%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> The industrious Smith wherin is showne, / How plain dealing is overthrown, / That let a man do the best that he may, / An idle huswife will work his decay, / Yet art is no burthen, though ill we may speed, / Our labour will help us in time of our need; Crouch, Humphrey University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1633-1633 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 04/18/2011 30099

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

S115686 2 the same tune UNKNOWN The Same Tune yong man remember delights are but vain UNKNOWN Young Man Remember Delights Are But Vain THere was a poor Smith liv'd in a poor town, / That had a loving wife bonny and brown, A Sort of Saylers were drinking one night, / And when they were drunk began for to fight These things must be if we sell Ale. [with variation] Roxburghe Ballads Editor None None None None Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 158 1: 159 The industrious Smith wherin is showne, / How plain dealing is overthrown, / That let a man do the best that he may, / An idle huswife will work his decay, / Yet art is no burthen, though ill we may speed, / Our labour will help us in time of our need; The industrious Smith wherin is showne, How plain dealing is overthrown, That let a man do the best that he may, An idle huswife will work his decay, Yet art is no burthen, though ill we may speed, Our labour will help us in time of our need; The industrious Smith wherein is shown, How plain dealing is overthrown, That let a man do the best that he may, An idle housewife will work his decay, Yet art is no burden, though ill we may speed, Our labor will help us in time of our need; Crouch, Humphrey 1633-1633 Richard Harper

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious types & sects royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic The New World travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgarities/ crass humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 4/18/2011 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America alcohol economics/ commerce Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 4/18/2011 3:07:55 PM XBallad Doss, MacKenzie Created XML Version of Ballad 4/18/2011 3:07:55 PM Transcription Supervisor McAbee, Kristina, Nebeker, Eric Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/18/2011 3:07:55 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Zusky, Catherine Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/18/2011 3:07:55 PM Transcriptionist Two Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/18/2011 3:07:55 PM Transcriptionist One Becker, Charlotte Transcription of ballad manuscript 9/8/2010 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 7/7/2008 Bibliographer Giles Bergel Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 4/15/2011 Transcriber Becker, Charlotte Created Ballad XML 4/15/2011 Transcriber Meyer, Shannon Created Ballad XML 4/15/2011 Double-Key Transcription Merger Zusky, Catherine Created Ballad XML 4/15/2011 Transcription Supervisor McAbee, Kristina, Nebeker, Eric Created Ballad XML 4/15/2011 XBallad Doss, MacKenzie Created Ballad XML 11/5/2008 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 1/19/2011 Checker Bethany Wong Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The industrious Smith wherin is showne,</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">How plain dealing is overthrown,</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">That let a man do the best that he may,</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">An idle huswife will work his decay,</hi></seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Yet art is no burthen, though ill we may speed,</hi></seg> <seg n="6" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Our labour will help us in time of our need;</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="7" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">To the tune of yong man remember delights are but vain.</hi></hi></seg>
THere was a poor Smith livd in a poor town, That had a loving wife bonny and brown, And though he were very discreet and wise, Yet would he do nothing without her advise, His stock it grew low, full well he did know, He told his wife what he intended to do, Quoth he, sweet wife, if I can prevail, I will shoo horses, and thou shalt sell Ale. I see by my labour but little I thrive, And that against the stream I do strive, By selling of Ale some mony is got, If every man honestly pay for his pot: By this may we keep the Wolf from the door, And live in good fashion though now we live poor, If we have good custome we shal have quick sale, So may we live bravely by selling of Ale. Kind husband, quoth she, let be as you said, It is the best motion that ever you made, A Stan of good Ale, let me have in, A dozen of good white bread in my Bin, Tobacco likewise we must not forget, Men will call for it, when malts above wheat. When once it is known, then ore hill and dale, Men will come flocking to taste of our Ale. They sent for a wench, her name it was Besse, And her they hired to welcome their ghesse, They took in good Ale and many things mo, The Smith had got him two strings to his bow, Good fellows come in, and began for to rore, The Smith he was never so troubled before, But quoth the good wife, sweet hart do not rayl, These things must be if we sell Ale.
The Smith went to his work every day, But still one or other would call him away. For now he had got him the name of an Host, It cost him many a pot and a toste, Besides much precious time he now lost, And thus the poor Smith was every day crost, But, quoth the good wife, sweet hart do not rayl, These things must be if we sell Ale. Men run on the score and little they paid Which made the poor Smith be greatly dismaid And bonny Besse though she were not slack, To welcom her guesse, yet things went to wrack For she would exchange a pot for a kisse, Which any fellow should seldom times misse. But quoth the good wife, sweet hart do not rayl, These things must be if we sell Ale. The Smith went abroad, at length hee came home And found his maid, and man in a room, Both drinking together foot to foot, To speak unto them he thought twas no boot, For they were both drunk and could not reply, To make an excuse as big as a lye. But quoth the good wife, sweet hart do not rayl, These things must be if we sell Ale. He came home again and there he did see His Wife kindly sitting on a mans knee, And though he said litle, yet he thought the more And who could blame the poore Wittall therfore, He hugd her & kist her though Vulcan stood by, Which made him to grumble, and look all awry. But quoth the good wife, sweet hart do not rayl, These things must be if we sell Ale.
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The second part to the same tune.</hi></seg>
A Sort of Saylers were drinking one night, And when they were drunk began for to fight The Smith came to part them, as some do report, And for his good will was beat in such sort, That he could not lift his arms to his head, Nor yet very hardly creep up to his bed. But quoth the good Wife, sweet hart do not rayl, These things must be if we sell Ale. The Smith by chance a good fellow had met, That for strong Ale was much in his debt, He askt him for mony, quoth he, by your leave, I owe you no mony nor none you shall have, I owe to your wife and her I will pay, The Smith he was vext and departed away. Alas, who could blame him if now he do rayl, These things should not be though they sold Ale. Old debts must be paid, O why should they not, The fellow went home to pay the old shot, The Smith followed after and they fell at strife, For he found this fellow in bed with his Wife, He fretted and fumed, he curst and he swore, Quoth she, he is come to pay the old score. And still she cryde, good sweet hart do not rayl, For these things must be if we sell Ale. A flock of good fellows all Smiths by their trade, Within a while after a holiday made, Unto the Smiths house they came then with speed, And there they were wondrous merry indeed, With my pot and thy pot to rayse the score hier, Mine Oast was so drunk he fell in the fire. But quoth the good Wife, sweet hart do not rayl, These things must be if we sell Ale.
Mine Oast being drunk and loose in his joynts, He took an occasion to untrusse his points, The vault it was nere, but borded but slight, The Smith he was heavy and could not tred light, The bords broke asunder, and down he fell in, It was a worse matter then breaking his shin, But quoth the good Wife, sweet heart do not rayl, These things must be if we sell Ale. Happy is he who when he doth stumble, Knowes the ground well before he do tumble, But so did not he, for he had forgotten, The bords which he trod on were so rotten, He moved the house to mirth and to laughter, His clothes they stunk at least a month after, But, quoth the good Wife, sweet hart do not rayl, These things must be if we sell Ale. But men ran so much with him on the score, That Vulcan at last grew wondrous poor, He owed the Brewer and Baker so much, They thretned to arrest him, his case it was such, He went to his Anvill, to my pot and thine, He turnd out his Maid, he puld down his Signe. But O (quoth the good Wife) why should we fail, These things should not be if we sell Ale. The Smith & his boy went to work for some chink, To pay for the liquor which others did drink, Of all trades in London, few break as I heare, That sell Tobacco, strong Ale and good Beer, They might have done better, but they were loth, To fill up their measure with nothing but froth. Let no Ale-house keeper at my Song rayl, These things must be if they sell Ale.
FINIS. Humfrey Crowch. LONDON, Printed for RICHARD HARPER in Smithfield.