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Read Ebook: Musa Pedestris - Three Centuries of Canting Songs and Slang Rhymes [1536 - 1896] by Farmer John Stephen
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Ebook has 702 lines and 41198 words, and 15 pages
If a Bung be got by the hie Law, Then straight I doe attend them, For if Hue and Crie doe follow, I A wrong way soone doe send them. Still doe I cry, etc.
Ten miles vnto a Market. I runne to meet a Miser, Then in a throng, I nip his Bung, And the partie ne'er the wiser. Still doe I cry, etc.
My dainty Dals, my Doxis, Whene'er they see me lacking, Without delay, poore wretches they Will set their Duds a packing. Still doe I cry, etc. V
I pay for what I call for, And so perforce it must be, For as yet I can, not know the man, Nor Oastis that will trust me. Still doe I cry, etc.
If any giue me lodging, A courteous Knaue they find me, For in their bed, aliue or dead, I leave some Lice behind me. Still doe I cry, etc.
If a Gentry Coue be comming, Then straight it is our fashion, My Legge I tie, close to my thigh, To moue him to compassion. Still doe I cry, etc.
My doublet sleeue hangs emptie, And for to begge the bolder, For meate and drinke mine arme I shrinke, Vp close vnto my shoulder. Still doe I cry, etc.
If a Coach I heere be rumbling, To my Crutches then I hie me, For being lame, it is a shame, Such Gallants should denie me. Still doe I cry, etc.
With a seeming bursten belly, I looke like one half dead, Sir, Or else I beg with a woodden legge, And a Night-cap on me head, Sir, Still doe I cry, etc.
In Winter time starke naked I come into some Citie, Then euery man that spare them can, Will giue me clothes for pittie. Still doe I cry, etc.
If from out the Low-countrie, I heare a Captaines name, Sir, Then strait I swere I have bin there; And so in fight came lame, Sir. Still doe I cry, etc.
My Dogge in a string doth lead me, When in the towne I goe, Sir, For to the blind, all men are kind, And will their Almes bestow, Sir, Still doe I cry, etc.
With Switches sometimes stand I, In the bottom of a Hill, Sir, There those men which doe want a switch, Some monie give me still, Sir. Still doe I cry, etc.
Come buy, come buy a Horne-booke, Who buys my Pins or Needles? In Cities I these things doe crie, Oft times to scape the Beadles. Still doe I cry, etc.
In Pauls Church by a Pillar; Sometimes you see me stand, Sir, With a Writ that showes, what care and woes I past by Sea and Land, Sir. Still doe I cry, etc.
Now blame me not for boasting, And bragging thus alone, Sir, For my selfe I will be praying still, For Neighbours have I none, Sir. Which makes me cry, etc.
THE MAUNDER'S INITIATION
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, We the cuffins quere defy.
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.
"Now swear him"--
I crown thy nab with a gage of ben bouse, And stall thee by the salmon into clowes, To maund on the pad, and strike all the cheats, To mill from the Ruffmans, Commission, and slates, Twang dells i' th' stiromel, and let the Quire Cuffin And Harman Beck strine and trine to the ruffin.
THE HIGH PAD'S BOAST
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, 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.
THE MERRY BEGGARS
Here safe in our Skipper let's cly off our Peck, And bowse in defiance o' the Harman Beck. Here's Pannam and Lap, and good Poplars of Yarrum, To fill up the Crib, and to comfort the Quarron. Now bowse a round health to the Go-well and Corn-well, Of Cisley Bumtrincket that lies in the Strummel;
Here's Ruffpeck and Casson, and all of the best, And Scrape of the Dainties of Gentry Cofe's Feast Here's Grunter and Bleater, with Tib-of-the-Buttry, And Margery Prater, all dress'd without sluttry. For all this bene Cribbing and Peck let us then, Bowse a health to the Gentry Cofe of the Ken. Now bowse a round health to the Go-well and Corn-well Of Cisley Bumtrincket that lies in the Strummel.
A MORT'S DRINKING SONG
This is bien bowse, this is bien bowse, Too little is my Skew. I bowse no lage, but a whole gage Of this I'll bowse to you.
This bowse is better than rom-bowse, It sets the gan a-gigling, The autum-mort finds better sport In bowsing than in nigling. This is bien bowse, etc.
"A BEGGAR I'LL BE"
I A Beggar, a Beggar, a Beggar I'll be, There's none leads a life more jocund than he; A Beggar I was, and a Beggar I am, A Beggar I'll be, from a Beggar I came; If, as it begins, our trading do fall, We, in the Conclusion, shall Beggars be all. Tradesmen are unfortunate in their Affairs, And few Men are thriving but Courtiers and Play'rs.
A Craver my Father, a Maunder my Mother, A Filer my Sister, a Filcher my Brother, A Canter my Uncle, that car'd not for Pelf, A Lifter my Aunt, and a Beggar myself; In white wheaten Straw, when their Bellies were full, Then was I got between a Tinker and a Trull. And therefore a Beggar, a Beggar I'll be, For there's none lives a Life more jocund than he
For such pretty Pledges, as Lullies from Hedges. We are not in fear to be drawn upon Sledges, But sometimes the Whip doth make us to skip And then we from Tything to Tything do trip; But when in a poor Boozing-Can we do bib it, We stand more in dread of the Stocks than the Gibbet And therefore a merry mad Beggar I'll be For when it is night in the Barn tumbles he.
We throw down no Altar, nor never 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 commonly bear forty Pieces about us; But many good Fellows are fine and look fiercer, And owe for their Cloaths to the Taylor and Mercer: And if from the Harmans I keep out my Feet, I fear not the Compter, King's Bench, nor the Fleet.
When Boys do come to us, and their Intent is To follow our Calling, we ne'er bind 'em 'Prentice; Soon as they come to 't, we teach them to do 't, And give them a Staff and a Wallet to boot; We teach them their Lingua, to crave and to cant, The Devil is in them if then they can want. And he or she, that a Beggar will be, Without any Indentures they shall be made free.
We do things in Season, and have so much Reason, We raise no Rebellion, nor never talk Treason; We Bill all our Mates at very low rates, While some keep their Quarters as high as the fates; With Shinkin-ap-Morgan, with Blue-cap, or Teague, We into no Covenant enter, nor League. And therefore a bonny bold Beggar I'll be, For none lives a life more merry than he.
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