POVERTIES Coat turn'd by a Taylor in Hamilton
To the Tune of Poultrane Poverty
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IT's now high time, good Sir, to let you see,
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What mischiefs I've sustain'd by povertie,
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Because you're now, your self within his danger,
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Being Hei to one, to whom he was no stranger:
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I mean you now sit in Mr. Thomas Seat,
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I pray kind Heav'n defend you from his Fate:
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For why, if his Malignant Stars you follow,
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You'l still be poor, but never a good Fellow.
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NEver was Creature plagued so,
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As I am with a ragged Knave:
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That follows me where e're I go:
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And will, I fear unto my Grave.
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Curst Poverty that Tattered Rogue,
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Haunts me like a Revengeful Ghost:
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Throu' Moor, throu' Dale, throu' Moss, throu' Bog,
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Through Inland and Maritim Coast.
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I could escape the Rav'nous Claws
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Or Messengers and all their Bands:
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I fear not much their Horns nor Laws,
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Nor their Inchaunted Silver Wands.
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Indemnity in Ten Days, time
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Made me from these fierce Harpies free.
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But never give a moments safe,
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From my ill Genius Povertie.
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First time I saw his Graceless Face,
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Was in the Fourscore sixteen year:
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The Swinger gave me first the Chase,
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When Meall and Malt and all grew dear.
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'Twas then the use of Physick ceas'd,
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Men need not purge to get a Stomack:
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For Langkail was a dainty feast,
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The chief of all our Chear was Dramock,
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We seldom then paid Drunken Groats,
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Our Purse was wiser than our Heads,
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Instead of Barly, Peas and Groats;
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Our pots was fill'd with Bishop weeds:
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In that ill time I keept an Innes,
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Which ever since I have Repented:
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Then was I broke both Head and Shinnes,
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And ne're again could be Cemented.
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For Malt was then both Dear and ill,
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Excise was double, that was worse:
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Lord Archibald's Souldiers drank my Ale,
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And for it paid me ne're a Corse.
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These Left Hand Chances brought that Tyke,
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Who boldly Swore that he would be
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My Comm'rade and do what I like,
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He ay since keeps me Companie.
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Pox on his Snaking Snout, I think
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He'll drive me clean out of my Witts:
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I ne're can take my morning Drink,
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But down he at my Elbow Sits.
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Yet I on various methods thought,
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To free me from this Skellyton Fellow:
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But wit in a poor Noddle's nought,
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My Purse could not my projects follow.
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I try'd my Friends, but all in vain,
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From them I nought could get but Words
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Their Counsel could not ease my pain,
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My Foe car'd not for such blunt Swords.
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Then with the little Stock I had.
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I try'd my luck at Cards and Dice,
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Fortune like a Treacherous Jade,
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First led, then left me on the Ice.
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To Diligence I then apply'd,
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And Laboured both Night and Day:
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Hoping that way to find Remeed,
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Against my sore Plague Poverty.
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But all in vain, a Tailors Wage,
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Is but a simple groat a Day,
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Which to Consume, my craving Page,
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Each Moment found a ready way
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Each Peck of Meall was Twenty Shilling,
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Judge then if I could well maintain,
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Altho I had been ne'er so willing,
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A Wife and three young Bairns at Hame.
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I know some reasonless Misers say,
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If rightly us'd it is eneugh:
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But let them Bable till they Dy,
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A Groat a day's but a poor Pleugh.
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Sweet Hony from a nest of Wasps,
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We may as well expect to see:
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Or Nectar in the Mouth of Asps,
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As such a wage cure Povertie.
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I therefore to the Muses fled,
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And Justice of them did desire:
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'Gainst this Tyrannous Rennegade,
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That Puddles me so in the Myre.
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But they reply'd, when we were Young
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By Kings and Princes we were woo'd:
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But now we are with Censures stung,
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And lookt upon as Dotryfi'd.
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Some call us idle Gleckit Queans,
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Some say the hight will Crack our Brains
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Craft Reapes the Harvest, Wit but Gleans
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Contempt is all the Muses gains.
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Well ken I what they said was true,
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Yet their sweet Charms did so engage
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Me, that with them, I oft withdrew,
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When no Man knew but my Curst Page.
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Had he been absent, I with them,
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Could have remain'd until my Death:
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And this Fantastick World Contemn,
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And all the bitter Sweets it hath.
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Yet Scotlands brave Marcellus came,
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From England to his Native place:
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And there Proclaim'd our Royal ANN,
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With great Solemnity and Grace.
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Whereon I drew some Rural Rymes,
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Which he most Nobly did Reward;
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And with the Image of King James,
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He beat this Rebels side so hard,
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That presently from me he flies,
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As swift as Clouds before the Sun:
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Golds Brightness dim'd this Night owles eyes
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And made him take his Heels and run.
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And while I keept this potent Charm,
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From all his Witch-crafts I was free:
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But he still bent to do me harm;
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Found means to twine my Shield and me.
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Altho' himself durst not appear,
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Yet to my Creditors did go;
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Who 'mongst them did my Armour share,
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And left me Naked to his Bloe:
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Who took th' Andvantage like a Coward,
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And bad me either Yield or Dy:
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What can't be cur'd, must be endur'd,
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For I could neither Fight nor Fly.
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Yet Generous Ernock one Day spy'd,
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This Tyrant beat me Back and side:
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Base Coward; look on a Man, he cry'd,
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Then with his Birky swing'd his side:
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At him he let two Lyons Loose,
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Which in a Trace did him surround:
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And gript him by the Throat so close,
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That down he fell into a Sound.
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He's Worried Dead, then did I think,
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Therefore some Comerads did invite:
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We Blythly did his Dregy Drink.
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But ah! or e'er I wist, his Sp'rite
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With Ghostly looks star'd in my Face,
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And swore that it would be my Curse.
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Go where I will, it doth me me chase
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And nev'r a plack leaves in my purse.
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Yet, then brave Mr. Crawfoord thought
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Upon a way this ill to cure:
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And he a Reverend Bishop brought,
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Who did ihis evil Sp'rit Conjure.
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At whose Command it Disappear'd.
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And if that Reverend Bald-pate might
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With me have stay'd, he had Conjur'd
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Him to have ta'en his farewell Flight:
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But Church-Men, tho' they always Preach
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Up Charity unto the poor,
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Love better to take from the Rich,
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Than Men of Poverty to Cure.
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So this proud Prelate would not stay,
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Because I could not pay his Teind.
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Against my Will he went his way,
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And left me Strugling with the Feind:
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'Gainst whom I have no Weapons now,
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Wherewith that I may with him Cope,
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But to a Steep-hill, a Bold Brow,
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And to chear up my Heart I'le hope,
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Could I above the Water once,
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Get up my head, then would I fight,
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I'd Beat this Gobline from his Sconce,
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And make him take his last Good Night.
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