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Broadside ballad in two parts entitled 'The Meal Mongers Garland'



Containing two excellent new Songs

part 1st.. The Meal Mongers intreagues and Resolutions. Part: 2d, The Buyers Answer,

To the Tune of, The Meal was dear short-fine

The First Part.

Come Willie I'll tell you the News
and they are very good,
The Frost has hindred the plows
And all the Poor wants Food,
How mickle Meal hae ye?
And where will ye gang we'd?
We will not yet Supplie,
Till they be almost Dead,
Will ye be rul'd by me,
And I will lead the way,
And we will send to fee,
On every Merkat day.

What rates each Market bears,
For fear the Price Should fall
And the Markets we will forestall.
In every Market Town,
Our orderly Man shall stand
And raise the peck to a Crown,
So we'll get all free Land,
With Masks and Fans and Gloves,
Our Daughters shall be bra,
Our Lads shall Court their Loves
With Whips and Spurs and a.

In Heads so finely drest
With Ribbons our Wives shall flee,
And we among the rest
Will Swagger like who but we.
We'll a buy famous Hatts
With boots and spurs and Wigg
Housings and Hulster caps,
O wooe but we'll look bigg.

And we'll hae pistols too
In ye'll believ my Word,
Then what will the Countrey do
When each of us get's a Sword
And each a box of Snuff
The best and not the worst,
O then! how we will huff!
We'll a be finely Horst.

The best Cloath can be had
We'll all buy for our Cloaths,
Then all that can be said
There rides the Oatmeal beaus
And we'll buy lusty purses
To hold our ill gotten gain,
And a Bag for to hold all the Curses
And then we will swagger amain..

What dill man art thou mad?
Or have you lost your sence?
Where's all the wit ye had?
Ye'd better hoord up your pence:
For this time will not hold
The price o'the meil will fall,
Alas! it is no jeast,
Ah, that's the Devil and all.

Make Porrige and Sowens but thin,
And tell the lads this Year,
The eating of much, is a Sin,
For Corn and meal is dear,
Tell them that many Poor Men
Eat Herbs and drink clear Water
Sav't from the Servants if ye can
But the poor shall be little better.

We'll a hord up the meil
As long as ever we can
What ever we have conceal'd
Confess it to never a Man,
Till all of them Cringe and bow
And cry dear Sir we want
A bushel of meil for a Cow,
O then! brave Boys we'll rant.

Take care my dearest honey
Take care of money ill gotten.
Pish, Woman, if I get the Money
I value not Conscience a Butten;
Let all the poor folk Curse
And all the Curses fall,
If I get a pondrous purse,
I care not a fig for them all

I'll raise my family,
And none shall me controul,
And when I come to Die,
If I have lost my Soul,
For giving So little a Peck,
And taking So mickle gain,
I'll tie my self into my sack
And in Hell it will keep out the Flames.

The Second PART

Containing the Buyers Answer,

To the Tune of, Death and the Lady.

Fire Brands of Satan are you then resolv'd
To live and die where you are now involv'd
Under the Curse of him that is most-high,
Who hears the poor when they to him do cry;

Think you your Sack shall keep away his wrath
Or yet your Money when you yield your Breath:
And will you give your Souls eternally,
For Earthly rotten wasting Vanity?

What is your Gold you by Extortion get,
Or what your Silver, will it make you great?
Goods by extortion got will soon decrease
And blast at once all that you do possess.

Cursed are ye who do the Corn withhold,
And blest is he that Corn and Meal hath fold,
To serve the poor with righteous lawful gain,
His Substance shall with him and his remain.

But ye that hord up meal till it be rotten,
And buries it where it must be forgotten
When it's in crawling Worms and red and blew,
Heavens direful Curse will surely fall on you.

Wretch can thou hear thy brother cry (I want)
And thou have plenty and the poor man scant ?
And wilt thou take his Coat and Shirt away,
For as much food as saves his life one day ?

Sure if thou dost, thou'st made a league with Hell
And hast struck hands with Belzebub to dwell,
This is thy fate, thou can't expect another,
That sets thy self to starve thy Christian Brother.

Thou cannot eat thy own food with content,
And what thy Servants gets thou thinks ill spent
If thou could get thy barn fil'd fall of Oar,
For one small peck of Meal thou would have more.

Ask all men in the Earrh if they can tell
Of one that e'er grew rich with selling Meal,
I mean a Man that took unlawful gains
And if his Riches with his Seed remains.

The wealthy Glutton would not Lazarus feed,
But let him starve and die for want of Bread.
And yet the Glutton dies as well as he
And is convey'd to endless misery.

Whilst Richer Lazarus Alleluja's sings
In Ab'rams bosom to the King of Kings,
Think on this man, all ye that starve the poor,
The Gluttons Portion's yours ye may be sure.

Ye that the needy do for Silver Sell,
And for a pair of Shoes the Poor, ( mark well)
That make the Epha Small the Shekel great
And sell the base refuse of all your Wheat.

We fear you not, keep't as closs up's ye can
We'll trust to heaven, we're sure he can command
Food for to fall where Corn never grew.
And we can live by Faith, So cannot you.

For we believe and we are sure 'tis true,
We'll have a seed time and a harvest too
Then be ye sure the price of meal will fall
And that will strick you to the very gall.

So then the day that's yours he'll quickly turn
When we shall laugh, then ye shall howl and mourn
For he that set you up on hie will then,
turn o'er the scale and cast you down again.

And after that thou never more shall rise
For all the Devil and thou can e'er devise.
This day is posting, it is past thy noon
Thou shalt be cropt and lobt and so cut down.

Ye base Extortioners think how ye'll dwell,
In burning flames in everlasting Hell,
Take warning then, and feed the poor at last
And heaven perhaps will pardon what is past.

F I N I S.

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Probable date published: 1701-   shelfmark: Ry.III.a.10(079)
Broadside ballad in two parts entitled 'The Meal Mongers Garland'
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