Come worldling see what paines I here do take to gather gold while here on earth I rake. What the father gathereth by the rake, the sonne doth scatter with the forke. N. P., fl. 1638. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A08787 of text S112857 in the English Short Title Catalog (STC 19076). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 9 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 2 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 A08787 STC 19076 ESTC S112857 99848100 99848100 13178 2240931309

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Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A08787) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 13178) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 1637:07) Come worldling see what paines I here do take to gather gold while here on earth I rake. What the father gathereth by the rake, the sonne doth scatter with the forke. N. P., fl. 1638. M. P. (Martin Parker), d. 1656?, attributed name. 1 sheet ([1] p.) : ill. printed for Henry Gosson, London : [1638] N.P. = Martin Parker?--Cf. STC. In two parts; part 2 has caption: Come prodigals, your selves that loves to flatter, behold my fall, that with the forke doth scatter. To the tune of, To drive the cold winter away. Publication date from STC. Verse - "Come, come my brave gold,". Entered under title, apparently cropped in L copy, 'Gathergood the father Scattergood the son'.--NUC. Reproduction of the original in the British Library. eng eebo Come worldling see what paines I here do take, to gather gold while here on earth I rake. What the father gathereth by the rake, the sonne doth scatte N. P., 1638 2 1518 2 0 0 0 1 0 79.05 D The rate of 79.05 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the D category of texts with between 35 and 100 defects per 10,000 words. 2002-03 Assigned for keying and markup 2002-04 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2002-05 Sampled and proofread 2002-05 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2002-06 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
Come worldling see what paines I here do take , To gather gold while here on earth I rake . What the Father gathereth by the Rake , the Sonne doth scatter with the Forke .

COme , come my brave gold , Which I love to behold , come to me and I le give you rest ; Where as you may sléepe , And I safely will kéepe you lock't in my yron bound chest ; No thieves you shall feare , You in pieces to teare , such care of you still I will take , Come to me and flye Gold Angels I cry , And I le gather you all with my Rake . Come silver and all , When as I doe call , your beauties to me are so bright I love you so deare , I pray you come néere , and be you not wavering or light , Your weight so you have , Come glistering and brave , then you I will never forsake , But heape you together , Against rainy weather , And gather you all with my Rake . Rich Iewels and plate , By no meanes I hate , with Diamonds , Saphirs , or rings ; The Carbuncle red , Stands me in like stead , or any other rich things , The Emerold gréene , Like the spring that is séene , gold chains , or the like I wil take , I have a kind heart , With my coyne I will part , so I may get all with my Rake . But yet here me , friend , No money I le lend , without a good pawn you do bring , But I le tell to thée , How a knave cheated me one time with a base copper Ring , With me it bred strife , It néere cost me my life , halfe a crowne on the same he did take But I le have more care , Of such knaves to be ware , how such copper together I rake . On leases or lands , On very good bands , good security likewise provide , If we can agrée , Then my coyne it flyes frée , if not , your could suit is deny'd , To foe or to friend , No money I le lend , as they brew , so let them bake , This rule I observe , Let them hang or starve , if I cannot get with my Rake . And those that doe lacke , To the highth I doe racke , I know that they money must have Some morgage their lands , Which fall in my hands , to dominéere and to goe brave , If they faile of their day , And have not to pay , a seisure on all I doe make , Although I goe bare , Yet I have a care , my gold and my silver to Rake . Let the poore widdowes cry , Let their children dye , let their Father in prison goe rot , What is that to me , Their wealth is my fée , for I have their livings now got , UUhole Lordships and Lands , Are falne to my hands , and use of them all I will make , My bags full of coyne , And my purse I doe lyne , with that which together I rake . Thus rich usury , Ne're thinking to dye , nor on his poore soule have a care , With one foot in the grave , Yet more wealth he doth crave , and his backe and his belly doth spare ; At whose cost he dine , With good chéere and wine , he cares not at whose hands he take , Not a penny hée 'l spend , Nor without a pawne lend , The Divell and all he will Rake . But now comes grim death , And ceaseth his breath , his trée of life is wethered , This wretch so unkind , His wealth leaves behind , and is a poore worme being dead : But now pray give eare , To that you shall heare , his heire what a course he will take ; That day he did dye , In his grave he did lye , And the Sexton the earth on him Rake .

London printed for Henry Gosson 〈…〉

Come Prodigals , your selves that loves to flatter , Behold my fall , that with the Forke doth scatter . To the tune of , To drive the cold winter away .
ROome , roome for a friend , That his money will spend , old Flatcap is laid in his grave , Hee kept me full poore , But now I will roare , his lands and his livings I have , The tide of gold flowes , And wealth on me growes , hée 's dead , and for that 't is no matter , Great use he did take . And for me did rake , which now with the forke I will scatter . I now must turne gallant , That have such a talent , what néed I to take any care , I tell thée good friend , 'T is mine owne which I spend , for I was my Fathers owne heire : No Blade here shall lacke , Give us claret and sacke , hang pinching , it is against nature , Let 's have all good chéere , Cost it never so deare , for I with my forke will scatter . Let me have a Lasse That faire Venus doth passe , give me all delights that I may , I le make my gold fly Aloft in the skie , I thinke it will never be day : Let the welkin roare , I le never give o're , Tobacco , and with it strong water , I meane for to drinke , Untill I doe sinke , for I with my forke will scatter . And let musicke play To me night and day , I scorne both my silver and gold , Braue gentlemen all , I le pay what you call , with me I beséech you be bold : Dice run low or high , My Gold it shall fly , I meane for to kéep a brave quarter , Let the Cards goe and come , I have a great sum , That I with my forke will scatter . Let Carouses goe round , Till some fall to the ground , and here 's to my Mistresse her health Then let 's take no care , For no cost wée'l spare , hang money , I have store of wealth , My Father it got . And now falne to my lot , I scorne it as I doe morter , For coyne was made round , To stand on no ground , And I with my forke will it scatter , My Lordships to sell , I thinke would doe well , ill gotten goods never doe thrive : Let 's spend while we may , Each Dog hath his day , I le want not while I am alive : Come Drawers , more sacke , And sée what we lacke , for money I le send a porter , Brave gallants ne're feare For wée'l dominéere , For I with my forke will scatter . Come , drinke to my friend , And let the health end , my Coffers and Pockets are empty , I now have no more , That had wont to have store , ther 's scarcity where there was plenty , My friends are all gone , And left me alone , I think I must now drink cold water : There 's nought but sad woe , Upon me doth grow , Because with my forke I did scatter . Now this is the story , Of prodigall glory , who thought that he never shold lack No drinke nor no meat , Now he hath to eate , nor cloathes for to put on his back : His friends they forsake him , And woe doth o're take him , because he was too frée of nature , That never did mind , How time comes behind , who mows , though with fork he did scatter . His leaves they grew gréene , But they were not séene , for Autumne them quickly did kill , Then let youth beware , And have a great care , and trust not too much to their will , Least a prison them catch , Or a house without thatch , and glad of brown bread & cold water To God thanks le ts give , And in a meane live , having a care how we doe scatter . FINIS . N. P.

〈…〉 London Bridge .