Page:Merry Drollery Compleat 1875.djvu/179

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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