Nick and Froth

All you yt are Frée-men of Ale-Drapers hall
And Tapsters where ever you be,
Be sure you be ready to come at my call,
And your Knavery here you shall sée.

A knot of Good-fellows we are here inclin'd,
To Challenge you out if you dare,
A very sharp Tryal you're like to find,
Although it be at your own Bar.

Your Cheats and Abuses, we long did abide,
But times are so wondrous hard,
That Loosers may speak, it cannot be deny'd,
Of our Measure we have been debar'd.

But now we'l show you a trick you knaves
And lay you all open to view,
It's all for your froth and your Nick you slaves
And tell you no more then is true.

If in a cold Morning we chance to come,
And bid a good Morrow my Host,
And call for some Ale, you will bring us black Pots,
Yet scarce will afford us a Toast.

For those yt drink Béer, 'tis true as i'me here
Your Counterfeit Flaggons you have,
Which holds not a Quart, scarce by a third part,
And yt makes my Hostis go brave,

Bvt now pimping Tankerds are all in use
Which drains a Mans Pocket in brief:
For he that sits close, and takes of his Dose,
Will Find that the Tankerd's a Thief.

Bée't Tankard or Flaggon, which of them you brag on,
We'l trust you to Nick and to Froth;
Before we can Drink, be sure it will shrink,
Far worser then North Country Cloth.

When Summer is coming, then hey brave boys,
The tickling Cans they run round.
Pray tak't in good part, for a Winchester Quart
Will fill sir, I dare lay you a Pound.

Your Rabbits & Iugs, & Coffée-house Mugs
Are ready when e're you do call,
A P— take his Trade, such Measures that made,
I wish that Old Nick had them all.

When we have a Fancy our Noses to Stéel,
And call for some Nance of the best,
Be sure the short Pot, must fall to our lot,
For now they are all in request.

Scarce one House in twenty, where measure is plenty;
But still they are all for the Pinch;
Thus every day, they drive customs away,
And force us good Fellows to flinch.

Somtimes a man may, leave somthing to pay
Though seldom he did it before:
With Marlborough Cholke you his patience provoke
When ever he clears all his score.

The women likewise, which are not precise,
But will take a Cup of the best,
Tho they drink for pleasure, they'l have their measure
Or else you shall have little rest.

There's Billings-gate Nan, & all her whole gang
Complaining for want of their due:
True Topers they are, as o're scor'd at Bar,
For they'l drink till their Noses look blew.

A Pot and a Toast, will make them to boast,
Of things that are out of their reach:
So long as a Groat, remains in the Coat,
They over good Liquor will Preach.

In Shoo-makers Row, there's true hearts you know
But give them their Measure and weight,
They'l scorn for to stir, but stick like a Bur,
And Tope it from Morning till Night.

Then there's honest Smug yt with a full jug
Will set all his Brains on a float:
But you are such Sots, to fill him small Pots
Will scarce quench ye spark in his Throat.

With many such Blades of several Trades
Which fréely their Money will spend;
But fill them good drink, they value not chink
Where ever they méet with a Friend.

Most Trades in ye Nation gives there approbation
How that you are much for to blame:
Then make us excuses, but cease your abuses
And fill up your Measure for shame.