1. |
The Tiborne Nagge
03:45
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2. |
The Jesuits Exaltation
04:34
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I Walking near a Prison a Wall,
where Jesuits did lye,
I heard them to St. Bridget call,
to help their Misery:
Saying, with speed now intercede,
poor Jesuits to free,
Or Holbourn-Hill with Crowds they'd fill,
while hey Boys up go we.
Ah! what's become of all our Creede,
and Mass the Antick Song?
Our sweet Religious strings of Beeds
are turn'd to Fetters strong:
And Father Peter he is fled,
a woful sight to see;
When some are shorter by the Head,
then hey Boys up go we.
Some they are fled to Rome we find,
while here we fret and foam,
As being left in Tears behind,
to end the Dance at home:
To Tyburn we must take our way,
to view that Crabbed Tree,
And when we have no more to say,
then hey boys up go we.
What Sumptuous Chappels did we build,
adorn'd with Curious Paint
And was with Nuns and Fryers fill'd,
a praying to each Saint:
But this at last is come to nought,
we're ty'd from Liberty,
Till we may be to Justice brought,
then hey boys up go we.
Tho' Hereticks they have deviz'd
to bring us to our doom,
Yet we shall all be Cannoniz'd
among the Saints of Rome,
Which does much Joy and Comfort bring,
that glorious sight to see,
And when we have the Hempen string,
then hey boys up go we.
The very Lads of London Town,
they did a Rocket make,
And pull'd our Idol Pictures down,
then burn'd 'um at the Stake,
Where Mary did her Hereticks,
in Smith-field-Rounds we see;
I' Faith we did not like their Tricks,
then hey boys up go we.
Our Masses they are out of date,
some says we were too bold;
We did run on at such a rate,
which was too hot or cold;
And therefore we are overthrown,
as all may plainly see,
Now when the Gallows claims its own,
then hey boys up go we.
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3. |
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4. |
Tyburn Tree
03:53
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Since laws were made for every degree,
To curb vice in others, as well as me,
I wonder we hadn't better company
Upon Tyburn Tree
But since gold from law can take out the sting;
And if rich men like us were to swing,
'Twould thin the land, such numbers to string
Upon Tyburn Tree
The barrister, brimful of justice and law
That creeps into your bosom your bowels to gnaw,
Let him mount, and report, if he finds out a flaw,
Upon Tyburn Tree
The man that for money would cut Britain's throat,
That sees dirty scribblers to fib for a groat,
Make room for his honour to vote his last vote
Upon Tyburn Tree
Should all swing in halters that say and unsay,
That for sixpence would swear, and belie, and betray,
Some dozens I think might be ty'd up one day
Upon Tyburn Tree
Far off from the few honest folks that despise
The flummery of fashion, the whip cream of lies,
May the riff-raff remove that subsist on disguise
Upon Tyburn Tree
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5. |
A South Sea Ballad
03:18
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IN London stands a famous pile, And near that pile an Alley,
Where merry crowds for riches toil, And wisdom stoops to folly.
Here, sad and joyful, high and low, Court Fortune for her graces;
And as she smiles or frowns, they show Their gestures and grimaces.
’Tis said that alchemists of old Could turn a brazen kettle, Or leaden cistern into gold;
That noble tempting metal. But (if it here may be allowed,
To bring in great with small things) Our cunning South Sea like a god,
Turns nothing into all things.
O, Britain! bless thy present state! Thou only happy nation!
So oddly rich, so madly great, Since Bubbles came in fashion.
Our South Sea ships have golden shrouds, They bring us wealth, ’tis granted:
But lodge their treasure in the clouds, To hide it till it’s wanted.
A race of men, who, t’ other day, Lay crushed beneath disasters,
Are now, by Stock, brought into play, And made our lords and masters.
But should our South Sea Babel fall, What numbers would be frowning;
The losers then must ease their gall By hanging, or by drowning.
Five hundred millions, notes and bonds, Our Stocks are worth in value:
But neither lie in goods, or lands, Or money, let me tell ye.
Yet though our foreign trade is lost, Of mighty wealth we vapour;
When all the riches that we boast Consist of scraps of paper.
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6. |
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It proues a bad nature in men doth remaine.
To make women lewd their purses they straine.
For a woman that's honest they care not a whit,
Theyle say she is honest because she lackes wit.
Derry Down Down, Down Derry Down
If we be honest and merrie, for giglots they take vs,
If modest and sober, then proud they doe make vs:
Let Women and Maides whatsoeuer they be,
Come follow my counsell, be warned by me.
Derry Down Down, Down Derry Down
The humors of men, see how froward they bee;
We know not to please them in any degree:
For if we goe plaine we are sluts they doe say,
They doubt of our honesty if we goe gay;
Derry Down Down, Down Derry Down
Of all the things which we euermore finde,
Such thoughts doe arise as are like to the minde.
Mens thoughts being wicked they wracke on vs thus,
That scandall is taken, not giuen by vs.
Derry Down Down, Down Derry Down
Theyle call women whores, but their stakes they might saue,
There can be no Whore, but there must be a Knaue.
They say that our dressings, and that our attire
Are causes to moue them to lustfull fire.
Derry Down Down, Down Derry Down
If their sight be so weake, and their frailtie be such,
Then Why doe they gaze at our beauty so much?
Plucke away those ill roots from whence sinne doth arise,
Amend wicked thoughts, or plucke out their eyes.
Derry Down Down, Down Derry Down
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7. |
The Black Procession
07:03
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I
Good people, give ear, whilst a story I tell,
Of twenty black tradesmen who were brought up in hell,
On purpose poor people to rob of their due;
There's none shall be nooz'd if you find but one true.
The first was a coiner, that stampt in a mould;
The second a voucher to put off his gold,
Toure you well; hark you well, see Where they are rubb'd,
Up to the nubbing cheat where they are nubb'd.
II
The third was a padder, that fell to decay,
Who used for to plunder upon the highway;
The fourth was a mill-ken to crack up a door,
He'd venture to rob both the rich and the poor,
The fifth was a glazier who when he creeps in,
To pinch all the lurry he thinks it no sin.
Toure you well, etc.
Toure you well; hark you well, see Where they are rubb'd,
Up to the nubbing cheat where they are nubb'd.
III
The sixth is a file-cly that not one cully spares,
The seventh a budge to track softly upstairs;
The eighth is a bulk, that can bulk any hick,
If the master be nabbed, then the bulk he is sick,
The ninth is an angler, to lift up a grate
If he sees but the lurry his hooks he will bait.
Toure you well, etc.
IV
The tenth is a shop-lift that carries a Bob,
When he ranges the city, the shops for to rob.
The eleventh’s a bubber, much used of late;
Who goes to the ale house, and steals all their plate,
The twelfth is a beau-trap, if a cull he does meet
He nips all his cole, and turns him into the street.
Toure you well, etc.
V
The thirteenth a famble, false rings for to sell,
When a mob, he has bit his cole he will tell;
The fourteenth a gamester, if he sees the cull sweet
He presently drops down a cog in the street;
The fifteenth a prancer, whose courage is small,
If they catch him horse-coursing, he's nooz'd once for all.
Toure you well, etc.
VI
The sixteenth a sheep-napper, whose trade is so deep,
If he's caught in the corn, he's marked for a sheep
The seventeenth a dunaker, that stoutly makes vows,
To go in the country and steal all the cows;
The eighteenth a kid-napper, who spirits young men,
Tho' he tips them a pike, they oft nap him again.
Toure you well, etc.
VII
The nineteenth's a prigger of cacklers who harms,
The poor country higlers, and plunders the farms;
He steals all their poultry, and thinks it no sin,
When into the hen-roost, in the night, he gets in;
The twentieth's a thief-catcher, so we him call,
Who if he be nabb'd will be made pay for all.
Toure you well, etc.
VIII
There's many more craftsmen whom here I could name,
Who use such-like trades, abandon'd of shame;
To the number of more than three-score on the whole,
Who endanger their body, and hazard their soul;
And yet; though good workmen, are seldom made free,
Till they ride in a cart, and be noozed on a tree.
Toure you well, hark you well, see where they are rubb'd,
Up to the nubbing cheat, where they are nubb'd.
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8. |
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UPON CROMWELL
Here lies that beast made up of blood,
That murdered Charles the First so good,
And for his deeds, as they were evil,
Let him not want fire, good devil
UPON BRADSHAWE
My Epitah is ‘Burn in Hell’
Which with my deeds doth fit full well,
I was a Rogue, and so I dy’d,
And none like me was ere beside
UPON IRETON
I of the Divell did take degree,
Thinking of him to have a fee,
But now I am got into the pot,
With my Sire Cromwell too too hot
UPON PRIDE
I of a brewer too high did swell,
But then at last too low I fell,
Better it was for to sell grains,
Than to endure such woeful pains,
As I do in this woeful place
I wish that I had had more grace
UPON SCOT
Here lies a bloody rebel bold,
That kil’d his King for gain of Gold,
Tis’ known he lov’d whores full well,
For which he now repents in Hell
UPON HARRISON
Here lies that mighty man of might,
That taught his men to preach and fight,
They were in the wrong and not the right
And so they bade the world goodnight
UPON PETERS
I was the only preaching man
From which all mischiefs sprang,
And did such horrid things create,
Which would make all the world retreat,
Nay let the world lay down and dye
When they hear of thy villany,
So I go to my cursed crew,
Saying farewell world and so adieu,
Take me divell, do me no wrong,
For I from thee have staid too long
The night is gone, the Day is almost spread,
Our woefull Ghosts from Tyburn now are fled
Each to his doeful station now is bent,
For fear they by grand Plato should be sent
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9. |
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10. |
Tony's Lamentation
03:04
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Alas ! poor Unfortunate T O N Y,
where now must thou hide thy old head ?
That has not so much as one Crony
dares own the great things thou hast said:
Is this the thanks of the Nation,
For thy Association,
And Liberty,
That Reformation,
---------- which I prescrib’d to set you all free.
Ungrateful unsensible Cullies,
to leave your Decriped Patroon,
Toth’ merciless rage of the Bullies,
and Tories in every Lampoon:
Is then your City protection,
And all the vow’d Affection,
For your New Church,
In such Destraction,
That you will leave your Peer in the Lurch.
How oft have I treated the Rabble,
and made the poor Doctor to Peach ?
Confusion to all which were able,
and did not assist in the Breach:
Are all your Butchers and Weavers,
And Mobbily Believers,
But whilst I treat
Damn’d deceivers,
What Fool by you can hope to be great ?
Then farewel thou Treacherous City,
for ever I’le bid thee adieu,
Thou never wer’t Honest and Witty,
nor never to any side true :
I see the end that you drive at,
Which lest your hopes arrive at,
I have slunk away,
To Hang in private,
And rob the World of a Holliday.
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11. |
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Now the Fatall day is come,
On which I must receive my doom,
Upon that wretched fatall tree,
A game for all people to be.
A game for all people to be.
A game for all people to be.
While I did live in Splender grate,
My Attendances on me to wait,
I made my money for to fly,
But now on tyburn i must dye.
But now on tyburn i must dye.
Many a one i train'd up i say,
For to run on in Wicked ways.
And when they had displesed me,
I'd send them to the Featall tree.
I'd send them to the Featall tree.
I'd send them to the Featall tree.
I have cropt maney in there prime,
Before that th'ave lived half there time,
But indeed i have my deseartes,
To tyburn to rid in a Cart.
To tyburn to rid in a Cart.
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12. |
Smugglerius
01:16
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13. |
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14. |
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15. |
A Budg And Snudg Song
03:57
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I
The budge it is a delicate trade,
And a delicate trade of fame;
For when that we have bit the bloe,
We carry away the game:
But if the cully naps us,
And the lurries from us take,
O then he rubs us to the whitt
Though we are not worth a make
II
And when that we come unto the whitt,
For garnish they do cry;
Mary, faugh, you son of a whore;
We promise our lusty comrogues
They shall have it by and bye
Then, every man with his mort in his hand,
With a kiss we part, and westward stand,
To the nubbing cheat in a cart.
III
And when we come to the nubbing cheat
For running on the budge,
There stands Jack Ketch, that son of a bitch
That owes us all a grudge.
And when that he hath noosed us,
And our friends tip him no cole,
O then he throws us in the cart
And tumbles us into the hole.
IV
But if we have a friend stand by,
Six and eight pence for to pay,
Then they may have our bodies back,
And carry us quiet away:
For at St Giles’s or St Martin’s,
A burying place is still;
And there’s an end of a darkman’s budge,
And the whoreson hath his will.
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16. |
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17. |
Bing Out, Bien Morts
05:06
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Bing out, bien Morts, and toure, and toure,
bing out, bien Morts, and toure;
For all your Duds are bingd awaste,
the bien coue hath the loure.
I
I met a Dell, I viewde her well,
she was benship to my watch;
So she and I, did stall and cloy,
while I stole whateuer we could catch.
II
This Doxie dell, can cut bien whids,
and wap well for a win;
And prig and cloy so benshiply,
all the dewsea-vile within.
IV
To Stawling Kenne the Mort bings then,
to fetch loure for her cheates;
Duds and Ruff-pecke, ruinboild by Harmanbecke,
and won by Mawnder’s feates.
VII
Till Cramprings quier, tip Coue his hire,
and quier-kens doe them catch;
A canniken, mill quier cuffen,
so quier to ben coue’s watch.
III
The boyle was vp, wee had good lucke,
in frost, for and in snow;
When they did seeke, then we did creepe,
and plant in ruffe-mans low.
V
You Mawnders all, stow what you stall,
to Rome coues watch so quire;
And wapping Dell that niggles well,
and takes loure for her hire.
VIII
Bein darkmans then, bouse, mort, and ken
the bien coue’s bingd awast;
On chates to trine, by Rome-coues dine
for his long lib at last.
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antigen records Ipswich, UK
DIY record label / niche interest vanity project, still operating out of a bedroom on a council estate in Ipswich.
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