THE
Valiant Weaver:
Or, The London Prentices most Sad and Dreadful Com-
plaint against the French, by reason they under-rate their
Works: To which is added the Shooemakers, Glovers,
Taylors, and Hatmakers Complaint.
To the Tune of, A Fig for France and Holland too.
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YOu Weavers all I pray give ear,
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A Story true I will declare,
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Our Masters they do much repine,
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Saying the French them undermine,
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And gets their Trade away from them,
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Are not our English silly men,
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For to employ, or stand in fear,
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Or be afraid of proud Monsieur.
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Our Weaving Trade is grown so dead,
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We scarcely can get us Bread,
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Our hungry Bellies for to fill,
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Because the French are grown so ill,
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In selling their work at an under price,
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Which makes the tears run from our Eyes.
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And Weavers all may curse their fates,
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Because the French work under-rates.
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Have we not cause for to complain,
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To serve seven years and all in vain,
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Because of these false-hearted men,
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I wish they were at France agen,
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By reason our work we cannot sell,
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By them we are ruin'd, 'tis known full well.
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And Weavers all may curse their fates,
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Because the French work under-rates.
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Shooemakers they Monsieur may curse,
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They say their Trade is grown the worse,
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Glovers and Taylors, all in vain,
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Against Monsieur they sore complain,
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But they at last I hope may find
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The English to them be unkind.
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You Tradesmen all, etc.
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The English them they do employ,
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Their own Natives they much annoy,
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I think they are then silly men,
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For to concern with them agen,
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Since that they know they are not friends,
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But only for their self-ends.
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You Tradesmen all, etc.
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They that have a charge to keep,
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Have nothing to do but only sleep,
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Because Monsieur hath got the Trade,
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They'll ruine us we are half afraid.
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Come let us cast all sorrow away,
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We hope to see some better days.
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I charge you all ne're stand in fear,
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Nor be afraid of proud Monsieur.
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Now to conclude, I'll make an end,
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Hoping all these times will mend,
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In the mean time your business mind,
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And to yourselves be sure be kind;
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And never more then curse your fates,
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Then for your works keep up your rates.
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I charge you all ne're stand in fear,
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Nor be afraid of proud Monsieur.
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