The Western husbandmans lamentation.
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UDs bodykins! chill work no more:
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Dost think chill labour to be poore?
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No ich have more a do:
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If of the world this be the trade,
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That ich must break zo knaves be made,
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Ich will ablundering too.
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Chill zell my cart and eke my plow,
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And get a zword if ich know how,
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For ich mean to be right:
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Chill learn to zwear, and drink, and rore,
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And (Gallant leek) chill keep a whore,
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No matter who can vight.
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God blesse us what a world is here,
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It can ne'r last another year,
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Vor ich can't be able to zoe:
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Dost think that ever chad the art,
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To plow the ground up with my cart?
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My beasts be all ago.
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But vurst a Warrant ich will get
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From master Captain, that a vet
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Chill make a shrewd ado:
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Vor then chave power in any place,
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To steal a horse without disgrace,
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And beat the owner too.
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Ich had zix oxen tother day,
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And them the Roundheads vetcht away,
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A mischief be their speed.
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And chad Zix horses left me whole,
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And them the Cabbelleero's stole:
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Chee voor men be agreed.
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Here ich do labour, toyl, and zweat,
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And dure the cold, with dry and heat,
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And what dost think ich get?
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Vaith just my labour vor my pains,
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The garrisons have all the gains,
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Vor thither all's a vet.
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There goes my corn, and beans, and pease,
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Ich do not dare them to displease,
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They do so zwear and vaper:
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When to the Governour ich do come,
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And pray him to discharge my Zum,
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Chave nothing but a paper.
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U'ds niggs, dost think that paper will
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Keep warm my back, and belly vill?
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No, no, go vange thy note:
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If that another year my vield
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No profit do unto me yield,
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Ich may go cut my throte.
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When any money chave in store,
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Then strait a Warrant comes therefore,
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Or ich must blundred be:
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And when chave shuffled out one pay
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Then comes another without delay,
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Was ever the leek azee?
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If all this be not grief enow,
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They have a thing cald quarter too
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O 'tis a vengeance waster:
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A pox upon't, they call it vree,
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Cham zure they make us slaves to be,
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And every rogue our master.
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