The Cuckcoo of the Times.
Since Cuckcoo is but what mans born to, certain
The fault's not in the Woman, but his Fortune:
The Cuckoo therefore hopes to please your mind,
And says it comprehends ev'n all Mankind.
To the Tune of, The Wandring Jews Chronicle.
|
TOM Tinkers Wife Joan Ruggles sat,
|
Under a Hedge doing you know what,
|
mark that which doth ensue;
|
A Bird upon an Oaken Spray,
|
It was no Chattering Pye, nor Jay,
|
Sung merrily Cuckoo.
|
I was as Ages will Record,
|
In former times a great Earls Bird,
|
that Lord that could not doo;
|
Who though unfit for Cupids Laws,
|
Was Stallion to the good old Cause,
|
Which makes me sing Cuckoo.
|
Although he could not frisk and Jerk,
|
He got a thousand Bearns o' th Kirk,
|
fine werk that he did brew;
|
Yet he was Cuckold in his Mate,
|
By Bradshaw and Crumwel i' th State,
|
When England Sung Cuckoo.
|
You Buxome Dames of Sanguin breed,
|
That must have Morsels at your need,
|
take heed what e're you doe;
|
whilst youth bewitch you, old ones watch you
|
Beware or they will catch you, catch you,
|
Who hate my Song Cuckoo.
|
|
|
|
|
The Second Part, to the same Tune.
|
The Shop-keeper that trades for gain,
|
And Merchant who doth cross the Main,
|
great wealth he doth persue;
|
The one i' th shop, though something strange
|
The other whilst he's at the Change,
|
May Sing with me Cuckoo.
|
Souldiers of Fortune and Renown,
|
Whose valour does their actions crown,
|
this fate sometimes persue,
|
Phisitians too that live at ease,
|
Can find no cure for this Disease,
|
But Sing with me Cuckoo.
|
Both rich and poor, both high and low,
|
All sorts the Cuckoo's Note do know,
|
Gentry and Commons too,
|
The Country Lad that goes to Plow,
|
May find the Antlers on his Brow,
|
That makes him Sing Cuckoo.
|
Red Letter men they did design
|
Both Church and State to undermine,
|
dam'd Plots they did persue;
|
But thanks to God by happy fate,
|
Themselves blew up, and not the State,
|
They'l Sing with me Cuckoo.
|
Another sort as bad or worse,
|
Gaze in your face and pick your Purse,
|
yet they'l cry Whore first too;
|
On others they would lay the blame,
|
Whilst they are doing of the same,
|
Yet they may Sing Cuckoo.
|
Jove hath his Eagles in the Skies,
|
Juno hath her Peacock deckt with Eyes,
|
gay Toys, give them their due;
|
Venus her Doves, Minerva's Foul,
|
Is the King Harry's Groat-fac'd Owl,
|
And I the poor Cuckoo.
|
Bacchus Canary, old Pan the Lark,
|
Pluto his Ravens that shriek i' th dark,
|
but mark what doth ensue;
|
Of all these Fowls none bears the Bell,
|
For Sprightly Notes like Philomel,
|
And I who Sing Cuckoo.
|
A Lawyer he did throw a Stone,
|
Quoth he, I hate thy Ugly Tone,
|
be gone, and then cry'd Shoo;
|
Thou break'st the City peace, go pack,
|
I'le clap a Warrant on thy back,
|
But still she Sung Cuckoo.
|
Luna they say is Populus,
|
And we a Moon, as they to us,
|
if thus, and it be true,
|
Why should the Court make Citts their scorns,
|
Since all things here below wears Horns,
|
All Nations Sing Cuckoo.
|
Neptune is Horn'd by 'th Delian Knight,
|
Who plays at Put with Amphetrite,
|
each night the Trick they do;
|
Mars Cuckolds Vulcan Mamon Mars,
|
Mony's the Nerv's and Horns of Wars,
|
The Souldier Sings Cuckoo.
|
A brisk young Lady she took pitty,
|
Approving of her merry Ditty,
|
witty and 'twas true;
|
Dwell with me Tell-troth of the Age,
|
I'le keep thee in a Golden Cage,
|
Where thou shalt Sing Cuckoo.
|
|
|
|
|