Poems consisting of Epistles and Epigrams, Satyrs, Epitaphs and Elogies, Songs and Sonnets With variety of other drolling Verses upon several Subjects. Composed by no body must know whom, and are to be had every body knows where, and for somebody knows what [by John Eliot] |
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An Aldermans wife
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 | Poems consisting of Epistles and Epigrams, Satyrs, Epitaphs and Elogies, Songs and Sonnets |  |
An Aldermans wife
Grave Madam I your stile will not forget,For that your husband writes Kt Barronet
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That forct the foole so to be dignified;
Nor ever shall my my memory let fall,
How you with Madam start up stood for th'wall:
It cost the good old Alderman at least
To get the wall for his old wall-ey'd beast,
Two thousand pounds, in mony and in ware,
In which your worships portion had no share,
Your mother was a tripe wife, that I know,
And good old woman sometimes did bestow
A tub of Souce to ease your housholds charge,
With good Sheeps trotters, Cowheels fat & large:
In which sad time all your great kindreds purses,
Went to make up a stock of Hobbie Horses,
Babies, Rattles, Incle, pinns, poynts and Laces,
With Shooeing horns, Boan Combs in moldy cases;
Out of which pedling stuff, your wits be praised,
A sum of forty thousand pounds you raised
Your daughters were so frequent with this ware,
That yet me thinks they Hobbie horses are:
Your sons have Rattles in their heads, and Prate
As each a Pedler had within his Pate;
And truly Madam you one points do stand,
As if your points lay still upon your hand;
The good old Alderman his head doth bear,
As if a shooing horn hung in each Eare.
But if the people wonder at his rise,
'Tis selling bad wares at a treble price;
Trading and cheating, which he cals endeavour,
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Untill the Shrievedom came, and then he sold
Both Law and justice for shrieve damning gold.
And if he once be Mayor, and so a Lord,
Then he'll have Orphants furnish out his board,
Dres'd in their bloud like Carps, while their estates
Is melted down to make their silver plates.
The end that makes him cheat, rack and encroach,
Is but to have a gold-chain and a coach.
Ride on, good Madam, in your dignitie
With your young Alderkins, both he and she,
But yet take heed, lest that to pay your scores,
Your sons prove cockscombs and your daughters whoors.
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