The Cuckcoo of the Times.  

Since Cuckcoo is but what man's born to, certain  
The fault's not in the Woman, but his Fortune:  
The Cuckcoo therefore hopes to please your mind,  
And says it comprehends even all Mankind.   
To the Tune of, The Wand'ring Jews Chronicle.  
 
 


TOM Tinker's Wife Joan Ruggles sat,  
Under a Hedge doing you know what,  
mark that which doth ensue;  
A Bird upon an Daken Spray,  
It was no Chattering Pie, nor jay,  
Sung merrily Cuckoo.   

I was as Ages will Record,  
In former times a great Earls Bird,  
that Lord that could not do;  
Who though unfit for Cupid's Laws,  
Was Stallion to the good old Cause,  
Which makes me sing Cuckoo.   

Although he could not frisk and jerk,  
He got a thousand Bearns o'th' Kirk,  
fine work that he did brew;  
Yet he was Cuckold in his Mate,  
By Bradshaw and Crumwel i'th' State,  
When England Sung Cuckoo.   

You Buxom Dames of Sanguine breed,  
That must have Morsels at your need,  
take heed what e'er you do;  
whilst youth bewitch you, old ones watch you  
Beware or they will catch you, catch you,  
Who hate my Song Cuckoo.    

The Second Part,  
to the same Tune.  

The Shopkeeper that trades for gain,  
And Merchant who doth cross the Main,  
great wealth he doth pursue;  
The one i'th' shop, though something strange  
The other whilst he's at the Change,  
May Sing with me Cuckoo.   

Soldiers of Fortune and Renown,  
Whose valour does their actions crown,  
this fate sometimes pursue,  
Physicians too that live at ease,  
Can find no cure for this Disease,  
But Sing with me Cuckoo.   

Both rich and poor, both high and low,  
All sorts the Cuckoos Note do know,  
Gentry and Commons too,  
The Country Lad that goes to Blow,  
May find the Antlers on his Brow,  
That makes him Sing Cuckoo.   

Red Letter men they did design  
Both Church and State to undermine,  
dam'd Plots they did pursue;  
But thanks to God by happy fate,  
Themselves blew up, and not the State,  
They'll Sing with me Cuckoo.   

Another sort as bad or worse,  
Gaze in your face and pick your Purse,  
yet they'll cry Whore first too;  
On others they would lay the blame,  
Whilst they are doing of the same,  
Yet they may Sing Cuckoo.   

Jove hath his Eagles in the Skies,  
Juno hath her Peacock decked with Eyes,  
gay Toys, give them their due;  
Venus her Doves, Minerva's Foul,  
Is the King Harry's Groat-fated Owl,  
And I the poor Cuckoo.   

Bacchus' Canary, old Pan the Lark,  
Pluto his Ravens that shriek i'th' dark,  
but mark what doth ensue;  
Of all these Fowls none bears the Bell,  
For Sprightly Notes like Philomela,  
And I who Sing Cuckoo.   

A Lawyer he did throw a Stone,  
Quoth he, I hate thy Ugly Tone,  
be gone, and then cried Shoo;  
Thou break'st the City peace, go pack,  
I'll clap a Warrant on thy back,  
But still she Sung Cuckoo.   

Luna they say is Populus,  
And we a Moon, as they to us,  
if thus, and it be true,  
Why should the Court make Citts the scorn  
Since all things here below wears horns.  
All Nations Sing Cuckoo.   

Neptune is Horned byth' Delian Knight,  
Who plays at Put with Amphetrite,  
each night the Trick they do;  
Mars Cuckolds Vulcan Mammon Mars,  
money's the Nerv's and Horns of Wars,  
The Soldier Sings Cuckoo.   

A brisk young Lady she took pity,  
Approving of her merry Ditty,  
'twas witty and 'twas true;  
Dwell with me Telltruth of the Age,  
I'll keep thee in a Golden Cage,  
Where thou shalt Sing Cuckoo.    
FINIS,   

Printed for P. the Hosp