"The Prodigall's estate, like to a flux, The Mercer, Draper, and the Silk man sucks; The Taylor, Millainer, Dogs, Drabs and Dice, Trey trip or Passage, or the Most at thrice; At Irish, Tick tacke, Doublets, Draughts or Chesse, He flings his money free with carelessnesse: At Novum, Mumchance, mischance (chuse ye which) At One and Thirty, or at Poore and rich, Ruffe, flam, Trump, noddy, whisk, hole, Sant, New Cut, Unto the keeping of foure Knaves he'l put His whole estate at Loadum, or at Gleeke, At Tickle me quickly, he's a merry Greeke, At Primefisto, Post and payre, Primero, Maw, Whip-her-ginny, he's a lib'rall _Hero_; At My-sow-pigg'd: and (Reader never doubt ye, He's skill'd in all games except) Looke about ye. Bowles, shove-groate, tennis, no game comes amiss, His purse a purse for any body is." ] The Unfortunate WELCH MAN or The Untimely Death of _Scotch_ Jockey. If her will Fight, her cause to right, as daring to presume To Kill and Slay, then well her may take this to be her Doom. To the Tune of The _Country Farmer_. This may be Printed _R.P._ Stout _Shonny-ap-Morgan_ to _London_ would ride, [92.] To seek Cousen _Taffie_ whatever betide; Her own Sisters Son, whom her loved so dear, Her had not beheld him this many long year: Betimes in the morning stout _Shonny_ arose, And then on the Journey with Courage her goes, A _Cossit_[F. 163] of Gray was the best of her Close, Her Boots they were out at the heels and the toes. A Sword by her side, and with _Bob_ the Gray Mare, Her rid on the Road like a Champion so rare; At last how it happened to her hard Lot, To meet with young _Jockey_, a bonny brisk Scot; Then _Jockey_ was jolly, and thus he did say, Let's gang to the Tavern, drink wine by my fay, Then _Shonny_ consented, and made no delay, But _Jockey_ left _Shonny_ the Reckoning to pay. [Illustration] While _Morgan_ was merry, and thinking no ill, The _Scotchman_ he used the best of his skill; Considering how he might scamper away, For why Sir, he never intended to pay: But like a false Loon he slipt out of door, And never intended to come there no more, Poor Shonny-ap-Morgan, was left for the Score, Cotzo her was never so served before. Her paying the Shot, then away her went, The _Welch_ blood was up, and her mind was bent, For speedy pursuing he then did prepare, Then Morgan did mount upon _Bob_ the Gray Mare: Then Whip and Spur stout _Shonny_ did ride, And overtook _Jockey_ near to a Wood side, And pull'd out her Sword in the height of her Pride, And wounded poor _Jockey_ who presently dy'd.