%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> The Banishment of Poverty by his Royal / Highness, J.D.A., University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer ?-? Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 07/15/2014 33983

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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

T188980 POx fa that pultron povertie, / Wa worth the time that I him saw; Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 2 The Banishment of Poverty by his Royal / Highness, The Banishment of Poverty by his Royal Highness, J.D.A., ?-?

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family Featured 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 groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 7/15/2014 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America class economics/ commerce nobility/ court servitude Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 7/15/2014 3:48:33 PM XBallad Bell, Erik Created XML Version of Ballad 7/15/2014 3:48:33 PM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/15/2014 3:48:33 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging McAbee, Kristina Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/15/2014 3:48:33 PM Transcriptionist Two Jones, John H. Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/15/2014 3:48:33 PM Transcriptionist One White, Sedella Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/14/2014 Checker Kristen McCants Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/26/2012 Bibliographer Shannon Meyer Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 1/31/2014 Checker Jeremy Chow Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 1/17/2013 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 1/17/2013 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The Banishment of P<hi rend="bold">overty</hi> by his Royal</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Highness, <hi rend="bold">J.D.A.</hi></hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To the Tune of the Last Good-night.</hi></seg>
POx sa that pultron povertie, Wa worth the time that I him saw; Since first he laid his fang on me, My self from him I dought ne're draw: His wink to me has been a Law, He hunts me like a penny Dog, Of him I stand far greater aw, Than Puppil does of Pedagogue. The first time that he met with me, Was at a Clachan in the West. Its name I trow Kilbarchan be, Where Habies Drons blew many a blast, There we shook hands, cald be his cast, An ill dead may that Custron die. For there he gripped me well fast, Where first I fell in Cautionrie. Yet I had hopes to be reliev'd, And fred from that soul laidly lown: Fernier when whiggs were ill mischiev'd And forc'd to fling their weapons down; When we chasd them from Glasgow Town I with that Swinger thought to graple, But when Indemnity came down, The laldron pow'd me by the thraple. And yet in hopes of some relief, A rade I made to Arinjrow, Where they did bravely buff my beef, And made my body black and blew: At Justice Court I them pursue, Expecting help by their reproof, Indemnity made nothing due, The D- a farthing for my loof. But wishing that I wode ride east, To trote on foot I soon would tire; My Page allowed me not a beast, I wanted gilt to pay the hire: He and I lap o're many a syre, He hooked me at Calder-cult, But lang or I wan to Slyps-mire, The ragged rogue took me a Whilt, By Holin-bush and bridge of Bony, We bicker down toward Bankier, We fear'd no reavers for our money, Nor whilly wha's to grip our gear: My tatter,d Tutor took no fear, Though we did travel in the mirk; He thought it fit when we drew near, To filsh a forrage at Falkirk. No man would open me the door, Because my Commerade stood by; They dread full ill I was right poor, By my forecasten company, Then Cunninghame did me espy- By how and hair he hall'd me in, And swore we should not part so dry: Though I were striped to the Skin, We baid all night, but lang or day My curst companion bad me rise; I start up soon and took my way, He needed not to bid me twice, But what to do we did advise, In Lithgow we might not sit down,
On a Scots Groat we baited thrice, And in at night to Edinburgh Town. We held the Lang gate to Leith-wind, Where poorest purses use to be; And in the Caltown lodged syne, Fit quarters for sick companie. Yet the High-town I fain would see, But that my man did me discharge. He will'd me Blackburns Ale to prie, And muff my beard it was right large. The morn I ventur'd up the Wynd, And slung'd in at the Nether-bow, Thinking that Trooker for to tyne, Who does me damnage what he dow, His company he does bestow, On me, to my great grief and pain; Ere I the thrang could wrestle through, The Lown was at my heels again. I grein'd to gang on the plain stanes, To see if Commerads wad me ken, We twa gade paceing there our lanes, The hungry hour 'twixt twelve and ane, When I kend no way how to fend, My Guts rumbl'd like a Hurle-barrow, I din'd with Saints and Noble men, Ev'n sweet St. Giles, and Earl of Murray, Tykes Testment take him for his treat, I needed not my teeth to pike, Though I was in a cruel sweat, He set not by, say what I like: I call'd him Turk and traiked Tyke, And wearied him with many a curse; My bones were hard like a stone dyke, No Reg. Marie was in my purse. Kind Widow Caddel sent for me, To dine as she did oft forsooth, But ah! alas, that would not be, Her house was o're near the Tolbooth. Yet God reward her for her love, And kindness, which I fed full found, Most readie still for my behove, Ere this hells hound took her in hand. I left my Page and stour'd to Leith, To try my credit at the wine, But foul a drible fil'd my teeth, He gripp'd me at the Coffee Sign, I sta down through the Nether Wynd, My Lady Semples house was near; To enter there was my design, Where Poverty durst ne're appear. I din'd there, but I bade not lang, My Lady fain would shelter me. But e're alas I needs must gang, And leave that comelie companie: Her Lad convey'd me with a key, Out through the Garden to the fields, Ere I the Links could graithlie see, My Governour was at my heels. I dought not dance to pipe or harp, I had no stock for Cards and Dice, But I fuir to Sir William Sharp, Who never made his Counsel nice:
That little man he is right wise, And sharp as any brier can be, He bravely gave me his advice, How I might poyson povertie. Quoth he, there grows hard by the Dyel, In Hattons Garden bright and sheen, A soveraign herb call'd Penny Royal, Whilk all the year grows fresh and green, Could ye but gather fair and clean, Your business would not go backward, But let account of it be seen, From the Physicians of Exchequer. For if that Ticket ye bring with you, Come back to me, you need not fear, For I some of that herb can give you, Whilk I have planted this same year: Your Page it will cause disappear, Who waits on you against your will; To gather it I shall you lear, In my own Yard of Stonny hill. But when I dread that would not work I underthought me of a wyle, How I might at my leisure lurk, My graceless Guardian to beguile: It's but my galloping a mile, Through Cannongate with little loss, Till I have Sanctuary a while Within the Girth of Abbey Closs: There I wan in, and blyth was I, When to the inner Court I drew, My Governour I did defy, For joy I clapt my wings and crew. There Messengers dare not pursue, Nor with their wands mens shoulders steer There dwells distressed Lairds enew, In peace though they have little gear, There twa hours I did not tarrie, Till my blest fortune was to see A sight sure by the mights of Marie, Of that brave Duke of Albanie. Where one blink of his Princly eye, Put that foul foondling to the flight, Fra me he banisht povertie, And gart him take his last goodnight.
FINIS.