At the crowning of our king, Thus we ever dance and sing: Where's the nation lives so free, And so merrily as we?
Be it peace, or be it war, Here at liberty we are: Hang all harmanbecks we cry, [2] We the cuffins quere defy. [3]
We enjoy our ease and rest, To the fields we are not pressed: And when taxes are increased, We are not a penny 'sessed.
Nor will any go to law, With a maunder for a straw, All which happiness he brags, Is only owing to his rags.
I crown thy nab with a gage of ben bouse,[4] And stall thee by the salmon into clowes,[5] To maund on the pad, and strike all the cheats, [6] To mill from the Ruffmans, Commission, and slates, [7] Twang dells i' th' stiromel, and let the Quire Cuffin And Harman Beck strine and trine to the ruffin. [8]
[1: beggar] [2: constables] [3: magistrates] [4: I pour on thy pate a pot of good ale] [5: And install thee, by oath, a rogue] [6: To beg by the way, steal from all,] [7: Rob hedge of shirt and sheet,] [8: To lie with wenches on the straw, so let all magistrates and constables go to the devil and be hanged!]
[Attributed to JOHN FLETCHER--a song from a collection of black-letter broadside ballads. Also in _New Canting Dict_. 1725.]
I keep my Horse; I keep my whore; I take no rents; yet am not poor; I travel all the land about, And yet was born to ne'er a foot.
With partridge plump, and woodcock fine, At midnight, I do often dine: And if my whore be not in Case, [1] My hostess' daughter has her place.
The maids sit up, and watch their turns; If I stay long, the tapster mourns; Nor has the cookmaid mind to sin, Tho' tempted by the chamberlain.
But when I knock, O how they bustle; The hostler yawns, the geldings justle: If the maid be sleepy, O how they curse her; And all this comes, of, _Deliver your purse, sir._
[From _A Jovial Crew_, by RICHARD BROME. The beggars discovered at their feast. After they have scrambled awhile at their Victuals: this song].
Here safe in our Skipper let's cly off our Peck, [1] And bowse in defiance o' the Harman Beck. [2] Here's Pannam and Lap, and good Poplars of Yarrum, [3] To fill up the Crib, and to comfort the Quarron. [4] Now bowse a round health to the Go-well and Corn-well, [5] Of Cisley Bumtrincket that lies in the Strummel; [6]