.
To the Tune of, Old Simon the KING.
This may be Printed, R.P.
|
NOw Gentlemen sit ye all Merry,
|
ile sing you a Song of a Want,
|
Ile make you as merry as may be,
|
though Monies begin to grow scant:
|
A Woman without ere a Tongue,
|
she never can Scold very loud,
|
Tis just such another great Want,
|
when the Fidler wants his Crowd:
|
Good people I tell unto you,
|
these Lines they are absolute New,
|
For I hate and dispise the telling of Lies,
|
this Ditty is merry and true.
|
A Ship thats without ere a Sail,
|
may be driven the Lord knows whither
|
Tis just such another sad want,
|
as the Shooe-maker wants his Leather:
|
A Man that has got but one Legg,
|
will make but a pittiful Runner,
|
And he that has no Eyes in his head,
|
will make but a sorrowful Gunner:
|
Good people I tell unto you,
|
these Lines they are absolute New,
|
For I hate and dispise the telling of Lies,
|
this Ditty is merry and true.
|
|
|
|
|
The second part, to the same Tune.
|
A Doctor without any Stomach,
|
will make but a pittiful Dinner,
|
And he that has got no Victuals to eat,
|
will quickly look thinner and thinner:
|
A Bell without ever a Clapper,
|
will make but a sorrowful sound,
|
And he that has no Land of his own,
|
may work on another Mans Ground:
|
Good people I tell unto you,
|
these lines they are absolute New,
|
For I hate and dispise the telling of Lies,
|
this Ditty is merry and true.
|
A Black-smith without his Bellows,
|
he need not to rise very soon,
|
And he that has no Cloaths to put on,
|
may lye in his Bed till Noon:
|
An Inn-keeper without any Custom,
|
will never get store of Wealth,
|
And if he has ner a Sign to hang up,
|
he may ene go hang up himself:
|
Good people, etc.
|
A Miller without any Stones,
|
he is but a sorrowful Soul,
|
And if that he has no Corn to grind,
|
he need not stand taking of Toll:
|
The Taylor we know he is loath
|
to take any Cabbidge at all,
|
If he has no Silk, Stuff or Cloth,
|
to do that good Office withal:
|
Good people, etc.
|
A Woman without ere a Fault,
|
she like a bright Star will appear,
|
But a Brewer without any Mault,
|
will make but pittiful Beer:
|
A Man that has got but one Shirt,
|
when ere it is washt for his Hide,
|
I hope it cant be no great hurt,
|
to lye in his Bed till tis dryd,
|
Good people, etc.
|
A Mountebank without his Fools,
|
and a Skip-kennel turnd out of place,
|
A Tinker without any Tools,
|
they are all in a sorrowful case:
|
You know that a Dish of good Meat,
|
it is the true stay of Mans Life,
|
But he that has nothing to eat,
|
he need not to draw out his Knife:
|
Good people, etc.
|
A Pedler without ere a Stock,
|
it makes him look pittiful Blew,
|
A Shepherd without ere a Flock,
|
has little or nothing to do:
|
A Farmer without any Corn,
|
he neither can give, sell, or lend,
|
A Hunts-man without ere a Horn,
|
his Wife she must stand his good Friend,
|
Good people, etc.
|
A Plow-man that has ner a Plow,
|
I think he may live at his ease,
|
A Dairy without ere a Cow,
|
will make but bad Butter and Cheese:
|
A Man that is pittiful Poor,
|
has little or nothing to loose,
|
And he that has never a Foot,
|
it saves him the buying of Shooes:
|
Good people, etc.
|
A Warren without ere a Coney,
|
is Barren, and so much the worse,
|
And he that is quite without money,
|
can have no great need of a Purse;
|
I hope there is none in this place,
|
that now is displeasd with this Song:
|
Come buy up my Ballads apace,
|
and ile pack-up my Awls and be gone;
|
Good people I tell unto you,
|
these lines they are absolute New,
|
[F]or I hate and dispise the telling of Lies,
|
this Ditty is merry and true.
|
|
|
|
|