Page:Poor man's labour never done, or, The mother's advice.pdf/5

 As for our jovial Sclatters

our dear beloved crew,

I would have them be careful,

and pay poor men their due,

And do not ſtrive to wrong them,

it's a pity to rebel,

But pay poor men what is their due,

and you ſhall proſper well.

Chor. Whilſt the merry merry ſongſter, &c.

The Poulterer ſhall ly there,

for ſtinking ducks and teal;

The Butcher too ſhall fry there,

for blowing up their veal:

And the Soldier damn'd for bragging,

grim Pluto never fails:

And Punks for buttocks wagging,

and turning up their tails.

Chor. Whilſt the merry, &c.

The Quack, now turn'd Phyſician,

that ſcarce can cure the itch,

Yet tell you your condition,

as if he were a witch:

Shall with his gliſter-maker,

in Limbo's pit lye low,

For making pills to cure all ills;

which none of them do know.

Chor. Whilſt the merry, &c.

Large ſhoals of pois'nous Venders,

lewd Vintners there will come,

And ſtore of ware-houſe Tenders,

that cheat by yard and thumb,