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EBBA 30317

British Library - Roxburghe
Ballad XSLT Template
The Maunding Souldier:
The Fruits of Warre is Beggery.
To the tune of, Permit me Friends.

Good your worship cast your eyes,
Upon a Souldiers miseries;
Let not my leane cheekes, I pray,
Your bounty from a Souldier stay,
But like a Noble friend,
Some Silver lend,
and Jove shall pay you in the end;
And I will pray that Fate,
May make you fortunate,
in heavenly, and in Earths estate.

To beg I was not borne (sweet Sir)
And therefore blush to make this stirre;
I never went from place to place,
For to divulge my wofull case:
For I am none of those
That roguing goes,
that maunding shewes their drunken blowes,
Which they have onely got,
While they have bangd the Pot,
in wrangling who should pay the shot.

I scorne to make comparison,
With those of Kent-street Garrison,
That in their lives nere crost the Seas,
But still at home have livd at ease,
Yet will they lye and sweare,
As though they were,
men t[ha]t had traveld farre and neere,
True Souldiers company,
doth teach them how to lye,
they can discourse most perfectly.

But I doe scorne such Counterfaits
That get their meanes by base deceits,
They learne of others to speake Dutch,
Of Holland theyl tell you as much,
as those that have bin there,
full many a yeere,
and name the Townes all farre and neere,
yet they never went
beyond Graves-end in Kent,
but in Kent-street three dayes are spent,

But in Olympicke Games have beene,
Whereas brave Battels I have seene;
And where the Cannon use to roare,
My proper spheare was evermore,
the danger I have past,
both first and last,
would make your worships selfe agast,
a thousand times I have
been ready for the grave,
three times I have been made a Slave.

Twice through the Bulke I have been shot,
My braines have boyled like a Pot:
I have at lest these doozen times,
Been blowne up by those roguish Mines,
under a Barracado
in a Bravado,
throwing of a hand-Granado:
Oh death was very neere,
for it tooke away my eare,
and yet (thanke God) cham here, cham here

The second part. To the same tune.

I Have upon the Seas been tane
By th Dunkerks, for the King of Spaine,
And stript out of my garments quite,
Exchanging all for Canvis white,
and in that poore aray,
for many a day,
I have been kept, till friends did pay,
a ransome for release
and having bought my peace,
my woes againe did fresh increase,

Theres no Land-service as you can name,
But I have been actor in the same,
Inth Palatinate and Bohemia,
I served many a wofull day,
at Frankendale I have,
like a Souldier brave,
receivd what welcomes Canons gave;
for the honour of England,
most stoutly did I stand.
gainst the Emperours and Spinolaes Band.

At push of Pike I lost mine eye,
At Bergen Siege I broke my thigh:
At Ostend, though I were a Lad,
I laid about me as I were mad,
Oh you would little ween,
that I had been,
an old, old Souldier to the Queene,
but if Sir Francis Vere,
were living now and here,
heed tell you how I slasht it there.

Since that I have been in Breda,
Besiegd by Marquesse Spinola,
And since that made a Warlike Dance,
Both into Spaine, and into France,
and there I lost a flood
of Noble blood,
and did but very little good:
and now I home am come,
with ragges about my bumme,
God blesse you Sir, from this poore summe:

And now my case you understand,
Good Sir, will you lend your helping hand,
A little thing will pleasure me,
And keepe in use your charity:
It is not Bread nor Cheese,
nor Barrell Lees,
nor any scraps of meat like these,
but I doe beg of you,
a shilling or two,
sweet Sir, your Purses strings undoe.

I pray your worship thinke on me,
That am what I doe seeme to be,
No Rooking Rascall, nor no Cheat,
But a Souldier every way compleat,
I have wounds to show,
that prove tis so,
then courteous good Sir, ease my woe,
and I for you will pray,
both night and day,
that your substance never may decay.

Printed at London for F. Grove on Snow-hill.

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