Poor Robin's Dream, commonly call'd, Poor Charity.

I know no reason but this harmless Riddle,
May as well be Printed as Sung to a Fiddle.
To a compleat Tune, known by Musicians and many others, or, Game at Cards.
HOw now good fellow, what all amort?
I pray thee tell me what is the news?
Trading is dead, and I am sorry fort.
which makes me look worse than I use;
If a man hath no employment whereby to get a penny
He hath no enjoyment if that he wanteth mony,
And charity is not used by many.
I have nothing to spend nor i've nothing to lend,
I've nothing to do, I tarry at home,
Sitting in my chair, drawing near to the fire,
I fell asleep like an idle drone,
And as I slept I fell into a dream,
I saw a Play acted without e're a theam,
But I could not tell what the Play did mean,
Yet afterwards I did perceive,
and something more did understand,
The Stage was the world wherein we live,
the Actors they were all man kinde,
When the Play is ended, the Stage down they'l fling
Then there will be no difference in this thing
Betwéen a Beggar and a King.
The first that acted I protest,
was Time with a Glass and a Sithe in his hand
The Globe of the world upon his breast,
to shew he could the same command,
Ther's a time for to work, and a time for to play
A time for to borrow, and a time for to pay,
And a time that calls us all away.
COnscience in order takes his place
and very gallantly plaies his part,
He fears not to flye in a Rulers face
although it cuts him to the heart,
He told them all this is the latter age,
Which put the Actors into such a Rage,
That they kickt poor Conscience from the stage,
Plain dealing presently appears
in habit like a simple man,
The Actors at him mocks and jeers
pointing their fingers as they ran
How came this fellow into our company?
Away with him many a gallant did cry,
For plain dealing will a beggar dye.
Dissimulation mounted the Stage,
but he was cloathed in gallant attire,
He was acquainted with youth and age,
many his company did desire,
They did entertain him in their very breast,
There he could have harbour and quietly rest,
For dissemblers and turn-coats fares the best.
Then cometh in poor Charity,
methinks t\she looked wondrous old.
She quiverd and quakt most pitteously,
it griev'd me to think she was grown so cold,
She had béen ith' City and in the Country,
Likewise amongst the Lawyers and the Nobility
But there was no room for poor Charity.
Then comes in Truth not cloathed in wool,
but like youth in his white Lawn sléeves
He saies the Land is full, full, full,
too full of Rebells worse than theeves,
The City's full of poverty, the French are full of pride
Phanaticks full of envy, that order can't abide,
And the Vsurers bags are full beside,
Hark how Bellonia's drums do beat,
methinks it goes ratling through the town,
Hark how it thunders through the street
as if it would shake the Chimney's down,
Then comes in Mars the great God of war
And bids us face about, and be as we were,
And when I awakt I sate in my Chair.
FINI [...]

London, Printed for J. Clark at the Harp and Bible in West Smith-field. With Allowance.

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