The Naked-Truth;
OR, A
New Song without a Lye
Tune of, Old Simon the King: Or, The Character of sundry Trades and Callings.
|
THo' Trading we find in the City,
|
and many more places, is bad,
|
Yet here I will sing a fine Ditty,
|
we'd as good be merry as sad:
|
Of several Trades I will treat,
|
and will with the Butcher begin,
|
With what kind of Trade shall he meet,
|
if he has neither Carcass nor Skin?
|
All you that are now in this Throng,
|
I reckon to do you no wrong,
|
Believe me, I pray, by yea and by nay,
|
there is not a lye in this Song.
|
A Weaver without Loom or Shuttle,
|
like one out of use, may lye by,
|
A Tinker without any Mettal,
|
no woman will ever imploy:
|
A Cobler without St. Hughs bones,
|
he cannot mend Old, or make New,
|
A Pavier without any Stones.
|
Oh, what is he able to do?
|
All you that are now in this Throng, etc.
|
A Man that is quite Moneyless,
|
thro' Crowds he in safety may pass,
|
A Cook that hath no meet to Dress,
|
he need not stand making of Sawce.
|
A Taylor without e're a Yard,
|
his bodkin, goose, thimble and sheers,
|
You'll find that he is as much Marr'd,
|
as if he had lost both his Ears:
|
All you that are now, etc.
|
A Fisher-man without a Net,
|
you know he can catch but a few,
|
But yet his good wife she will fret,
|
whenever she wants of her due:
|
The jolly brisk Baker is one,
|
to whom the young Lasses do troule,
|
So that he is clearly undone,
|
if he has not a Rusling-Pole:
|
All you that are now, etc.
|
The Millers for taking to task
|
the Mistress or Gillian the Maid,
|
The Cooper without Hoops or Cask,
|
he cannot well follow his Trade:
|
The Poet without e're a Muse,
|
can never make Sonnets compleat,
|
A Foot-man without Pumps or Shoes,
|
will certainly blister his feet:
|
All you that are now, etc.
|
A Scrivener without Ink or Pen,
|
his bonds and his Letters can't write,
|
A Captain that lost all his men,
|
will have but small stomach to fight:
|
The man that shall marry for Gold,
|
and brings home a Shrew to his bed,
|
Both Morning, Noon, Night she will scold,
|
and still have a Noise in her head,
|
All you that are now, etc.
|
The Chimney-Sweeper pray don't scoff,
|
for if he hath Shackles and Poles,
|
He'll call to the Maids each morn,
|
to scoure and cleanse their black holes:
|
That man that is naked indeed,
|
he is not like Taylors, and those,
|
For tho' he has ne're so much need,
|
he is not for pawning his Cloaths:
|
All you that are now, etc.
|
A Gallant that has a good Coat,
|
help him out at a dead lift,
|
A Sculler that has ne'r a boat,
|
he fears not Running a Drift;
|
Some Sharpers a Calling does use,
|
Robbing Rich Men of their store,
|
But he that has nothing to loose,
|
he needs not a watch at his door.
|
All you that are now, etc.
|
I ne'r was brought up for to Lye,
|
and therefore I tell you the truth,
|
My ballads I'd have you to buy,
|
they're fit for Diversion of Youth:
|
My Pocket with Cole to encrease,
|
let every young-man and maid,
|
Now lay out a penny apiece,
|
and then I shall have a good trade.
|
All you that are now in this Throng,
|
I'll do you no manner of wrong,
|
Believe me, I pray, by yea and by nay,
|
there is not a lye in this Song.
|
|
|
|
|
|