Classic Poem

To the Tune of I'le never love thee more . Tom.

Now would I give my life to see
This wondrous Man of might. Dick.
Dost see that Jolly Lad? That's he;
I'le warrant him hee's Right.
There's a true Trojan in his face:
Observe him o're and o're. Dick.
Come Tom; If ever George be base ,
Ne'r trust good-fellow more.

Hee's none of that Phantastique Brood,
That Murther while they Pray;
That Trusse and Cheat us for our Good;
(All in a Godly way,)
He drinks no Blood, and They no Sack
Into their Guts will poure.
But if George does not do the Knack ,
Ne'r trust good-fellow more.

His quiet Conscience needs no Guard;
Hee's Brave, but full of Pitty. Tom.
Yet by your leave he knock'd so hard,
H'ad like t' awak'd the City. Dick.
Fool, 'Twas the Rump that let a Fart,
The Chaines and Gates it tore,
But if George bears not a true heart ,
Ne'r trust good-fellow more. Tom.

Your City blades are cunning Rooks;
How rarely you collogue him?
But when your Gates flew off the Hooks,
You did as much be-rogue him. Dick.
Pug'h — — 'Twas the Rump did only feel
The blows the City bore.
But if George ben't as true as Steel ,
Ne'r trust good-fellow more. Tom.

Come, by this Hand, wee'l crack a quart,
Thou'lt pledge his health, I trow. Tom.
Tope boy, Dick — — A lusty dish my heart,
Away w'ot; Tom — — Let it go.
Drench me you slave in a full Bowl,
I'll take't and 'twere a score. Dick.
Nay, if George be'nt a hearty soul ,
Ne'r trust Good-fellow more. Tom.

But hark you, Sirrah, we're too loud ,
Hee'l Hang us by and by.
Me'thinks; he should be vengeance Proud? Dick.
No more than Thee or I. Tom.
Why then I'le give him the best Blade
That e're the Bilbo wore. Dick.
If George prove not a Bonny Lad ,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more. Tom.

'Twas well he came, we'd mawl'd the Tail .
— — We've all thrown up our Farms,
And from the Musket to the Flayl,
Put all our Men in Arms.
The Girles had ta'ne the Members down,
Ne're saw such things before. Dick.
If George speak not the Town our own ,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more. Dick.

But prethee, are the Folk so mad? Tom.
So mad say'st? — — They're undone,
There's not a Penny to be had,
And ev'ry Mothers Son
Must fight, if he intend to eat,
Grow Valiant now he is Poor. Dick.
Come — yet if George don't do the feat ,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more. Tom.

Why Richard , 'tis a Devilish thing,
We're not left worth a Groat.
My Doll has sold her Wedding-ring,
And Sue has pawn'd her Coat.
The Sniv'ling Rogues abus'd our Squire ,
And called our Mistriss Whore. Dick.
Yet — if George don't what we require ,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more. Tom.

By this good day; I did but Speak,
They took my Py-ball'd Mare;
And put the Carri'on Wench to th' squeak:
(Things go against the Hair.)
Our Prick-ear'd Cor'nel looks as big
Still, as he did before. Dick.
And yet if George don't hum his Gigg ,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.

'Faith, Tom our Case is much at one;
We're broke for want of Trade;
Our City's baffled and undone,
Betwixt the Rump and Blade .
We've emptied both our Veins & Baggs
Upon a Factious Score.
If George compassion not our Raggs
Ne're trust Good-fellow more. Tom.

But what dost thou think should be the Cause
Whence all these Mischiefs spring? Dick.
Our damned breach of Oaths and Laws;
Our Murther of the King .
We have been Slaves since Charles his reign,
We liv'd like Lords before.
If George don't set all right again ,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more. Tom.

Our Vicar — — (And hee's one that knows)
Told me once, — — I know what. — —
(And yet the Thief is woundy Close) Dick.
'Tis all the better; — — That
H'as too much Honesty and Wit,
To let his Tongue run o'er;
If this prove not a lucky hit,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.

Shall's ask him, what he means to do? Tom.
— — 'Good faith, with all my heart;
Thou mak'st the better Leg o'th' Two:
Take Thou the Better part:
I'le follow, if thoul't lead the Van. Dick.
Content; — — I'le march before.
If George prove not a gallant man ,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.

My Lord; — — in Us the Nation craves
But what you're bound to do. Tom.
— — We have liv'd Drudges: Ric. — — And we: Both.
We would not dye so too .
Restore us but our Laws agen;
Th' unborn shall thee adore;
If George deneis us his Amen ,
Ne're trust Good-fellow more.