Ragged, and Torn, and True.  
Or▪ the poor man's Resoltion,  
To the tune of Old Simon the King.  

 

I Am a poor man, God knows,  
and all my neighbours can tell.  
I want both money and clothes,  
and yet I live wondrous well:  
I have a contented mind,  
and a heart to bear out all,  
Though Fortune (being unkind)  
hath given me substance small.  
Then hang up sorrow and care,  
it never shall make me rue:  
What though my back goes bare?  

I'm ragged, and torn, and true.    

I scorn to live by the shift,  
or by any sinister dealing.  
I'll flatter no man for a gift,  
nor will I get money by stealing.  
I'll be no Knight of the Post;  
to sell my soul for a bribe,  
Though all my fortunes be crossed,  
yet I scorn the Cheater's tribe.  
Then hang up sorrow and care,  
it never shall make me rue,  
What though my cloak be threadbare,  

I'm ragged, and torn, and true.    

A Boot of Spanish leather.  
I have seen set fast in the stocks,  
Exposed to wind and weather,  
and foul reproach and mocke●.  
While I in my poor rags,  
can pass at liberty still:  
O fie on these brawling brags,  
when the money is gotten so ill.  
O fie on these pelfering knaves,  
I scorn to be of that crew.  
They steal to make themselves brave,  

I'm ragged, and torn, and true.    

I have seen a Gallant go by,  
woth all his wealth on his back,  
He looked as loftily,  
as one that did nothing lack,  
And yet he hath no means,  
but what he gets by the sword,  
Which he consume on Queans,  
for it thrives not take my word:  
Oh fie on these highway thiefs,  
the Gallows will be then due:  
Though my doublet be rend i'th' sleeves  

I'm ragged, and torn, and true.     

The Second Part.  
To the Same Tune.  
 

SOme do themselves maintain,  
with playing at cards and Dice,  
O fie on that lawless gain,  
got by such wicked vice:  
They cousin poor Countrymen,  
with their delusions vild,  
Yet it happens now and then,  
that they are themselves beguiled:  
For if they be caught in a snare,  
than the Pillery claims its due,  
Though my jerkin be worn and bare  

I'm ragged, and torn, and true.    

I have seen some gallants brave,  
up Holborn ride in a Cart,  
Which sight much sorrow gave  
to every tender heart:  
Then have I said to myself,  
what pity is it for this,  
That any man for pelf,  
should do such a foul amiss:  
O fie on deceit and theft,  
it makes men at the last rue,  
Though I have but little left,  

I'm ragged, and torn, and true.    

The Pickpockets in a throng,  
at a Market or a Fair.  
Will try whose purse is strong  
that they may the money share:  
But if they are caught i'th' action,  
they are carried away in disgrace.  
Either to the house of Correction,  
or else to a worse place:  
O fie on these pelfering Thiefs,  
the Gallows will be their due,  
What need I suee for a repreeue●,  

I'm ragged, and torn, and true.    

The Ostler, to maintain  
himself with money in's purse,  
Approves the Proverb true,  
and says Gramercy Horse:  
He robs the travelling beast,  
that cannot divulge his ill,  
He steals a whole handful at least,  
from every half peck he should fill,  
O fie on those cozening scabs,  
that rob the poor jades of their due  
I scorn all thiefs and Drabs:  

I'm ragged, and torn, and true.    

'tis good to be honest and just,  
though a man be never so poor,  
False dealers are still in mistrust,  
there afraid of the officers door:  
Their conscience doth them accuse  
and the quake at the noise of a bush:  
While he chat doth no man abuse,  
For the ●aw needs not care a rush,  
Then welfare the man that can say,  
I pay every man his due,  
Although I go poor in array,  

I'm ragged, and torn, and true.     
FINIS.   

Printed by the Assigns of Thomas Symcocke.