And then came in the Weaver, You never saw a braver, With a Silk Man and a Glover, _Tom Tinker_ for to view; And so to welcom him to Town, They every Man spent half a Crown, And so the Drink went merrily down, _For_ Joan's _Ale_, &c. Then came a Drunken _Dutchman_, And he would have a touch, Man, But he soon took too much, Man, Which made them after rue; He drank so long as I suppose, 'Till greasie Drops fell from his Nose, And like a Beast befoul'd his Hose, _Whilst_ Joan's _Ale_, &c. A _Welchman_ he came next, Sir, With Joy and Sorrow Mixt, Sir, Who being partly vex'd, Sir, He out his Dagger drew; Cuts-plutter-a-nails, quoth _Taffy_ then, A _Welchman_ is a Shentleman, Come Hostess fill's the other Cann, _For_ Joan's _Ale_, &c. Thus like to Men of Courage stout, Couragiously they drank about, Till such time all the Ale was out, As I may tell to you; And when the Business was done, They every man departed home, And promis'd _Joan_ again to come, _When she had Brew'd anew_. _The Soldiers Fortune: Or, the taking_ Mardyke. [Music] When first _Mardyke_ was made a Prey, 'Twas Courage that carry'd the Fort away, Then do not lose your Valours Prize, By gazing on your Mistresses Eyes; But put off your Petticoat-parley, Potting and sotting, and laughing and quaffing Canary, Will make a good Soldier miscarry: And never Travel for true Renown: Then turn to your Marshal Mistress, Fair _Minerva_ the Soldier's Sister is; Rallying and sallying, with gashing and slashing of Wounds Sir, With turning and burning of Towns, Sir, Is a high step to a great Man's Throne. Let bold _Bellona's_ Brewer frown, And his Tunn shall overflow the Town; And give the Cobler Sword and Fate: And a Tinker may trapan the State; Such Fortunate Foes as these be, Turn'd the Crown to a Cross at _Naseby_: Father and Mother, Sister and Brother confounded, And many a good Family wounded; By a terrible turn of Fate, He that can kill a Man, thunder and plunder the Town, Sir, And pull his Enemies down, Sir, In time may be an Officer great. It is the Sword does order all, Makes Peasants rise, and Princes fall; All Sylogisms in vain are spilt, No Logick like a Basket-hilt: It handles 'em joint by joint Sir, Quilling and drilling, and spilling, and Killing profoundly, Until the Disputers on Ground lie, And have never a word to say; Unless it be Quarter, Quarter, Truth is confuted by a Carter, By stripping and nipping, and ripping and quipping Evasions, Doth Conquer a Power of Perswasions, _Aristotle_ hath lost the Day. The Musket bears so great a force, To Learning it has no Remorse; The Priest, the Layman, the Lord, Find no distinction from the Sword; Tan tarra, Tan tarra the Trumpet, Now the Walls begin to crack, The Councellors struck dumb too, By the Parchment upon the Drum too; Dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub an Alarum, Each Corporal now can out-dare 'em, Learned _Littleton_ goes to rack.