The Weaver turn'd Devil:
OR, A
New Copy of VERSES,
ON A
Baker in Spitle-Fields, who was Frighted by a
Weaver in the shape of a Devil.
Shewing how the Baker went to Arest the Weaver, for some
Mony which he owed him for Bread.
To the Tune of, the Royal Forester
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YOU Bakers of England both Country and Citty,
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Come listen a while now unto this new ditty;
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For it's one of your own Brother trade,
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Was mumpt by a Spittle-Weaver tis said.
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This Weaver being poor and his charge being great:
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He had much ado to get bread for to eat;
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There was a rich Baker, who lived the next door,
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Who hapned to let him run into his Score.
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This Baker was rich yet was greedy for more,
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Extorting two pence in each Peck of the Score;
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And by this ill means got great store of pelf,
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Not careing who Starved so he throve himself.
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This poor Weaver full forty Shillings had run,
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And for then to grumble the Baker begun,
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Telling of him then that he would trust no more;
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Excpt he would reckon and pay his old Score.
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It being at a time when that Trading was dead,
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Alas quoth ths Weaver you cannot be pay[']d,
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Until better times and our trading does mend,
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If so long you'l stay I will count you my friend.
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With that then th' Baker begun for to storm,
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Dost thou think that this now will pay for my Corn;
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And likewise for grinding and boulting it too,
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No, no Mr. Weaver this never will do.
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My Mony I'll have now without more delay;
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But one bare Week longer I mean for to stay,
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And if in that time thou dost not it me bring,
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thy bones in a Goal I will certanly fling.
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the Weaver went home with a sorrowful heart,
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And unto his Wife then his grief did impart,
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telling of her then what the Baker had said,
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Crying he will ruine us I am afraid.
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Now when the whole Story his Wife she had heard,
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She went to the Baker being likewise afraid,
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Intreating of him to have patience to stay,
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And when the times mended she surely would pay.
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the Baker reply'd its in vain for to talk,
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For if on next Munday your Husband does baulk,
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And does not the Mony to me tender down,
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I'll certainly Rest him by Tuesday at noon.
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this poor Woman went with a great deal of care,
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Her sorrows being more then she knew how to bear,
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And try'd all the friends that ever she could make,
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to see if some part of it down he would take.
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ten Shillings before Munday she had raised,
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Her Husband being thankful the heavens he praised,
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And then to the Baker with a joyful Heart,
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He went and desir'd him to take that in part.
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the Baker with a frown wish'd that he might never thrive
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And likewise the Devil might fetch him alive,
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If he did not pay him it all that same night,
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He'd rest him next morning before it was light.
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the Weaver went home his Wife ask'd what news,
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the Mony I carried he did it refuse,
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And swears if he has it not all this same night,
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H'le Rest me in the morning as soon as tis light.
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So therefore the Mony I pray do you take,
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For I my own home for a while will forsake,
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Untill I have raised him the full and whole summ,
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And then to my Family home I will come.
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FINIS.
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