The honest plaine dealing Porter: Who once was a rich man, but now tis his lot, To prove that need will make the old wife trot. To the tune of the Maids A.B.C.

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YOu who have beene rich heretofore,
and by ill fates are now grown poore,
In that estate doe not despaire,
but patiently your crosses beare:
Though you have quite consum’d your wealth,
if God have lent you limbs and health,
To labour daily murmur not,
For need will make the old wife trot.

I have had wealth as others have,
so much, I needed not to crave,
Among good fellowes some I spent,
the rest to cosening knaves I lent:
Now all is gone, and nought is left,
and I am faine to make hard shift,
Yet am contented with my lot,
Thus need will make the old wife trot.

Now all my meanes is gone and spent,
to fare hard I must be content,
To get my bread my browes must sweat,
till I have earnd I must not eate.
My charge I must take care to keepe,
which makes me wake when others sleepe,
I trudge abroad be it cold or hot,
Thus need will make the old wife trot.

At first to worke I was asham’d,
but poverty hath me so tam’d,
That now I thinke it no disgrace,
to get my living in any place,
Tis more commendable to worke,
then idlely at home to lurke,
Wishing for bread, and have it not,
Thus need will make the old wife trot.

Some idle knaves about this towne
doe basely loyter up and downe,
And ere they’le set their hands to worke,
from place to place they’le live by ‘th shirke,
They’le sit i’th Alehouse all the day,
and drinke and eate, yet nothing pay.
I scorne to drinke of anothers pot,
though need doe make the old wife trot.

Such men as these I hold in scorne,
Ile rather rise at foure i’th morne,
And labour hard til nine at night,
ere I in shirking take delight:
What honestly I get I spend,
and well accept what God doth send:
No man shall say he paid my shot,
though need doth make the old wife trot.

My calling’s honest, good and just,
well worthy to be put in trust,
I am a Porter my habit showes,
my trade I doe not care who knowes,
I am a man that’s borne to beare,
I cary burthens farre and neere,
By which an honest meanes is got,
thus need doe make the old wife trot.

When some who knew me rich before,
doe shun to meet me now I’me poore,
I dare to looke them in the face,
because my calling is not base.
For of all men we Porters be
good understanding men you see,
Then though I labour blame me not,
for need will make the old wife trot.

The second part. The same Tune.

SUch pleasure in my worke I find,
that I live more content in mind,
To earne my living with my hands,
then when I lived upon my lands.
For many cares are incident
to wealthy men when sweet content
Doth fall unto the meane mans lot,
though need doth make the old wife trot.

When I doe meet with any friend,
I seldome want a penny to spend,
Which brings me to a good report,
because I live in honest sort,
Ide rather earne my living deare,
then steale or beg for bread or beere,
For charity is cold God wot,
when need doth make the old wife trot.

We Porters are good fellowes still,
and spend our money with good will,
When three or foure on’s meet together,
we needs must drinke come wind come wether,
In friendly sort our pence we joyne,
or more, if we be stor’d with coine,
We never wrangle at paying the shot,
though need doth make the old wife trot.

When I all day have labour’d hard,
content at night is my reward.
When I come home, to quit my paines,
my wife me kindly entertaines.
We sup with such as God hath sent,
though nere so small we are content,
Come weale, come woe, we grumble not,
For need will make the old wife trot.

Thus have I showne you my estate,
and how I first was crost by fate,
And how that crosse did prove a blis,
because my mind contented is,
My meanes I did consume in wast,
but there’s no helpe for what is past,
I little dream’d of this my lot,
but need will make the old wife trot.

By this I free my selfe of blame,
my kindred I will never shame,
Well may they heare that I am poore,
yet not to beg from doore to doore.
Let him who hath no house nor land,
some honest calling take in hand,
Whereby a living may be got,
For need will make the old wife trot.

If thou hast learning, strength, or wit,
to use it lawfully tis fit,
To sharke and shift from place to place,
doth thee and all thy kin disgrace.
Tis base to beg, tis worse to steale,
then if thou honestly doe deale,
Be not ashamed of thy lot,
For need will make the old wife trot.

FINIS. M.P.

Printed at London for F. Coules, dwelling at the upper end of the Old Baily.

1630 Martin Parker.
Copyright University of California, Santa Barbara 2005

Early Modern Center English Ballad Archive, 1500 - 1800

The honest plaine dealing Porter: Who once was a rich man, but now tis his lot, To prove that need will make the old wife trot. To the tune of the Maids A.B.C.