







 
   
     
       
         'Tis money makes a man: or, The good-fellows folly. Here in this song good fellow that mayst find, how money makes a man, if thou'rt not blind? Therefore return e're that it be too late, and don't on strumpets spend thy whole estate, for when all is gone, no better thou wilt be: but laught to scorn in all thy poverty. To a pleasant new tune: Bonny black Bess: or, Digby. / By J. Wade.
         Wade, John, fl. 1660-1680.
      
       
         
           1674-1679?
        
      
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         B06565
         Wing W173
         Interim Tract Supplement Guide EBB65H[32]
         99887239
         ocm99887239
         181949
         
           
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             'Tis money makes a man: or, The good-fellows folly. Here in this song good fellow that mayst find, how money makes a man, if thou'rt not blind? Therefore return e're that it be too late, and don't on strumpets spend thy whole estate, for when all is gone, no better thou wilt be: but laught to scorn in all thy poverty. To a pleasant new tune: Bonny black Bess: or, Digby. / By J. Wade.
             Wade, John, fl. 1660-1680.
          
           1 sheet ([1] p.) : ill. (woodcuts).
           
             Printed for F[rancis]. Coles, T[homas]. Vere, J[ohn]. Wright, J[ohn]. Clarke,
             [London] :
             [between 1674-1679]
          
           
             Verse: "Oh what a madness 'tis to borrow or lend ..."
             Date, place of publication and publishers' names from Wing.
             Reproduction of original in the Harvard University, Houghton Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Broadsides -- England -- London -- Early works to 1800.
           Money -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800.
           Ballads -- England -- 17th century.
        
      
    
     
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           'T
           is
           Money
           makes
           a
           Man
           :
           
           OR
           ,
           The
           Good-Fellows
           Folly.
           
        
         
           
             
               
                 Here
                 in
                 this
                 Song
                 Good-Fellow
                 thou
                 mayst
                 find
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 How
                 Money
                 makes
                 a
                 Man
                 ,
                 if
                 thou'
                 rt
                 not
                 blind
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 Therefore
                 return
                 e're
                 that
                 it
                 be
                 too
                 late
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 don
                 't
                 on
                 Strumpets
                 spend
                 thy
                 whole
                 estate
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 For
                 when
                 all
                 is
                 gone
                 ,
                 no
                 better
                 thou
                 wilt
                 be
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 But
                 Laught
                 to
                 scorn
                 in
                 all
                 thy
                 poverty
                 .
              
            
          
        
         
           To
           a
           pleasant
           new
           Tune
           :
           
             Bonny
             black
             Bess
             :
             Or
             ,
             Digby
             .
          
        
         
           By
           
             J.
             Wade
          
           .
        
         
           
        
         
           
             OO
             what
             a
             madness
             't
             is
             to
             borrow
             or
             lend
             ,
          
           
             Or
             for
             strong
             Liquor
             thy
             Money
             to
             spend
             ;
          
           
             For
             when
             that
             is
             wanting
             thy
             courage
             to
             cool
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             most
             sta●d
             Cap
             in
             hand
             to
             every
             fool
             :
          
           
             but
             if
             thy
             pock●ts
             can
             sing
             &
             they
             will
             take
             thy
             word
          
           
             Oh
             then
             thou
             art
             company
             for
             Knight
             or
             yet
             Lord
             :
          
           
             Then
             make
             much
             of
             a
             Penny
             as
             near
             as
             you
             can
             ,
          
           
             For
             if
             that
             be
             wanting
             thou'
             rt
             counted
             no
             man.
             
          
        
         
           
             Then
             listen
             a
             while
             and
             I
             'le
             tell
             you
             in
             brief
             ,
          
           
             The
             most
             of
             my
             sorrow
             ,
             my
             care
             ,
             and
             my
             grief
             ;
          
           
             I
             had
             an
             estate
             I
             le
             make
             it
             appear
             ,
          
           
             Besides
             all
             my
             stock
             ,
             was
             worth
             fifty
             a
             year
             :
          
           
             But
             so
             soon
             as
             I
             to
             drinking
             then
             fell
             ,
          
           
             My
             Land
             I
             then
             Morgaged
             ,
             my
             Cattle
             did
             sell
             ;
          
           
             No
             sooner
             the
             money
             I
             for
             them
             had
             took
             ,
          
           
             But
             it
             went
             to
             the
             Ale-house
             I
             'le
             swear
             on
             a
             book
             .
          
        
         
           
             Thus
             in
             a
             short
             time
             my
             money
             did
             waste
             ,
          
           
             And
             I
             found
             my self
             not
             a
             pin
             better
             at
             last
             ;
          
           
             Whilst
             other
             Tradesmen
             were
             working
             full
             hard
             ,
          
           
             I
             f●om
             an
             Ale-house
             could
             not
             be
             debar'd
             :
          
           
             There
             would
             I
             sit
             tipling
             day
             after
             day
             ,
          
           
             And
             my
             Wife
             she
             unto
             me
             full
             often
             would
             say
             ,
          
           
             Make
             much
             of
             a
             Penny
             as
             near
             as
             you
             can
             ,
          
           
             For
             if
             that
             be
             wanting
             thou'lt
             be
             counted
             no
             man.
             
          
        
         
           
             But
             the
             words
             that
             she
             spoke
             I
             'd
             regard
             not
             a
             straw
          
           
             But
             would
             kick
             her
             ,
             &
             beat
             her
             ,
             &
             kéep
             her
             in
             awe
             ;
          
           
             My
             children
             at
             home
             might
             eat
             the
             bare
             wall
             ,
          
           
             Whilst
             I
             in
             an
             Ale-house
             for
             strong
             liquor
             did
             call
             :
          
           
             And
             my
             Hostis
             forsooth
             must
             needs
             sit
             on
             my
             knée
          
           
             though
             my
             wife
             she
             hath
             twice
             more
             beauty
             then
             she
          
           
             Yet
             that
             would
             not
             please
             my
             letcherous
             mind
             ,
          
           
             Because
             for
             my
             Money
             my
             Hostis
             was
             kind
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             in
             the
             conclusion
             here
             comes
             all
             my
             care
             ,
          
           
             My
             back
             it
             grew
             thin
             ,
             and
             my
             pockets
             grew
             bare
             ;
          
           
             Then
             I
             told
             my
             Hostis
             my
             pittiful
             tale
             ,
          
           
             In
             hopes
             that
             my
             sorrows
             she
             would
             be
             wail
             :
          
           
             But
             she
             turn'd
             up
             her
             nose
             ,
             and
             she
             looked
             a
             squoy
             ,
          
           
             You
             might
             have
             been
             wiser
             she
             straight
             did
             reply
             ;
          
           
             This
             was
             all
             the
             comfort
             that
             I
             got
             from
             she
             ,
          
           
             That
             always
             pretended
             my
             friend
             for
             to
             be
             .
          
        
         
           
        
         
           
        
         
           
        
         
           
             THerefore
             all
             young-men
             that
             loves
             the
             Ale-bench
          
           
             Some
             counsel
             I
             'le
             give
             them
             before
             they
             go
             hence
             ;
          
           
             If
             thou
             sit'st
             day
             and
             night
             ,
             &
             drink'st
             never
             so
             fast
          
           
             Yet
             thou'lt
             find
             thy
             own
             home
             is
             the
             best
             at
             last
             ;
          
           
             It
             is
             but
             for
             your
             money
             they
             wait
             you
             upon
             ,
          
           
             And
             when
             that
             is
             wanting
             you'r
             lightly
             look't
             on
             ;
          
           
             If
             she
             sees
             but
             two-pence
             you
             run
             on
             the
             score
             ,
          
           
             She
             'l
             swear
             by
             her
             troth
             she
             will
             trust
             you
             no
             more
          
        
         
           
             ●hen
             have
             a
             care
             young-men
             ,
             be
             ruled
             in
             time
             ,
          
           
             Lest
             drink
             overcome
             thee
             ,
             in
             old
             days
             you
             pine
             ;
          
           
             For
             you
             see
             Good-fellows
             how
             thread-bare
             they
             go
          
           
             And
             what
             good-husbandry
             brings
             a
             man
             to
             ;
          
           
             For
             some
             lives
             most
             bravely
             tho
             means
             they
             have
             small
             ,
          
           
             And
             some
             that
             has
             hundreds
             do
             quickly
             spend
             all
             ;
          
           
             Then
             make
             much
             of
             a
             penny
             as
             near
             as
             you
             can
             ,
          
           
             For
             if
             that
             be
             wanting
             thou'
             rt
             counted
             no
             man.
             
          
        
         
           
             'T
             is
             money
             you
             see
             makes
             a
             Lord
             ,
             or
             yet
             Ea●l
             ,
          
           
             'T
             is
             money
             you
             see
             that
             sets
             out
             a
             young
             Girl
             ;
          
           
             Likewise
             't
             is
             money
             makes
             the
             Lawyer
             to
             prate
             ,
          
           
             &
             t
             is
             money
             doth
             make
             the
             man
             love
             his
             wife
             Kate
          
           
             And
             't
             is
             money
             bréeds
             love
             where
             never
             was
             none
             ,
          
           
             Although
             she
             be
             old
             ,
             yet
             money
             makes
             her
             young
             :
          
           
             A
             Knight
             or
             a
             Begger
             ,
             whatever
             they
             be
          
           
             If
             they
             have
             but
             money
             they
             'r
             welcome
             to
             me
             .
          
        
         
           
             Thus
             money
             you
             see
             ,
             and
             do
             well
             understand
             ,
          
           
             If
             a
             poor
             man
             can
             but
             get
             it
             ,
             he
             buys
             house
             and
             land
          
           
             But
             it
             must
             not
             be
             those
             that
             works
             hard
             all
             day
             ,
          
           
             And
             at
             night
             in
             an
             Ale-house
             doth
             throw
             it
             away
             .
          
           
             Nay
             ,
             that
             will
             not
             serve
             ,
             but
             twice
             as
             much
             more
             ,
          
           
             If
             his
             word
             it
             will
             pass
             ,
             he
             runs
             on
             the
             score
             ;
          
           
             Then
             all
             the
             week
             after
             ,
             though
             then
             he
             don't
             ●eed
          
           
             He
             wanteth
             bread-corn
             his
             poor
             children
             to
             feed
             ,
          
        
         
           
             Therefore
             he
             advised
             boon
             Companions
             all
             ,
          
           
             For
             you
             see
             the
             worlds
             so
             they
             laugh
             at
             a
             mans
             fall
          
           
             With
             speed
             your
             old
             haunts
             pray
             begin
             for
             to
             shun
             ,
          
           
             Take
             warning
             by
             others
             the
             which
             are
             undone
             :
          
           
             You
             'l
             say
             a
             good
             fellow
             it
             is
             a
             brave
             name
             ,
          
           
             But
             many
             a
             man
             doth
             pay
             dear
             for
             the
             same
             :
          
           
             The
             which
             hath
             all
             spent
             ,
             now
             in
             Goal
             he
             doth
             lye
             ,
          
           
             And
             none
             will
             relieve
             him
             in
             his
             poverty
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             some
             men
             have
             got
             such
             a
             spark
             in
             their
             throat
          
           
             That
             I
             would
             not
             be
             him
             that
             should
             quench't
             for
             a
             groat
             ;
          
           
             All
             the
             fair
             words
             his
             wife
             can
             him
             give
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             he
             'l
             not
             be
             ruled
             though
             poor
             he
             doth
             live
             :
          
           
             Hang
             money
             he
             c●ys
             ,
             till
             all
             ●●'t
             is
             gone
             ;
          
           
             As
             for
             house
             ●nd
             Land
             I
             mean
             to
             buy
             none
             ;
          
           
             I
             must
             see
             my
             Hostis
             to
             go
             neat
             and
             fine
             ,
          
           
             Although
             that
             my
             family
             doth
             starve
             and
             pine
             .
          
        
         
           
             And
             thus
             have
             I
             told
             you
             the
             conditions
             of
             some
             ,
          
           
             That
             all
             long
             of
             strong
             liquor
             will
             never
             keep
             home
          
           
             His
             stock
             it
             d●cays
             ,
             although
             his
             wife
             cries
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             the
             conclusion
             a
             begger
             he
             dies
             :
          
           
             but
             a
             good
             husband's
             means
             you
             see
             doth
             increase
          
           
             He
             maintains
             his
             houshold
             in
             joy
             and
             in
             peace
             ;
          
           
             Then
             make
             much
             of
             a
             penny
             as
             near
             as
             you
             can
             ,
          
           
             For
             if
             that
             be
             wanting
             ,
             thou
             'lt
             be
             counted
             no
             man
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         
           
             With
             Allowance
          
           ,
        
         
           
             Ro.
             L'Estrange
             .
          
        
      
       
         
           
             Printed
             for
             F.
             Coles
             ,
             T.
             Vere
             ,
             J.
             Wright
             ,
             and
             J.
             Clarke
             .
          
        
      
    
  

