To a Pleasant New TUNE CALL'D A Pot of Good Ale.
GOOD people, what! will you of all be bereft?
Will you never Learn Wit, whil'st a penny's left?
W'are all like the Dog in the Fable betray'd;
To let go the Substance, and snap at th' Shade.
These Specious Pretences,
And Foreign Expences.
[...]o war for Religion will wast all our Chink:
It's Snipt, and it's Clipt;
And it's Spent, and it's Lent,
'Till it's gone; 'till it's gone, to th' Devil, I think.
We pay for our New-born, and pay for our Dead:
We pay if we are Single, and pay if we Wed,
Which shews our unmerciful Senate don't fail,
To begin with the Head, and Tax down to th' Tail.
We pay through the Nose.
For Subjecting our Foes;
Yet for all our Expences, get nothing but Blows.
Abroad we are Defeated;
At Home we are Cheated.
And th' End on't, the End on t, The Lord above knows.
We've parted with all our old Money, to shew
Ho we foolishly hop'd, for a plenty of New,
But might have remember'd when't comes to a Push
A bird in the Hand, is worth two in the Bush.
We now like poor Wretches,
Are kept Shut, under Hatches
At [...]ack, and at Manger, like Beast in the Ark
Since our Burgesses and Knights,
Makes us pay for our Lights;
Why shou'd we, Why shou'd we, be kept in the Dark.
FINIS.