On two Souldiers killing one another for a Groat

FUll doleful Tales have oft been told,
By Chimney warm in Winter cold,
About the Sacred Thirst of Gold;
To hear 'em half 'twould mad ye.
To Jayl how many Headlong run,
How many a hopeful Youth's undone,
How many a vile ungracious Son,
For this has murder'd Daddy?
Yet those that tumble Books, may find,
Unless (as who can help't!) They 're blind,
That Silver comes not far behind,
But's e'ne as bad as t 'other:
For this, who'd of such luck have thought?
For this, tho' not above a Groat,
Two Valiant Souldiers lately fought,
And murder'd one the other.
Well! who can tell how soon he' may dye?
Both, as good Friends as You and I,
Their hungry Wembs to satisfie?
Scale an enchanted Castle:
Painted without some think't a kin,
To that renowned Fort wherein
Quixot the Great such fame did win,
And with fell Gyants Wrastle.
As kind as ever in their Life,
As kind they sate as Man and Wife,
O! who among 'em scatter'd Strife;
That Petty fogging Fury?
But this is plainly prov'd by all,
Some Viper to their Hearts did crawl,
And so they 'l find it if you call
An Honest Poets Jury.
A Groat was dropt upon the Board,
This takes it up, That draws his Sword,
And tells him it must be restor'd,
Or else expect what follows!
Each gives the Lye, and at that Word
Each runs upon the t 'other's Sword,
And each, stretcht fairly Under-board,
In Blood and Liquor wallows.
So Aruns, and great Brutus fell,
And so they fought, thô scarce so well,
So to Elysium, or to Hell,
They sunk, I know not whether:
So on New-markets Jolly Heath,
The Hawk, and Hearn strugling for Breath
Thô not in Life yet joyn'd in Death:
Come tumbling down together.
Both grin at their expiring Foe,
With Sword in Fist both Huffing go,
To fright the trembling Shades below,
Bloated with Martial Glory:
Both in the Bed of Honour rest,
With Lawrel boghs, and Garlands dress't,
Perfum'd as sweet as Phenix-Nest:
And there's an end o' th' Story.
Yet take good Counsel, Courteous Friend,
And learn by their untimely End,
Not about Trifles to contend,
Or with another grapple:
Since Carrion-Strife has often wrought,
Such mischiefs as you'd ne're ha' thought,
And murder'd for a Silver Groat,
As well's a Golden Apple.