The second Part, To the same Tune,
We do Things in season,
And have so much Reason,
we raise no Rebellion, nor never talk Trea∣son.
We Billet our mates
At very low Rates,
whilst some kéepe their Quarters as high as the Gates
With Shinkin ap Morgan, with Blew-cap, or Tege,
VVe enter into no Covenant, nor League:
And therefore a bonney bold Begger I'le be;
For none lives a life so happy as he.
VVe never do prate,
In matters of State,
For fear we should come to Hugh Peters his Fate
VVhilst Scripture unfolders,
And Treason upholders,
Have lost their heads, we keep ours on our shoulders
Our Plots & our Projects, are never so tall
To reach to the Top-mast of Westminster-hall
And therefore a merry brave Begger I'le be,
For none wears his Nodle so safely as he.
For such petty Pledges,
As Shirts from the Hedges,
we are not in fear to be drawn upon Sledges
But sometimes the VVhip,
Doth make us to skip,
And then we from Tything to Tything do trip,
For when in a poor housing-ken we do bib it
VVe stand more in awe of the Stocks then the Gibbet:
And therefore a merry mad Begger I'le be,
For when it is night, to the Barn goes he.
VVe throw down no Alter,
Nor ever do falter
So much, as to change a Gold-Chain, for a Halter:
Though some men do flout us;
And others do doubt us,
we nere go without forty peices about us;
But many brave fellows are fine & look fiercer
That owe for their Cloths to the Taylor and Mercer:
And if from the Stocks I can keep out my feet,
I fear not the Compter, Kings-bench nor the Fleet.
Sometimes I do frame,
My self to be lame;
and when a coach comes, I do hop to my game:
VVe seldome miscarry,
Yet never do Marry,
By the Gowns Common-Prayer, nor the Cloak Directory,
But Harry & Mary (like birds of a feather)
do nothing but kiss, laugh, & lye down together
Like Piggs in the pease-straw, intangld they lie
Till there they beget such a bold Rogue as I.
To summe all in brief,
VVe live by relief,
And pray for King Charles, our Commander in chief:
God bless all the Peers,
The wise Over-seers,
that they may consider the poore Cavaliers,
For if they let them but lower to fall,
The'l take our profession & begger us all:
And then it will be but a folly for me,
A merry soul'd, bonny bold Begger to be.