# Poor man's labour never done, or, The mother's advice/A Satyr Upon All Trades

A SATYR upon all TRADES.
THERE'S ne'er a thriving trader, that daily cheats the town, But Beelzebub his leader will mark him for his own, And alſo take a ſpecial care, that he ſhall undergo, For evermore the wretched fate, of his dark ſhades below.
chorus
Whilſt the merry merry ſongſters they only ſoar above, There's ne'er a crime can fix on them, except to ſing and love.
As for the reverend Preachers, we'll decently paſs by, Since true religious teachers, ſhould Beelzebub defy; But for the Clerk and Sexton, who vilely rob the dead, The Fiend ſhall have a ſhare of them as ſure as loaf is bread. Chor. Whilſt the merry, &c.
​As for our jovial Sclatters our dear beloved crew, I would have them be careful, and pay poor men their due, And do not ſtrive to wrong them, it's a pity to rebel, But pay poor men what is their due, and you ſhall proſper well. Chor. Whilſt the merry merry ſongſter, &c.
The Poulterer ſhall ly there, for ſtinking ducks and teal; The Butcher too ſhall fry there, for blowing up their veal: And the Soldier damn'd for bragging, grim Pluto never fails: And Punks for buttocks wagging, and turning up their tails. Chor. Whilſt the merry, &c.
The Quack, now turn'd Phyſician, that ſcarce can cure the itch, Yet tell you your condition, as if he were a witch: Shall with his gliſter-maker, in Limbo's pit lye low, For making pills to cure all ills; which none of them do know. Chor. Whilſt the merry, &c.
Large ſhoals of pois'nous Venders, lewd Vintners there will come, And ſtore of ware-houſe Tenders, that cheat by yard and thumb,
​Whom Pluto willingly will hand, into his gloomy cell, And throw them in among the d———d eternally to yell. Chor. Whilſt the merry, &c.
The Tapſter from the cellar, that fills their pots with froath; The nimble finger'd Taylor, that nips away our cloath: The Brewer and the Baker, ſhall there each one abuſe, And Criſpin the ſhoe-maker, bewail his rotten ſhoes. Chor. Whilſt, &c.
The Banker for purloining, will give the Devil his due, For clipping and for coining, if all that's ſaid be true. Nor will the gripping Lawyer, atone his forging ſin, For ſoon in hell old Satan will, make Parchment of his ſkin. Chor. Whilſt the merry, &c.
But as for Perriwig-makers, that curſed cheating crew, That lye as faſt as Quakers, and ſell old hair for new; Old Beelzebub their maſter when he doth get them there, Will bake, and boil, and roaſt them, as they have done old hair. Chor. Whilſt the merry merry ſongſters, &c.
​But as for wicked ſailors, who whore and drink ſo faſt, Who never want for Punk and Punch as long as money laſt: Old Beelzebub their Boatſwain, will have them at his call, And in his brimſtone fiery lake, theſe ſinners will keelhaul. Chor. Whilſt the merry, &c.
The Merchant and Stock-jobber, will there find little eaſe, For turning public Robber, and plundering on the ſeas: The Miſer and Pawn-broker, of Pluto's ſlaves the worſt, Are juſtly rang'd in order, to be for ever curſt. Chor. Whilſt the merry, &c.
But as for wicked Players, that ſtrole from place to place, With very little money, and full as little grace; Old Lucifer their Prompter, will ſhew them a fine ſhow, And make them act their parts again, on his dark ſtage below. Chor. Whilſt the merry, &c.
Then he who would be happy ſtill, muſt this advice embrace; (Which lead men unto Sion's hill, among the Holy Race,)
​To lay aſide theſe cheating arts, which plunge men into hell, And act the merry Songſter's part, ſo gentlemen farewel. Chor. Whilſt, etc.
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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