Blythsome bridal, or, The lass wi' the gowden hair (2)/A New Touch on the Times

A New TOUCH on the TIMES.

To it's own Proper Tune.

GEORGE he is the mildeſt King,
that ever ſat on Britain's throne,
Behold how wiſely he has acted,
⁠to his ſubjects every one.

But we're of a rebellious nature,
⁠and our minds are ne'er content,
Likewiſe the moſt of our reflection,
⁠are on the King and Parliament.

There's quakers, new lights, independents,
⁠methodiſts and ſwadlers too,
Thoſe minions and finions,
⁠are they not a filthy crew.

Thoſe hypocrites that live amongſt us,
⁠our religion they deſpiſe,
Empty fools without foundation,
⁠neither loyal, juſt nor wiſe.

Our churchmen they are little better,
⁠if the truth it were all known,
They take the King for Britain's head,
⁠but part of's laws they will not own.

'Tis brotherly love's gone from amongſt us,
⁠neighbours they cannot agree,
They ſpend their money on the law,
⁠and bring themſelves to poverty.

’Tis reck’ning, ſharping and deceiving,
⁠'tis hard to find a man that's juſt;
Becauſe they ſeldom find the way,
⁠to pay the thing they take in truſt.

There's dicemen, ſhowmen, mountainſailors,
⁠people pretending to be dumb,
Fortune-tellers and quack-doctors,
⁠by ſuch vagrants we're undone.

Our merchants buy up meal and corn,
⁠beef and butter and our cheeſe,
Sends it o'er to foreign countries,
⁠for to maintain our enemies.

But now of late we are informed,
⁠that their ſhips are pris'ners ta'en,
Who are going with proviſion,
⁠the French army to maintain.

The French has got our men and money,
⁠deny this neighbours if you dare,
And for your thanks you plainly ſee,
⁠they reward you with open war.

Dutchmen too that treach'rous crew,
⁠altho' they were with us in league,
They promis'd to aſſiſt the French,
⁠for preſervation of their trade.

Before the war, diſtreſs'd and poor,
⁠both high & mighty now they're grown,
To them we gave a great collection,
⁠and had not pow'r to help our own.

Foreigners we did encourage,
⁠ay dear neighbour that is truth,
Good Scotch ale and Highland whiſkie,
⁠had not reliſh in our mouth.

Brandy and rum we chuſe to drink,
⁠and many a coſtly thing beſide,
There's nothing that appears amongſt us,
⁠but perfect poverty and pride.

Now obſerve the pride of women,
⁠how they walk with ſuch an air,
With ribbons, rings, ruffles and fans,
⁠capuchines and foreheads bare.

Our ſervant-maids are now ſo proud,
⁠they do reſemble their ladies near,
They have ſo many new made dreſſes,
⁠they ſcarce can tell what garb to wear.

Painting and patches for their faces,
⁠in the faſhion they muſt be;
The pooreſt wife in all the town,
⁠each morning ſhe muſt drink her tea.

Our men are grown ſo void of reaſon,
⁠often leaves their wedded wife,
Chuſing for to keep up a miſs,
⁠they're weary'd of a marry'd life.

Women for to leave their huſbands,
⁠is not that a double ſin,
Enough to bring on us a judgment,
⁠and conſume the land we're in,

O grant us peace and unity,
⁠for certainly we may conſider,
That now the world is near an end,
⁠for each man ſtrives to cheat another.