The DEVIL's OAK: OR, His Ramble in a Tempestuous Night.  
Where he happened to Discourse with Men of several Callings of his own Colour and Complexion.  
To a very pleasant new Tune.  
 
 
 

ANd the Devil he was weather-beat,  
and forced to take a tree;  
Because that the Tempest it was so great,  
his way he could not see:  
But under on Oak, instead of a cloak,  
he stood to keep himself dry,  
And as he stood, a Friar in his hood  
by Chance came passing by:   

And the Devil he made the Friar afraid,  
with that he crossed his breast;  
Then up the Devil started, the Friar was faint-hearted,  
you may wink and choose the Best:  
For I am the Friar and thou art the Liar,  
therefore thou art my Father;  
I am a Doctor of Evil, and thou art the Devil,  
the Worse I hold thee rather.   

A Collier and his cart came by,  
which coats he did use to carry,  
And so soon as the Devil he did him espy,  
he caused him a while to tarry,  
For why I do think, that with thee I must drink,  
and he called for a glass of claret;  
Now I find by thy smell, that thou camest from Hell,  
and I fear thou hast stole my chariot.   

Then the next that came by was a Chimny-sweeper,  
with poles, his brooms and shackles,  
What meast, thou Man, the Devil, he said,  
that thou usest all those tackles?  
I prithee, gentle Blade, tell me thy trade,  
thy face it is so besmeared,  
Hadst thou been so black, and no tools at thy back,  
thou'dst have made me sore afraid.   

Sir, a Chimny-sweeper, I do profess,  
although my trade's but mean,  
It is for to sweep all dirty hales,  
and to keep foul chimnies clean:  
Then go thou to Hell, where the Devil he doth dwell,  
and he will give thee a piece;  
God-a-mercy, old Dog, when I sheer my hog,  
than thou shalt have the fleece.   

The next that came by was a Tawny moor,  
and the Devil did him see,  
And he fleered on his tawny skin,  
crying, Friend, art thou any kin to me;  
For sure your skin doth resemble our kin,  
therefore let us walk together,  
And tell me how you do allow  
of this tempestuous weather.   

Then the next that came by was a Gun-powder-man,  
which coals and brimstone sifted,  
That in three quarters of a year,  
himself had hardly shifted:  
Then up the Devil rose; and snuffed his nose,  
he could endure it no longer,  
Cried Away with this fume, 'tis not fit for the room,  
it will neither quench thirst, no, nor hunger.   

I prithee, gentle Blade, tell me thy trade,  
as thou hast so strong a smell?  
It it is for to make gunpowder, he said,  
for to blow the Devil out of Hell;  
And if I had him here, his joints would I tear,  
he should neither scratch, no, nor bite;  
I would plague the Devil for all his evil,  
and make him leave walking by night.   

Then a Tinker worse than all the rest,  
although that he was not so black,  
By chance as he came passing by,  
with his budget on his back,  
He cried, Yonder is the Devil's Tree,  
let us see who durst go thither,  
For it will sustain, from the wind and the rain,  
or any tempestuous weather.   

That shall be tried, the Devil than he cried,  
then up the Devil he did start:  
Then the Tinker threw his staff about,  
and he made the Devil for to smart;  
There against a gate, he did wake his pate,  
and both his horns he broke:  
And ever since that time, I will make up my thyme,  
it was called, The Devil's Oak.    

London: Printed for C. Bates, at the Sun and Bible in Pie-corner.