A light hearts A Iewell. Or,
The honest good blade who a free heart doth carry,
And cares for nothing but to haue's owne vagary.
To the tune of Iacke Puddings vagary.
ALL you that merry lives doe lead,
although your meanes bée little,
That seldome are o'reseene in bread,
nor take much thought for vittle:
Attend while I'le exemplyfie,
the mind that I doe carry,
I take delight both morne and night,
to haue mine owne vagary.
Though fortune haue not lent me wealth
as shée hath done to many,
Yet while I'ue liberty and health,
I'le bée as blith as any:
I'le beare an honest upright heart,
theres none shall proue contrary,
Yet now and then Abroad I'le start,
and haue mine owne vagary.
No base profession will I chuse,
thereby to get my liuing,
No Kent-street maunding will I use,
my minds more bent to giving:
I will not say I'm this and that,
with bug Beare boasts to scare ye,
Let Coxcombs prate they know not what,
I'le haue mine owne vagary.
I am no Graves-end Trauailour,
No teller of strange storyes,
No forger of Coranto's nor,
a man that euermore is
Extolling of his owne deserts,
and with proud words will dare ye,
Let such as these are act their parts,
I'le haue mine owne vagary.
I am no haunter of the Playes,
to picke poore peoples purses,
Nor one that euery word he saies,
doth coyne new oathes and curses:
If I doe runne on Tapsters scores,
to pay them I am wary,
Let others spend their means on whoors,
I loue mine owne vagary.
I am no blade nor Roaring Boy,
aboading in they City,
No Whiske, no Lift nor no Decoy,
nor one that asks for pitty:
My educations not the best,
yet such a heart I carry,
That what my humour ca'nt disgest,
it fits not my vagary.
No City Shuffler scarce of age,
to haue what fate hath left me,
No haire-braind Asse that's full of rage,
reason hath not bereft me:
No great Bum-Bayly that may fright,
my fearefull aduersary,
But one that loues, and takes delight,
to have his owne vagary.
No Vsurer that hords up trash,
nor yet a noted Spender,
No borrowing Sharke that neuer payes,
but to a Friend a Lender:
No Petyfog, nor Common-bayle,
For no such fellowes care I,
In honest sort I'le neuer faile,
to haue mine owne vagary.
The second part,
To the same tune.
NO Bowling Alley Rooke am I,
that sweareth all by dam mée,
By such I'le not o're reached bée,
In this their's none can blame mée:
No swaggering Pimp that champion is,
to Dole, to Kate, and Sary,
I hate such slauish Offices,
those fit not my vagary.
Those painefull Swaines that on the greene,
doe dayly take their pleasure,
The pleasant'st life that can bée seene,
though not so stor'd with treasure:
When Husband-men and Sheapheard Swaines,
with Lasses of the Dary,
Doe sportingly trip ore the Plaines,
O that fits my vagary.
I care not to weare Gallant raggs,
and owe the Taylour for them,
I care not for those vaunting brags,
I ever did abhorre them:
What to the world I seeme to bée,
no man shall proue contrary,
My Suites shall suite to my degrée,
O that fits my vagary.
I care not for those scarre Crow blades,
whose valour lyes in spéeches,
That in discourse of manhood wades,
oft-times above their reaches:
If I haue not a minde to fight,
I'le vrge no adversary.
When word and déed both iump aright,
O that fits my vagary.
I care not for the Broakers Booke,
my names not there inrouled,
I nothing owe, therefore I looke,
by none to be controuled:
I doe not feare the Sergeants Mace,
walke by the Counter dare I,
And looke a Bayliffe in the face,
O this is my vagary.
I care not much in company,
to spend what is allotted,
I'le drinke but for sufficiency,
I'le never bée besotted:
When I doe feele my spirits dull,
a cup of old Canary
Will fill my heart with couragefull,
and this is my vagary.
I care not for sad malecontent,
that is the bane of nature,
I loue good honest merryment,
and I'le despise no creature:
Thats for my use and sustinence,
and still I will bée wary,
Least I excéed in my expence,
that fits not my vagary.
Still will I haue an honest care,
that none lyes wronged by mée,
I'le not build Castles in the ayre,
whoeuer lists to try me,
Shall find in all thats promis'd héere,
not any word contrary,
I enuious censure doe not feare,
I'le haue mine owne vagary.
Printed at London for I. Wright, dwelling in Gilt-spur street.