Page:Merry Drollery Complete 1670.djvu/125

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Complete.
125
And make Nature faſt while we feaſt her;
The Lawyer may bawl out his Lungs and his Gall
For Plaintiff, and for the Defendant;
At his Book the Scholar lie, while with Plato he die
With an ugly hard word at the end on’t.

Then here’s to the man that delights in ſol fa,
For Sack is his only Rozin,
A load of hey ho is not worth a ha ha,
He’s a man for my money that draws in;
Then a pin for the muck, and a pin for ill luck,
’Tis better be blithe and frolick,
Than ſigh out our breath, and invite our own death
By the Gout, or the Stone, or the Collick.


The Power of the Sword.
Lay by your pleading, Law lies a bleeding,
Burn all your Studies down, & throw away your reading;
Small power the Word has, & can afford us
Not halfe ſo many Priviledges as the Sword has:
It foſters your maſters, it plaiſters diſaſters,
And makes your ſervants, quickly greater than their Maſters;
It venters, it enters, it circles, it centers,
And makes a Prentice free in ſpight of his Indentures.

This takes off tall things, and ſets up ſmall things,
This maſters Money, though Money maſters all things;

’Tis