Law lies a Bleeding (1659)
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For other versions of this work, see Law lies a Bleeding.
Law lies a Bleeding.
Since the Sword hath so much prevail’d of late,
What troubles and discentions do befall the State.
What troubles and discentions do befall the State.
The Tune is, Love lies a Bleeding.
Lay by your Pleading,
Law lies a bleeding;
Burn all your Studdies down,
and throw away your reading;
Small power the word has,
And doth afford us
Not so many Priviledges,
halfe as the Sword does;
It fopsters your Masters,
And plasters Dissasters,
And makes the Servants quickly
greater then their Masters;
It venters, it enters,
It circles, it centers,
And makes an Aprentice Free
in spite of his Indenters.
Law lies a bleeding;
Burn all your Studdies down,
and throw away your reading;
Small power the word has,
And doth afford us
Not so many Priviledges,
halfe as the Sword does;
It fopsters your Masters,
And plasters Dissasters,
And makes the Servants quickly
greater then their Masters;
It venters, it enters,
It circles, it centers,
And makes an Aprentice Free
in spite of his Indenters.
This takes down tall things,
And sets up small things;
This masters mony too, though
mony masters all things.
It is not in season
For to talk of reason,
Or call it Loyal, when the
Sword will have it Treason;
It conquers the Crown, too,
The Cloak and the Gown, too:
This sets up a Prisbiter,
and pulls him downe too.
The subtle Deceiver,
Turnes Bonnet into Beaver,
Down drops a Bishop and
up starts a Weaver.
And sets up small things;
This masters mony too, though
mony masters all things.
It is not in season
For to talk of reason,
Or call it Loyal, when the
Sword will have it Treason;
It conquers the Crown, too,
The Cloak and the Gown, too:
This sets up a Prisbiter,
and pulls him downe too.
The subtle Deceiver,
Turnes Bonnet into Beaver,
Down drops a Bishop and
up starts a Weaver.
The second part to the same tune.
THis makes a Lay-man
To Preach and to Pray man
This will make a Lord of him
that was but a Dray-man.
Forth from the dull-pit,
Of Follies full-pit,
This brought an Hebrew Iron-
monger into the Pulpit:
Such pitifull things be,
Happier than Kings be;
Here comes in the Haraldrie
of Thimble and Slingsby:
No Gospel can guide it,
No Law can decide it,
Either in the Church or State,
till the Sword hath Saintifi’d it.
To Preach and to Pray man
This will make a Lord of him
that was but a Dray-man.
Forth from the dull-pit,
Of Follies full-pit,
This brought an Hebrew Iron-
monger into the Pulpit:
Such pitifull things be,
Happier than Kings be;
Here comes in the Haraldrie
of Thimble and Slingsby:
No Gospel can guide it,
No Law can decide it,
Either in the Church or State,
till the Sword hath Saintifi’d it.
Down go your Law-tricks,
Forth from the Matrix
Sprung holy Hussons power
and tumbled down Saint Patrick:
This Sword did prevail so
Mightily in Wales, too,
Shinkin ap Powel cries and swears
Cods-plu-ter-nails, too.
Forth from the Matrix
Sprung holy Hussons power
and tumbled down Saint Patrick:
This Sword did prevail so
Mightily in Wales, too,
Shinkin ap Powel cries and swears
Cods-plu-ter-nails, too.
In Scotland this faster
Did breed such disaster.
That they brought their money back,
for which they sold their Master;
They battered my Gun-dork,
And so they did my Dum-sork
That he is fled, and swears
that the Devil is in Dunkerk.
Did breed such disaster.
That they brought their money back,
for which they sold their Master;
They battered my Gun-dork,
And so they did my Dum-sork
That he is fled, and swears
that the Devil is in Dunkerk.
He that can tower,
Over him that is lower;
Would be thought a Foole
to give away his power.
Take Bokes and rent them,
Who would Invent them,
When as the Sword replies
Negatur argumentum:
The Grand-Coledge Butlers
Must hail to the Sutlers;
There’s not a Library like
unto the Cutlers.
The blood that was spilt sir,
Is turned into guilt sir:
Thus have you seen me run
my Sword up to þe hilts sir.
Over him that is lower;
Would be thought a Foole
to give away his power.
Take Bokes and rent them,
Who would Invent them,
When as the Sword replies
Negatur argumentum:
The Grand-Coledge Butlers
Must hail to the Sutlers;
There’s not a Library like
unto the Cutlers.
The blood that was spilt sir,
Is turned into guilt sir:
Thus have you seen me run
my Sword up to þe hilts sir.
London, Printed Anno Domini. 1659. Finis.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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