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The Character of a GAUGER.
A Gauger, never can be call'd a Fool,
Since he doth all his Actions by the Rule,
And yet his Judgment, must be short abiding,
Because his Rule, is very often sliding;
By Drinking Ale, he needs not be undone,
Who gratis ev'ry Day, hath Access to a Tun,
May Brandy drink, so long as he can stand,
Who always hath a Cooler near at Hand;
He's bound by Law to break the Sabbath Day,
And either forfeit Grace or forfeit Pay;
Since he doth all his Actions by the Rule,
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Because his Rule, is very often sliding;
By Drinking Ale, he needs not be undone,
Who gratis ev'ry Day, hath Access to a Tun,
May Brandy drink, so long as he can stand,
Who always hath a Cooler near at Hand;
He's bound by Law to break the Sabbath Day,
And either forfeit Grace or forfeit Pay;
A Gauger, is a strange surprizing Creature,
A greater Paradox, is scarce in Nature,
The more he gains, the less he hath to spare,
He's always busy, and he's always bare.
An Officer the Gauger calls himself,
A noble Guardian of the Common-wealth,
'Tis true, that his Commission's very broad,
But his Artillery, is somewhat odd,
His Pens, his Pick, an English Yard his sword,
Charges with Paper Guns, and in a Word,
He neither deals in Powder, nor in Lead,
And yet effectually he makes us Bleed:
He exercises, ev'ry Night and Day,
And his reward, is Dutch Lieutenants Pay,
But ah, such Treatment, is not to be born!
Pierces the Breast of Sir John Barley-corn,
'Tis true, Sir John hath Crimes, cannot be hid,
Moe Men hath slain, than e're Prince Eugene did;
Tho' fome by him, are ev'ry Day cut down,
He never gets Remission from the Crown.
A greater Paradox, is scarce in Nature,
The more he gains, the less he hath to spare,
He's always busy, and he's always bare.
An Officer the Gauger calls himself,
A noble Guardian of the Common-wealth,
'Tis true, that his Commission's very broad,
But his Artillery, is somewhat odd,
His Pens, his Pick, an English Yard his sword,
Charges with Paper Guns, and in a Word,
He neither deals in Powder, nor in Lead,
And yet effectually he makes us Bleed:
He exercises, ev'ry Night and Day,
And his reward, is Dutch Lieutenants Pay,
But ah, such Treatment, is not to be born!
Pierces the Breast of Sir John Barley-corn,
'Tis true, Sir John hath Crimes, cannot be hid,
Moe Men hath slain, than e're Prince Eugene did;
Tho' fome by him, are ev'ry Day cut down,
He never gets Remission from the Crown.
Five hum drum Tyrants, hold a martial Court,
Daily to hear the General report,
How his Subalterans manage their Affair,
Who keeps and breakes the Articles of War,
Whilst the poor People, are made sordid Slaves,
And sink beneath, the Tyranny of Knaves.
Daily to hear the General report,
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Who keeps and breakes the Articles of War,
Whilst the poor People, are made sordid Slaves,
And sink beneath, the Tyranny of Knaves.
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