THE MEAL MONGERS GARLAND
Containing two excellent new SONGS
Part 1st. The Meal Mongers intreagues and Resolutions. Part: 2d, The Buyers Answer,
To the Tune of, The Meal was dear short-sine.
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COme Willie I'll tell you the News
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and they are very good,
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The Frost has hindred the plows
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And all the Poor wants Food,
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How mickle Meal hae ye?
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And where will ye gang we'd?
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We will not yet supplie,
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Till they be almost Dead,
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Will ye be rul'd by me,
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And I will lead the way,
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And we will send to see,
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On every Merkat day.
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What rates each Market bears,
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For fear the Price should fall
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And the Markets we will forestall.
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In every Market Town,
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Our orderly Man shall stand
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And raise the peck to a Crown,
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So we'll get all free Land,
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With Masks and Fans and Gloves,
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Our Daughters shall be bra,
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Our Lads shall Court their Loves
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With Whips and Spurs and a.
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In Heads so finely drest
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With Ribbons our Wives shall flee,
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And we among the rest
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Will Swagger like who but we.
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We'll a buy famous Hatts
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With boots and spurs and Wigg
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Housings and Hulster caps,
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O wooe but we'll look bigg.
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And we'll hae pistols too
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In ye'll believe my Word,
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Then what will the Countrey do
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When each of us get's a Sword
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And each a box of Snuff
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The best and not the worst,
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O then! how we will huff!
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We'll a be finely Horst.
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The best Cloath can be had
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We'll all buy for our Cloaths,
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Then all that can be said
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There rides the Oatmeal beaus
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And we'll buy lusty purses
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To hold our ill gotten gain,
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And a Bag for to hold all the Curses
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And then we will swagger amain..
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What dill man art thou mad?
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Or have you lost your sence?
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Where's all the wit ye had?
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Ye'd better hoord up your pence:
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For this time will not hold
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The price o' the meil will fall,
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Alas! it is no jeast,
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Ah, that's the Devil and all.
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Make Porrige and Sowens but thin,
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And tell the lads this Year,
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The eating of much, is a Sin,
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For Corn and meal is dear,
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Tell them that many Poor Men
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Eat Herbs and drink clear Water
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Sav't from the Servants if ye can
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But the poor shall be little better.
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We'll a hord up the meil
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As long as ever we can
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What ever we have conceal'd
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Confess it to never a Man,
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Till all of them Cringe and bow
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And cry dear Sir we want
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A bushel of meil for a Cow,
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O then! brave Boys we'll rant.
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Take care my dearest honey
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Take care of money ill gotten.
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Pish, Woman, if I get the Money
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I value not Conscience a Butten;
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Let all the poor folk Curse
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And all the Curses fall,
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If I get a pondrous purse,
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I care not a fig for them all.
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I'll raise my family,
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And none shall me controul,
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And when I come to Die,
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If I have lost my Soul,
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For giving so little a Peck,
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And taking so mickle gain,
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I'll tie my self into my sack
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And in Hell it will keep out the Flames.
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The Second PART
Containing the Buyers Answer,
To the Tune of, Death and the Lady.
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FIre Brands of Satan are you then resolv'd
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To live and die where you are now involv'd
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Under the Curse of him that is most high,
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Who hears the poor when they to him do cry.
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Think you your Sack shall keep away his wrath
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Or yet your Money when you yield your Breath:
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And will you give your Souls eternally,
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For Earthly rotten wasting Vanity?
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What is your Gold you by Extortion get,
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Or what your Silver, will it make you great?
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Goods by extortion got will soon decrease
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And blast at once all that you do possess.
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Cursed are ye who do the Corn withhold,
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And blest is he that Corn and Meal hath sold,
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To serve the poor with righteous lawful gain,
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His Substance shall with him and his remain.
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But ye that hord up meal till it be rotten,
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And buries it where it must be forgotten
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When it's in crawling Worms and red and blew,
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Heavens direful Curse will surely fall on you.
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Wretch can thou hear thy brother cry (I want)
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And thou have plenty and the poor man scant?
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And wilt thou take his Coat and Shirt away,
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For as much food as saves his life one day?
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Sure if thou dost, thou'st made a league with Hell
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And hast struck hands with Belzebub to dwell,
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This is thy fate, thou can't expect another,
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That sets thy self to starve thy Christian Brother.
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Thou cannot eat thy own food with content,
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And what thy Servants gets thou thinks ill spent
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If thou could get thy barn fil'd full of Oar,
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For one small peck of Meal thou would have more.
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Ask all men in the Earth if they can tell
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Of one that e'er grew rich with selling Meal,
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I mean a Man that took unlawful gains
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And if his Riches with his Seed remains.
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The wealthy Glutton would not Lazarus feed,
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But let him starve and die for want of Bread.
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And yet the Glutton dies as well as he
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And is convey'd to endless misery.
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Whilst Richer Lazarus Alleluja's sings
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In Ab'rams bosom to the King of Kings,
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Think on this man, all ye that starve the poor,
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The Gluttons Portion's yours ye may be sure.
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Ye that the needy do for Silver Sell,
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And for a pair of shoes the Poor, (mark well)
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That make the Epha small the Shekel great
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And sell the base refuse of all your Wheat.
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We fear you not, keep't as closs up's ye can
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We'll trust to heaven, we're sure he can command
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Food for to fall where Corn never grew.
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And we can live by Faith, so cannot you.
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For we believe and we are sure 'tis true,
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We'll have a seed time and a harvest too
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Then be ye sure the price of meal will fall
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And that will strick you to the very gall.
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So then the day that's yours he'll quickly turn
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When we shall laugh, then ye shall howl and mourn
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For he that set you up on hie will then,
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turn o'er the scale and cast you down again.
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And after that thou never more shall rise
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For all the Devil and thou can e'er devise,
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This day is posting, it is past thy noon
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Thou shalt be cropt and lobt and so cut down.
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Ye base Extortioners think how ye'll dwell,
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In burning flames in everlasting Hell,
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Take warning then, and feed the poor at last
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And heaven perhaps will pardon what is past.
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