A new Song, called Jack Doves Resolution, by which he doth show, That he cares not a rush how ere the world go.  
To the tune of, To drive the cold winter away.  
 


O all my good Friends, these presents I send,  
yet neither to beg nor to crave,  
though some have store, and I am but poor,  
I'm content with that little I have;  
I'll ne'er for my want, turn Sycophant,  
though many there be that do so)  
●●t I'll honest been, love them that loves me,  
And care not how ere the world go.   

though fortune frown, I'll not cast myself down  
But mildly bear what doth fall;  
●re will make me but worse, and ne'er fill my purse,  
●ut the day may come will mend all,  
●●en 'tis but a folly, for that to be sorry,  
which must be whether I will or no;  
●●t impatience in rest, then I'll hope for the best  
And care not how ere the world go.   

why should a man care, or drown in despair,  
though his fortunes be ne'er so unkind?  
why should I be sad, for what I ne'er had,  
●r foolishly trouble my mind?  
〈◊〉 I do hate, to pine at my fate,  
●here is none but fools will do so,  
〈◊〉 and be fat, for care kills a Cat,  
and I care not how ere the world go.   

To sigh and to wail, what will it prevail,  
or any whit better my fare,  
When a little good mirth, 'mongst friends, is more worth,  
and better than a great deal of care;  
Then I'll cheer up myself, for content is great wealth  
let sighing and sorrowing go,  
I'll laugh and be merry, with a cup of old Sherry,  
and care not how ere the world go.   

Though many a Chuff, hath more than enough,  
why should I repine at their bliss?  
If I am content with what God hath sent,  
I think I do not amiss:  
Let others have wealth, so I have my health,  
and money to pay what I owe,  
I'll laugh and be merry, sing down a down derry,  
and care not how ere the world go.   

I'll make much of one, for when I am gone,  
then what's all the world unto me?  
I'll not be a slave, to that which I have,  
but 'mongst my friends let it flee,  
And lest there rise debate, about my estate,  
when my heads laid full low,  
Or some knaves circumvent it, to whom I ne'er meant it  
I'll spend it, how ere the world go.    

The second part, To the same tune.  
 

SOme Men do suppose, to go in brave clothes,  
doth purchase a great deal of respect;  
Though I am but poor, I run not on score,  
I think myself honestly decked:  
Let others go brave 'tis my own that I have,  
and I think they can not say so.  
And I like that I wear, though it cost not so dear,  
and I care not how ere the world go.   

I'd rather go mean, then be like to them,  
which living in pomp and state,  
Maintain all their bravery, with private knavery,  
getting gold at any rate:  
Such conscience profess, but use nothing less,  
deceiving the world with a show,  
But the time it may come will pay such knave's home.  
but I care not how ere the world go.   

Your delicate Cates your hippocrites eats,  
and Wine of the best do drink  
Much money they spend, but to little end,  
and ne'er on their end they think.  
Low Shrubs be secure, when Caesar's endure  
all storms and tempests that blow,  
Let others rise high, but so will not I,  
for I care not how ere the world go.   

For ambition's best scene, is but a fine dream,  
which for a time tickles the mind,  
And the hap of an hour, with such envy may lower,  
as may turn all one's hope into wind,  
Then worse than before, they may sigh and deplore  
to ●●e themselves cast off so low.  
When I all the while, do sit and smile,  
and care not how ere the world go.   

The flattering Curs, which fawn upon surres,  
and hang on the Nobleman's beck,  
That crouch at their heel, whilst their bounty they feel  
professing all love and respect,  
Yet when they do fall, they run away all,  
but I hate to dissemble so  
What I do for my part, shall come from my heart,  
and I care not how ere the world go.   

I'll wrong none not I, but if some through envy,  
do wrong me without a cause,  
Or if me they disdain, I'll slight them again,  
and reckon not of it two straws;  
Dissembling I scorn, for I am free borne,  
my happiness lies not below,  
Though my words they want art, I speak from m● hear●  
and I care not how ere the world go.    
G. B.  
FINIS.   

Printed at London for john Wright and are to be sold at his shop in Giltspur-street at the sign of the Bible