%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> Money is my Master: / Yet once it was a servant unto mee, / But now for want of Money I am in misery, / Yet I doe hope to find some remedy. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1624-1624 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 04/25/2011 30351

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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

S120181 2 Better late thrive then never UNKNOWN Better Late Thrive Than Never the same tune UNKNOWN The Same Tune I Have bin the Master of money good store, / but now alas 'tis nothing so, LIkewise there are some to money are slaves, / and doe esteem it as their God, This money is many mens master their master, / 'Tis money is now growne my master. [with variation] For money is now grown my master my master, / 'Tis money is now growne my master. [with variation] Roxburghe Ballads Editor None None None None Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 526 1: 527 Money is my Master: / Yet once it was a servant unto mee, / But now for want of Money I am in misery, / Yet I doe hope to find some remedy. Money is my Master: Yet once it was a servant unto mee, But now for want of Money I am in misery, Yet I doe hope to find some remedy. Money is my Master: Yet once it was a servant unto me, But now for want of Money I am in misery, Yet I do hope to find some remedy. 1624-1624 Francis Coules

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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 4/25/2011 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America class economics/ commerce vice Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 4/25/2011 3:19:42 PM XBallad Doss, MacKenzie Created XML Version of Ballad 4/25/2011 3:19:42 PM Transcription Supervisor McAbee, Kristina, Nebeker, Eric Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/25/2011 3:19:42 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/25/2011 3:19:42 PM Transcriptionist Two Hehmeyer, Paxton Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/25/2011 3:19:42 PM Transcriptionist One Becker, Charlotte Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/22/2008 Bibliographer Giles Bergel Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 2/19/2011 Checker Bethany Wong Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 2/17/2009 Checker Meghan Fadel Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/6/2008 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/29/2010 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="bold"><hi rend="italic">Money is my Master:</hi></hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Yet once it was a servant unto mee,</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">But now for want of Money I am in misery,</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Yet I doe hope to find some remedy.</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To the tune of, <hi rend="bold">Better late thrive then never.</hi></hi></seg>
I Have bin the Master of money good store, but now alas tis nothing so, For now I am growne very exceeding poore, and cannot well tell what to doe: Tis want of this money for that was my friend, And when I had store I it lewdely did spend, I thought I should never of it seene an end, This money is many mens master their master, Tis money is now growne my master. Perhaps some will say it is but as drosse, but I say it is a fine mettall, For he that wants money is possest with a crosse, and is like to enjoy but a ltittle: For hee that hath money may have what hee will, Looke what he desireth his mind to fullfill, With brave entertainement and kind welcome still, Tis money is many mens master their master, This money, etc. Whereas I had store of silver and gold, then I was respected with Gallants, But now I have none their love is growne cold, and Im more rejected then valliants. Those that I have feasted with wine & good cheare From me stand a loft & will not come mee neare, Because I want meanes it puts me in feare. Tis money is many mens master their Master, Tis money, etc.
Thus lack of this money makes all men foregoe me, as if they nere saw me before, But if I had mony im sure they would know me and I should have company store: They would come unto me with tales and with lyes, And many brave projects they soon would devise, But let men be carefull, such are cunning spies, Tis money is many mens master their master, Tis money, etc. Now I all alone may sit like an asse, whilst others are frollickly drinking, And freely carrowsing the cup and the glasse, I to my selfe sadly am thinking, How they are in danger to fall in the snare. Wherein I am tangled with griefe & with care, Therefore I advise you such lewdnesse forbeare, Tis money is many mens master their master, Tis money, etc. This moneys a servant likewise I may say, to them that doe carefully use it, But it is uncertaine and soone runns away, and specially if once you abuse it: I meane if you wast it in drinking and pride, At Cards Dice and whores full fast it will slide, Leave off all such follies for thus I have trid, That money becometh my master my master, Tis money that now is my Master.
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The second part, To the same tune.</hi></seg>
LIkewise there are some to money are slaves, and doe esteem it as their God, Then more that they have the more stil they crave but those are most impudent bad: For money was made for to passe to and fro, As for them that hord it twill turne to their woe, But for my owne part I did never doe so. For money is now grown my master my master, Tis money is now growne my master. This money is growne such a conquerer, as Alexander was never greater, He gaind all his credit and honour by warre But money now wins it more better: There are many brave sparkes march in silver & gold, That the face of a foe they did scarce ere behold, It is their great maintenance that makes them bold And these are right masters of mony of mony, O these are, etc. This fine Master Money is growne such a man, that many would faine enter in it, But nere since those witches from Lancaster came, could I have the fortune to gaine it: Twill one day be better but certaine nere worse, If ere I get Money againe in my purse, Ile lay a gray groat Ile take a better course, And seeke to be a master of money of money, I faine would, etc.
This lack of this Money doth trouble my mind, that I am full sorely tormented, I have much a doe a kind Hostis to find, that will with me now be contented: Quoth she give me Money for I will not score, She saies she hath chalke enough behind the dore, But I must intreat her to set up some more, Till I can be, etc. Now he that hath Money thouht be but a boy, he shall be made welcome most friendly, The love of brave Gallants he soone may enjoy, and he shall be used most kindly: Theres no age nor wit no strength can prevaile, Tis Money may dot for it is a sure baile, and he that hath it can seldome times faile, This money, etc. Now thus to conclude and so end my ditty, you that have money make good use ont, For friendship is cold in Country Towne & Citty if once you be driven to want, Therefore now bee warned, for here you may see The griefes & the sorrowes that now possesse me, And this was all long of my bad husbandrie. Tis money is many mens master their master, Tis money is now growne my master.
FINIS. Printed at London for Francis Coules.