The Poet's Ramble after Riches or, a Night's Transactions Upon the Road Burlesqu'd; With Reflections on a Dissenting Corporation: Together, With the Authors Lamentation, in the time of Adversity [by Edward Ward] |
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The Authors Lamentation in time of Adversity. |
 | The Poet's Ramble after Riches |  |
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The Authors Lamentation in time of Adversity.
A shirt I have on,
Little better than none,
In Colour much like to a Cinder;
So Thin and so Fine,
It is my design
To present it the Muses for Tinder.
Little better than none,
In Colour much like to a Cinder;
So Thin and so Fine,
It is my design
To present it the Muses for Tinder.
My black Fustian Breeches,
So fal'n in the Stitches,
You might see what my Legs had between 'em;
My Pockets all four,
I'm a Son of a Whore,
If a Devil a Penny is in 'em.
So fal'n in the Stitches,
You might see what my Legs had between 'em;
My Pockets all four,
I'm a Son of a Whore,
If a Devil a Penny is in 'em.
A Hat I have on,
Which so Greezy is grown,
It remarkable is for its shining:
One side is stitcht up,
'Stead of Button and Loop,
But the Devil a bit of a Lining.
Which so Greezy is grown,
It remarkable is for its shining:
One side is stitcht up,
'Stead of Button and Loop,
But the Devil a bit of a Lining.
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I have a long Sword,
You may take't of my word,
That the Blade is a Tolledo Trusty;
The Handle is bound,
With a black Ribbon round,
And the Basket Hilt damnable Rusty.
You may take't of my word,
That the Blade is a Tolledo Trusty;
The Handle is bound,
With a black Ribbon round,
And the Basket Hilt damnable Rusty.
My Coat it is turn'd,
With the Lappets piss-burn'd,
So out at the Arm-pits and Elboes,
That I look as absurd,
As a Seaman on Board,
That has lain half a Year in the Bilboes.
With the Lappets piss-burn'd,
So out at the Arm-pits and Elboes,
That I look as absurd,
As a Seaman on Board,
That has lain half a Year in the Bilboes.
I have Stockins, 'tis true,
But the Devil a Shoe,
I am forc'd to wear Boots all Weathers;
Till I lost my Spur-Rowls,
And damn'd my Boot Souls,
And Confounded the Upper Leathers.
But the Devil a Shoe,
I am forc'd to wear Boots all Weathers;
Till I lost my Spur-Rowls,
And damn'd my Boot Souls,
And Confounded the Upper Leathers.
My Beard is grown long,
As Hogs Bristles, and strong,
Which the Wenches so woundily stare at;
The Colour is Whey,
Mixt with Orange and Grey,
With a little small spice of the Carrat.
As Hogs Bristles, and strong,
Which the Wenches so woundily stare at;
The Colour is Whey,
Mixt with Orange and Grey,
With a little small spice of the Carrat.
24
As true as I live,
I have but one Sleeve,
Which I wear in the Room of a Cravat;
In this plight I wait,
To get an Estate,
But the Devil knows when I shall have it.
I have but one Sleeve,
Which I wear in the Room of a Cravat;
In this plight I wait,
To get an Estate,
But the Devil knows when I shall have it.
O had you but seen
The sad State I was in,
You'd not find such a Poet in Twenty;
I had nothing that's full,
But my Shirt and my Skull,
For my Guts and my Pockets were empty.
The sad State I was in,
You'd not find such a Poet in Twenty;
I had nothing that's full,
But my Shirt and my Skull,
For my Guts and my Pockets were empty.
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