Nick and Froth;
OR,
The Good-fellows Complaint for want of full Measure.
Discovering the Deceits, and Abuses of Victuallers, Tapsters, Ale-Drapers; and all the rest
of the Society of Drunkard-makers: By filling their Drink in False Flaggons, Pimping Tankerds,
Cans, call'd Ticklers; Rabbits, Jugs, and short Quarterns, To the Grand abuse of So-
ciety of Good-fellowship.
Good Fellows Drinks their Liquor without flinching;
Then why should Knavish Tapsters use such pinching.
Tune of, We'l Drink this Old Ale no more, no more.
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ALl you that are Free-men of Ale-Drapers hall
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And Tapster wherever you be,
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Be sure you be ready to come at my call,
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And your Knavery here you shall see.
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A knot of Good-fellows we are here inclin'd,
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To Challenge you out if you dare,
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A vary sharp Tryal you're like to find,
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Although it be at your own Bar.
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Your Cheats and Abuses, we long did abide,
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But times are so wondrous hard,
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That Loosers may speak, it cannot be deny'd,
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Of our Measure we have been debar'd.
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But now we'l show you a trick (you knaves)
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And lay you all open to view,
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It's all for your Froth and your Nick (you slaves)
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And tell you no more then is true.
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If in a cold Morning we chance to come,
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And bid a good Morrow my Host,
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And call for some Ale, you will bring us black Pots,
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Yet scarce will afford us a Toast.
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For those that drink Beer, 'tis true as i'me here
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Your Counterfeit Flaggons you have,
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Which holds not a Quart, scarce by a third part,
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And that makes my Host is go brave.
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BUt now pimping Tankerds are all in use
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Which drains a Mans Pocket in brief:
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For he that sits close, and takes of his Dose,
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Will Find that the Tankerd's a Thief.
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Bee't Tankerd or Flaggon, which of them you bragon,
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We'l trust you to Nick and to Froth;
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Before we can Drink, be sure it will shrink,
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Far worser then North Country Cloth.
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When Summer is coming, then hey brave boys,
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The tickling Cans they run round,
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Pray tak't in good part, for a Winchester Quart
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Will fill six, I dare lay you a Pound.
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Your Rabbits & Juggs, & Coffe-house Mugs made,
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Are ready when o're you do call,
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A P------ take his Trade, such Measures that
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I wish that Old Nick had them all.
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When we have a Fancy our Noses to Steel,
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And call for some Nance of the best,
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Be sure the short Pot, must fall to our lot,
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For now they are all in request.
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Scarce one House in twenty, where measure is plenty;
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But still they are all for the Pinch;
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Thus every day, they drive custome away,
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And force us good Fellows to flinch.
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Sometimes a man may, leave somthing to pay
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Though seldom he did it before:
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With Marlborough Cholke, you his patience provoke
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Whenever he clears off his score.
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The women likewise, which are not precise,
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But will take a Cup of the best,
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Tho they drink for pleasure, they'l have their measure
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Or else you shall have little rest.
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There's Billings-gate Nan, & all her whole gang
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Complaining for want of their due:
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True Topers they are, as e're scor'd at Bar,
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For they'l drink till their Noses look blew.
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A Pot and a Toast, will make them to boast,
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Of things that are out of their reach:
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So long as a Groat, remains in the Coat,
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They over good Liquor will Preach.
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In Shoo-makers Row, there's true hearts you know
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But give them their Measure and weight,
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They'l scorn for to stir, but stick like a Bur,
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And Tope it from Morning till Night.
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Then there's honest Smug that wil a full jug
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Will set all his Brains on a float:
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But you are such Sots, to fill him small Pots
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Will scarce quench that spark in his Throat.
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With many such Blades, of several Trades
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Which freely their Money will spend;
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But still them good drink, they value not chink
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Where ever they meet with a Friend.
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Most Trades in that Nation gives their approbation
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How that you are much for to blame:
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Then make no excuses, but cease your abuses
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And fill up your Measure for shame.
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