Ungrateful Nanny/Truth La'd Open

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TRUTH LA'D OPEN

Gentlemen, pray sit you all merry,
I'll sing you a song of a want,
I'll make you as merry as may be,
Now money begins to grow scant.

Those lines they are absolute new,
Good people I tell unto you,
I must dispise the telling of lies,
This ditty's both merry and true.

A woman without e’er a tongue
She never can scold very loud,
'Tis just such another sad want,
When a ballad singer wants a crowd.

A piper without e'er a bag,
Will make but a sorrowfull sound,
A barber without e'er a'razor,
Needs neither a strap nor a hound.

A ship that's without e’er a sail,
May be driven we know not whither
’Tis just such another sad want,
When a shoe-maker wants his leather.

A man that has got but one leg.
Will make but a pitiful runner;
And he that has never an eye,
Will make but a sorrowful gunner.

A docter without e'er a stoa als,
Will make but a pitiful dinner;
And he that has got no victuals,
Will quickly look thinner and thinner.

A bell that's without e’er a clipper,
Will make but a sorrowful sound;
And he that cannot get some land,
May work in another man’s ground

A smith without a pair of bellows,
He need not rise very soon;
And he that has got no clothes,
May ly in his bed til it's noon.

An ale-house without any custom,
Will never get great store of wealth;
And if he has ne’er got a sign,
He may go and hang up himself.

A miller that is without stones,
Can be but a sorrowful soul, And if he has no corn to grind,
He need not stand taking of toll.

A taylor without any needles,
May sit with his seam in his hand,
And a weaver withou any waf',
Need not take his shuttle in hand.

A woman without e'er a fault,
She like a brisk star will appear ;
But a brewer without any malt,
Will make very pitiful beer.

A man that has but one shirt,
Where’er it is washed from his side,
I hope it can be no great harm,
To ly in his bed till tis dry'd.

A mountebank without his foo',
A skip-kennel turned out of place,
and a tinker without any tools,
They’re all in a pitiful case.

You know that a dish of good meat,
Is the staff and support of man's life,
But he that has nothing to eat,
Needs not for to draw out his knife.

A pedlar without e’er a pack,
It makes him look wonderful blue;
A shepherd without e’er a flock,
Has little or nothing to do.

A farmer without any corn,
He neither can give sell nor lend;
And a huntsman without e’er a horn,
His wife she may stand his good friend.

A plowman without e’er a plow,
I think he may live a his ease;
And a diary without e’er a cow,
Will make but bad butter and cheese.

A warren without e’er a coney,
Is barren and so much the worse,
And he that is quite out of money,
He hath little need of a purse.

But as for our gardener laddies,
That pull the fair flowers in May!
And presents them to the ladies,
Which they wear in their bosom each day.

Their fragrant smell does delight you,
As soon as they enter their bowers, Long life to the gardener laddie,
That nurses our plants and our flowers.

Long life to tradesman in gen’ral,
And bless our King on the throne,
May we be kept clear of oppression,
Then trade will go chearfully on.

I hope there is none in this place,
That are displeased with my song
Come buy up my ballads apace,
And I'll pack up my awls and begone.

FINIS.