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EBBA 32392

Huntington Library - Miscellaneous
Ballad XSLT Template
A Dialogue between
JACK KETCH and his Journey-Man;
Concerning their Profession and present Affair in the world.
They are affraid they cannot send so many to Heaven, as Baxter, Lobb, and Bull,
has sent to HELL.

JACK.
COme prithee Nick,
Look sharp, be quick,
for now begins our Harvest;
Throw by thy Coat,
Thoust have a Cloak,
for Charles is now in earnest:
His Friends no more shall hang like dogs
to please a bloody Faction;
Our damnd Phanatick Plotting Rogues,
shall breed no more distraction.

NICK.
Then use your Art,
And play your part,
and leave your course of Whoring;
Of Axe and Ropes,
Clear all the Shops,
be stocked without scoring:
You must not use three blows at one,
now Trading comes in faster;
Lest you be Hangd for fumbling John,
and I be made your Master.

JACK.
O peace good Nick,
A Drunken trick,
but made well for the Saints tho;
For they each drop,
Of Blood lickt up,
and scrapd the Scaffold also:
To make the factious fools believe,
a Traytor dyd a Martyr;
But now the Whigs to undeceive,
he dyd more like a Tartar.

NICK.
The worst I find,
Yet stays behind,
and hates to hang in order;
His Grace and Peers,
In Towns or Shires,
or sculks upon the Borders:
Argile, and Melvin, Ferguson,
and Rumbold the blind Malster:
Nelthorp Elby, Cocheran,
are all run from the Halter.

JACK.
Chesteeres and Lobbs,
Two Whigish scabs,
they preached nought but Treason,
At th end oth Farce,
Now hangs an Arse,
at groaning Tyburns Reason:
The roaring Bull throws by his Gown,
and wipes his greasie Whiskers:
While Mother Criswel rubs him down,
and claps him twixt two sisters.

NICK.
Both Gibs and Row
And Norton too,
are run to save their Bacon;
Would I were drunk,
With my sweet Punk,
were they but hangd or taken:
Charlton of the old Rump,
and Treason still promoting,
Hes come to town both Legg and Slump,
wel spoyl his art of Voting.

NICK.
By Heavens Jack,
Of all the pack,
hes like to bring us Cole boy,
For all his gang,
Hel Peach and Hang,
to keep out of the Hole boy:
Hel send fors party bundeld up,
like loads of Kentish Faggots,
Then with the Hatchet and the Rope,
wel spoil their Fiery Maggots.

JACK.
If this Trade hold,
Wel want no Gold,
old Stumps their chief Pay Master;
Of Every Rogue,
And Treacherous Dog,
that sought the Kings Disaster:
Five hundred pound Ile have at least,
if ere I take a Prentice,
Come lets go drink, our Trades the best
wel make um know what Hemp is.


Printed for J. Dean, in Cranborn-Street, in Leicester-Fields near Newport-House, 1683.

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