Page [unnumbered]
An excellent Medley,
Which you may admire at (without offence)
For every line speakes a contrary fence.
The Tune is, Tarletons Medley.
[illustration]
IN Summer time when folks make Hay,
All is not true that people say,
The Fool's the wisest in the Play,
tush take away your hand.
The Fidlers boy hath broke his Base,
Sirs is it not a pitteous case,
Most gallants loath to smell the Mace,
of Woodstreet.
The City followes courtly pride,
Ione sweares she cannot Iohn abide,
Dicke weares a Dagger by his side,
come tell us what's to pay.
The Lawyers thrives by others fall,
The weakest alwayes goes to th'wall,
The Shoomaker commandeth all
at's pleasure.
The Weaver prayes for Huswiues store,
A pretty woman was Iane Shore,
Kicke the base Rascall out oth doore,
peace, peace, you brawling curres.
A Couckolds band weares out behind,
'Tis easie to beguild the blind,
All people are not of one mind,
hold Carman.
Our women cut their haire like men,
The Cock's ore-mastred by the Hen.
There's hardly one good friend in ten,
turne there on the right hand:
But few regard the cryes o'th poore,
Will spendeth all upon a whore,
The Souldier longeth to go o're,
brave knocking.
What shall we doe in these sad dayes?
Will not the wicked mend their wayes,
Some loose their lives in drunken frayes,
the pudding burnes to th'pot:
The Cooper sayes the Tub's be pist,
The Cobler preaches what he list,
Their knavery now is manifest,
hold halter.
When the fifth Henry sail'd to France,
Let me alone for a Country dance,
Nell doth bewaile her lucklesse chance,
fie on false hearted men:
Dicke Tarleton was a merry wagge,
Harke how that prating Asse doth bragge.
Iohn Dorv sold his ambling Nagge,
for Kick-shawes.
The Saylor counts the Ship his house,
Ile say no more but Duns the Mouse,
He is no man that scornes a Louse,
vaine pride undoes the Land:
Hard-hearted men makes Corne so deare,
Few French-men love well English Béere
I hope ere long good newes to heare,
hey Lustick,
Now Hides are cheape, the Tanner thrives,
Hang those base knaves that beat their wives
He néeds must go whom the Devill drives,
God blesse us from a Gun:
The Beadles make the lame to runne,
Vaunt not before the battel's wonne,
A Cloud sometimes may hide the sunne,
chance medley.
The second part,
To the same Tune.
[illustration]
[illustration]
THe Surgeon thrives by fencing schooles,
Some for strong liquor pawn their tooles,
For one wise man there's twenty fooles,
oh when shall we be married?
In time of youth when I was wilde,
Who toucheth pitch shall be defild,
Mol is afraid that she's with child,
peace Peter.
The poore still hopes for better dayes,
I doe not love these long delayes,
All love and charity decayes,
in the dayes of old:
I'me very loath to pawn my cloak,
Méere poverty doth me provoke,
They say a scald head is soon broke,
poore trading.
Harke, mother harke, there's newes in town,
What tell you me of halfe a Crowne,
Now the Excise is going downe,
thou pratest like an Asse:
I scorne the coyne give me the man,
Pray pledge the health Sir, I began,
I love King Charles say what you can,
God save him.
The Dutch-men thrive by Sea and Land,
Women are Ships and must be man'd,
Let's bravely to our colours stand,
Courage my hearts of Gold:
I read in modern Histories,
The King of Swedens victories,
At Islington there's Pudding Pyes,
hot Custards.
The Tapster is undon by Chalk,
Tush tis in vaine to prate and talke,
The Parrat prattles, walke knaves, walke
Duke Humpher•• lies in Paules:
The souldiers hath but small regard;
There's wéekly newes in Pauls-Church Yard,
The poore man cries the world grows hard,
cold winter.
Heigh for New-England, hoyse up saile,
The truth is strong and will prevaile,
Fill me a cup of nappy Ale,
hang care, the King's a comming,
This Egge hath long a hatching bin,
When you have done then wée'll begin,
Oh what an age do we live in.
hang pinching.
From Long-lane cloath, & Turn-stile boots,
O fie upon these scabbed Cootes,
The cheapest meat is Reddish roots,
come, all for a penny:
Light my Tobacco quickly here,
There lies a pretty woman néere,
This Boy will come to naught I feare,
proud Coxcombe.
The world is full of odious sins,
'Tis ten to one but this Horse wins,
Fools set stools to break wise mens shins,
This man's more knave then foole,
Iane oft in private méets with Tom,
Husband thou art kindly welcome home,
Hast any money? lend me some,
I'me broken.
In ancient times all things were cheap,
'Tis good to look before you leap,
When Corn is ripe, 'tis time to reap,
once walking by the way.
A iealous man the Cuckow loathes,
The Gallant complements with Oathes,
A wench will make you sell your cloathes,
runne Broker.
The Courtiers and the Country man,
Let's live as honest as we can,
When Arthur first in Court began,
his men wore hanging sléeves.
In May when Grasse and Flowers green,
The strangest sight that ere was seen,
God send our graciou Kings and Queen
to London.
FINIS.