[94.] Hangmen practice their cunning for the most part upon good natur'd men, because they are ready to forgive, before the hurt be attempted. [4.] A Parson who had not much Wit to spare, seeing his Son play roguish Tricks, Why, Sirrah, said he, did you ever see me do so, when I was a Boy, as you are? [4.] A Precise Fellow hearing much swearing in a Bowling Green, said, For Shame Gentlemen, forbear, it is God's great mercy the Bowling Green doth not fall on your Heads. =Nick and Froth;= or The Good-fellows Complaint for want of full Measure. Discovering the Deceits, and Abuses of Victuallers, Tapsters, Ale Drapers; and all the rest of the Society of Drunkard Makers, by filling their drink in false Flaggons, Pimping Tankerds, Cans call'd Ticklers; Rabbits, Jugs, and short Quarterns, To the Grand Abuse of the Society of Good Fellowship. _Good Fellows Drinks their Liquor without flinching; Then why should knavish Tapsters use such pinching._ Tune of, We'l Drink this Old Ale no more, no more. All you y^t are Free-men of Ale-Drapers Hall, [124.] And Tapsters wherever you be, Be sure you be ready to come at my call, And your Knavery here you shall see. A Knot of Good-fellows we are here inclin'd, To Challenge you out if you dare, A very sharp Tryal you're like to find, Although it be at your own Bar. Your Cheats and Abuses we long did abide, But times are so wondrous hard, That Loosers may speak, it cannot be deny'd, Of our Measure we have been debar'd. But now we'l show you a trick (you knaves) And lay you open to view, It's all for your Froth and your Nick (you slaves) And tell you no more than is true. [Illustration] If in a cold Morning we chance to come, And bid a Good Morrow, my Host, And call for some Ale, you will bring us black Pots Yet scarce will afford us a Toast. For those y^t drink Beer, 'tis true as i'me here, Your Counterfeit Flaggons you have, Which holds not a Quart, scarce by a third part, And y^t makes my Hostis go brave. But now Pimping Tankerds are all in use, Which drains a Man's Pocket in brief, For he that sits close, and takes off his Dose, Will find that the Tankerd's a Thief. Bee't Tankerd or Flaggon, which of them you brag on, We'l trust you to Nick and to Froth, Before we can Drink, be sure it will shrink, Far worser than _North_ Country Cloth. When Summer is coming, then hey, brave boys, The tickling Cans they run round, Pray tak't in good part, for a _Winchester_ Quart[F. 238] Will fill six, I dare lay you a Pound. Your Rabbits and Jugs, and Coffee House Mugs, Are ready whene're you do call, A P-- take his Trade, such Measure that's made, I wish that old Nick had them all. When we have a Fancy our Noses to Steel, And call for some _Nance_[F. 239] of the best, Be sure the short Pot must fall to our lot, For now they are all in request.