Wit's never good till 'tis bought: OR.
Good counsell for improvident men.
Fit to make use of now and then.
To the tune of Basses Carreere.
ONce musing alone,
vpon things many a one,
Well obseru'd and knowne by my selfe,
especially how,
that which late did flow,
I haue wasted and now I want pelse:
this vexed me sore,
and made me deplore,
That I had not before of it thought,
from experience I learn'd,
what I since haue discern'd,
That tiue wit's never good till 'tis bought.
Full many a time,
when I was in my prime,
My ambition to climbe honor's hill,
did me forward pricke,
but my jade did so kicke,
And dame fortune a trick found to kill,
my hope in the bloeme,
and debased my plume:
I did further presume than I ought,
then I wisht I had stayd,
at my owne proper trade,
But true wit's never good till 'tis bought.
To fight and to brawle,
and to quarrell with all,
And my better's miscall, I haue vsd,
but with woe I did find,
all are not of one minde,
Though I oft in some kinde was excus'd,
yet sometimes I got,
a knocke with a pot,
When to speake and when not, thua I'me taught,
now where euer I come,
Ile kéepe peace in the rooms,
Thus true wit's never good till 'tis bought.
I vsed to roare,
and to drinke on the score,
And I neuer thought more on the shot
come Tapster said I,
one tooth still is dry,
Then fill's (by and by) tother pot,
I cal'd still apace,
but within a short space,
Into a strong place, was I bought,
then for eight houres wast,
foure dayes I must fast,
Thus true wit's never good till 'tis bought.
I once had command,
of houses and Land,
Thus my case well did stand, among men:
but moued with pride,
and contention beside,
I would wrangle or chide, now and then:
if a horse I but found,
to leape into my ground,
Straight away to the pound, he was brought:
now I wish I had still,
kept my neighbours good will,
But true wit's never good till 'tis bought.
This rancor and spléene,
my ruine hath beene,
As may plainly be séene, by my state:
contention in Law,
did my purse empty draw,
Which I neuer sawfore til 'tis too late,
vpon euery slight thing,
I my action would bring,
But my hands now I wring, with the thought:
now I wish I had that,
which hath made others flat.
But ttue wit's never good till 'tis bought.
The second part;
To the same tune.
IN company base,
that are boyd of all grace,
I came often in place, by méere chance,
but being with them,
whom alone Ide condemne,
I'de in presence estéeme, and aduance:
but being apart,
catechising my heart,
It much sorrow & smart hath me brought:
then with sad melancholly,
I wéepe for my folly.
Thus wits never good till 'tis bought.
Bestees now and then,
I haue hapned with men,
That too conning haue bin, at the catch:
And then in my drinke,
A with paper and inke,
Haue made I did thinke, a good match:
but after when I,
more deliberately,
The businesse to try all had boought,
I haue foynd my selfe cheated,
and basely defeated,
Thus wit's never good till' tis bought.
Moreouer I haue,
told my mind to a knaue,
Thinking him truly graue, truly iust:
I my heart haue expos'd,
and my secrets disclos'd,
As a friend I reposed, on his trust:
but the Rascall ignoble,
his heart being double,
Mée much woe and trouble hath wrought
but I'ue learnd ere since that,
to take héed of my chat,
Thus true wit's never good till 'tis bought.
When I was a Lad,
a good seruice I had,
Then my minde was to gadding [...]
though I nothing did lacke,
nor for belly nor backe,
Yet I was not with that well content [...]
but vpon small distaste,
my selfe I displast,
Thus my downfall in haste then shen [...]
since I wisht to obtaine,
what I oft did disdaine
Thus true wit's never good [...]
Too willing I was
my owne credit to passe,
Now I find it alas, to my paine,
that with setting my hand,
to another mans band,
For to sell honse and Land, I was fain [...]
I haue passed my word,
for what others haue scord,
And I oft like a bird haue bin caught,
in the prison to stay,
where I sung Lachrima,
Thus true wit's never good till [...]
If any of those,
that are (causelesse) my foe [...]
Should so rashly suppose, in them heart [...]
that all in this song,
to my selfe doth belong,
Their coniecture is wrong, for the [...]
whoeuer they be,
where they something way sée,
By which euery degrée, may be taught,
what ere's thy profession,
thou maist learne this lesson,
That wit's never good till 'tis bought▪
FINIS
Printed at London for Thomas Lambert.