Alas poor scholar, whither wilt thou go: OR Strange altrations which at this time be; There's many did think they never should see.  
To the tune of, Halloo my Fancy, &c.  

 

IN a melancholy study  
None but myself,  
Me thought my muse grew muddy,  
After seven years reading  
And costly breeding,  
I felt, but could find no pelf:  
Into learned rags  
I've rent my Plush and satin,  
And now am fit to beg  
in Hebrew, Greek and Latin,  
Iu●●●●d of Aristotle,  
would I had got a Patten:  
Alas poor scholar whither wilt thou go?   

Cambridge now I must leave thee  
And follow Fate,  
college hopes do deceive me,  
I oft expected  
To have been elected,  
But desert is reprobate:  
Masters of colleges  
have no common graces,  
And they that have Fellowships  
have but common places,  
And those that scholars are,  
they must have handsome faces:  
Alas poor scholar whither wilt thou go?   
 

I have bowed, I have bended,  
And all in hope,  
Due day to be befrended,  
I have preached, I have Printed  
What ere I hinted,  
To please our English Pope;  
I worshipped towards the East,  
but the sun doth now forsake me,  
I find that I am falling,  
the Northern winds do shake me,  
Would I had been upright,  
for bowing now will break me:  
Alas poor scholar, whither wilt thou go?   

At great preferment I aimed  
Witness my silk,  
But now my hopes are maimed,  
I looked lately,  
To live most stately,  
And have a Dairy of Bell-ropes milk:  
But now alas,  
Myself I must not flatter,  
Bygamy of Steeples  
is a laughing matter,  
Each man must have but one,  
and Curates will grow fatter.  
Alas poor scholar, whither wilt thou go?    

The second part,  
to the same Tune.  
 

INto some Country village  
Now I must go,  
Where neither tithe nor Tillage▪  
The greedy Patron  
And parched Matron,  
Swear to the Church they owe:  
Yet if I can preach and pray too on a sudden,  
And confute the Pope  
at adventure without studying,  
Then ten pounds a year  
besides a sunday pudding.  
Alas poor scholar whither wilt thou go?   

All the Arts I have Skill in,  
Divine and human,  
Yet all's not worth a shilling,  
When the women hear me,  
They do but jeer me,  
And say I am profane:  
Once I remember,  
I Preached with a Weaver,  
I quoated Austin,  
He quoated Dodd and Cliver,  
I nothing got,  
he got a cloak and beaver.  
Alas poor scholar whither wilt thou go?   

Ships, ships, ships I discover,  
Crossing the main,  
Shall I in and go over  
Turn Jew or Atheist,  
Turk or Papist,  
To Geneva or Amsterdam:  
bishoprics are void  
in Scotland, shall I thither,  
Or follow Windebanke  
and Finch to see if either  
Do want a priest to shrive them,  
O no 'tis blustering weather.  
Alas poor scholar whither wilt thou go?   

Ho, ho, ho, I have hit it,  
Peace goodman fool,  
Thou hast a frame will fit it,  
Draw thy Indenture,  
Be bound at adventure,  
An Apprentice to a free-school;  
There thou mayst command  
By William lilies Charter,  
There thou mayst whip, strip  
and hang and draw and quarter,  
And commit to the red Rod,  
both Will. and Tom. and Arthur.  
Ay, I, 'tis thither, thither will I go.     
FINIS.