%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> POVERTIES Coat turn'd by a Taylor in HAMILTON. 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 09/09/2014 34188

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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

T180603 IT's now high time good Sir, to let you see, / What mischief I've sustain'd by povertie, Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 86 1: 101 POVERTIES Coat turn'd by a Taylor in HAMILTON. POVERTIES Coat turn'd by a Taylor in HAMILTON. Poverty's Coat Turned by a Tailor in Hamilton. ?-?

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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 9/9/2014 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America economics/ commerce Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 9/9/2014 4:38:43 PM XBallad Chow, Jeremy Created XML Version of Ballad 9/9/2014 4:38:43 PM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 9/9/2014 4:38:43 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Palmer Browne, Megan Transcription of ballad manuscript 9/9/2014 4:38:43 PM Transcriptionist Two Gieringer, Darby Transcription of ballad manuscript 9/9/2014 4:38:43 PM Transcriptionist One Collins, Courtney Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/15/2014 Transcriber Collins, Courtney Created Ballad XML 7/15/2014 Transcriber Gieringer, Darby Created Ballad XML 7/15/2014 Double-Key Transcription Merger Palmer Browne, Megan Created Ballad XML 7/15/2014 Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Created Ballad XML 7/15/2014 XBallad Chow, Jeremy Created Ballad XML 4/14/2014 Checker Megan Palmer Browne Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 4/14/2014 Checker Megan Palmer Browne Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 4/10/2014 Checker Charlotte Becker Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 4/10/2014 Checker Charlotte Becker Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 12/4/2012 Bibliographer Olivia Miller Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 1/24/2014 Checker Jeremy Chow Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">POVERTIES Coat turn'd by a Taylor in Hamilton</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To the Tune of <hi rend="bold">Poultrane Poverty</hi></hi></seg>
IT's now high time, good Sir, to let you see, What mischiefs I've sustain'd by povertie, Because you're now, your self within his danger, Being Hei to one, to whom he was no stranger: I mean you now sit in Mr. Thomas Seat, I pray kind Heav'n defend you from his Fate: For why, if his Malignant Stars you follow, You'l still be poor, but never a good Fellow. NEver was Creature plagued so, As I am with a ragged Knave: That follows me where e're I go: And will, I fear unto my Grave. Curst Poverty that Tattered Rogue, Haunts me like a Revengeful Ghost: Throu' Moor, throu' Dale, throu' Moss, throu' Bog, Through Inland and Maritim Coast. I could escape the Rav'nous Claws Or Messengers and all their Bands: I fear not much their Horns nor Laws, Nor their Inchaunted Silver Wands. Indemnity in Ten Days, time Made me from these fierce Harpies free. But never give a moments safe, From my ill Genius Povertie. First time I saw his Graceless Face, Was in the Fourscore sixteen year: The Swinger gave me first the Chase, When Meall and Malt and all grew dear. 'Twas then the use of Physick ceas'd, Men need not purge to get a Stomack: For Langkail was a dainty feast, The chief of all our Chear was Dramock, We seldom then paid Drunken Groats, Our Purse was wiser than our Heads, Instead of Barly, Peas and Groats; Our pots was fill'd with Bishop weeds: In that ill time I keept an Innes, Which ever since I have Repented: Then was I broke both Head and Shinnes, And ne're again could be Cemented. For Malt was then both Dear and ill, Excise was double, that was worse: Lord Archibald's Souldiers drank my Ale, And for it paid me ne're a Corse. These Left Hand Chances brought that Tyke, Who boldly Swore that he would be My Comm'rade and do what I like, He ay since keeps me Companie. Pox on his Snaking Snout, I think He'll drive me clean out of my Witts: I ne're can take my morning Drink, But down he at my Elbow Sits. Yet I on various methods thought, To free me from this Skellyton Fellow: But wit in a poor Noddle's nought,
My Purse could not my projects follow. I try'd my Friends, but all in vain, From them I nought could get but Words Their Counsel could not ease my pain, My Foe car'd not for such blunt Swords. Then with the little Stock I had. I try'd my luck at Cards and Dice, Fortune like a Treacherous Jade, First led, then left me on the Ice. To Diligence I then apply'd, And Laboured both Night and Day: Hoping that way to find Remeed, Against my sore Plague Poverty. But all in vain, a Tailors Wage, Is but a simple groat a Day, Which to Consume, my craving Page, Each Moment found a ready way Each Peck of Meall was Twenty Shilling, Judge then if I could well maintain, Altho I had been ne'er so willing, A Wife and three young Bairns at Hame. I know some reasonless Misers say, If rightly us'd it is eneugh: But let them Bable till they Dy, A Groat a day's but a poor Pleugh. Sweet Hony from a nest of Wasps, We may as well expect to see: Or Nectar in the Mouth of Asps, As such a wage cure Povertie. I therefore to the Muses fled, And Justice of them did desire: 'Gainst this Tyrannous Rennegade, That Puddles me so in the Myre. But they reply'd, when we were Young By Kings and Princes we were woo'd: But now we are with Censures stung, And lookt upon as Dotryfi'd. Some call us idle Gleckit Queans, Some say the hight will Crack our Brains Craft Reapes the Harvest, Wit but Gleans Contempt is all the Muses gains. Well ken I what they said was true, Yet their sweet Charms did so engage Me, that with them, I oft withdrew, When no Man knew but my Curst Page. Had he been absent, I with them, Could have remain'd until my Death: And this Fantastick World Contemn, And all the bitter Sweets it hath. Yet Scotlands brave Marcellus came, From England to his Native place: And there Proclaim'd our Royal ANN, With great Solemnity and Grace. Whereon I drew some Rural Rymes, Which he most Nobly did Reward; And with the Image of King James, He beat this Rebels side so hard,
That presently from me he flies, As swift as Clouds before the Sun: Golds Brightness dim'd this Night owles eyes And made him take his Heels and run. And while I keept this potent Charm, From all his Witch-crafts I was free: But he still bent to do me harm; Found means to twine my Shield and me. Altho' himself durst not appear, Yet to my Creditors did go; Who 'mongst them did my Armour share, And left me Naked to his Bloe: Who took th' Andvantage like a Coward, And bad me either Yield or Dy: What can't be cur'd, must be endur'd, For I could neither Fight nor Fly. Yet Generous Ernock one Day spy'd, This Tyrant beat me Back and side: Base Coward; look on a Man, he cry'd, Then with his Birky swing'd his side: At him he let two Lyons Loose, Which in a Trace did him surround: And gript him by the Throat so close, That down he fell into a Sound. He's Worried Dead, then did I think, Therefore some Comerads did invite: We Blythly did his Dregy Drink. But ah! or e'er I wist, his Sp'rite With Ghostly looks star'd in my Face, And swore that it would be my Curse. Go where I will, it doth me me chase And nev'r a plack leaves in my purse. Yet, then brave Mr. Crawfoord thought Upon a way this ill to cure: And he a Reverend Bishop brought, Who did ihis evil Sp'rit Conjure. At whose Command it Disappear'd. And if that Reverend Bald-pate might With me have stay'd, he had Conjur'd Him to have ta'en his farewell Flight: But Church-Men, tho' they always Preach Up Charity unto the poor, Love better to take from the Rich, Than Men of Poverty to Cure. So this proud Prelate would not stay, Because I could not pay his Teind. Against my Will he went his way, And left me Strugling with the Feind: 'Gainst whom I have no Weapons now, Wherewith that I may with him Cope, But to a Steep-hill, a Bold Brow, And to chear up my Heart I'le hope, Could I above the Water once, Get up my head, then would I fight, I'd Beat this Gobline from his Sconce, And make him take his last Good Night.
FINIS.