The times abuses: or, Muld-sacke his grievances briefly exprest sewing [sic] the causes doth his mind molest, but yt [sic] he merry makes, and dedicates this sog [sic] in love to all which basenesse hates. To the [t]une of, Over and under.

The Times abuses : OR , Muld-Sacke his grievances briefly exprest , Sewing the causes doth his mind molest , But ye he merry makes , and dedicates This Son in love to all which basenesse hates .

To the ●une of , Over and under .

ATtend my Masters and give eare , whilst here I doe relate The base iniurious slanders are throwne on me in hate , My wrongs and great abuses so commonly are knowne , As in in a Song to right my wrong , shall instantly be showne . They call me fudling Muld-Sacke , when drinke I have got none , Cannot they looke to their businesse , and let Muld-Sacke alone . If I sometimes a pot or so doe drinke for recreation , My reckning paid , a way I goe , and follow my vocation , Not any good man gri●ving offensive for to be By rooking or deceiving , from that my thoughts are frée , They call me fudling Muld-Sacke , when drinke I have got none , Cannot they thinke on the blacke Iacke , and let Muld-Sacke alone . As I along the stréets doe sing , the people flocke about me , No harme to any one I meane , yet féeringly they flout me , The Bar-boyes and the Tapsters , leave drawing of their Béere , And running forth , in haste they cry , sée where Muld-Sacke comes here . Thus am I féered by them , though harme I doe them none , Cannot they looke to their small kans , and let Muld-Sacke alene . The féering cunning Curtezan , and rooking roaring Boy , Which day and night doe take delight in drunkennesse to ioy , They with their Pimps and Panders , Decoyes , and cheating Knaves , Which runs to whores & drinks & roars and simple men deceives . They have no grace to guide well , and conscience they have none , Cannot they take héed of Bride well , and let Muld-Sacke alone . The Glutton rich that féedeth of Biefe and Mutton store , And hates the poore that néedeth which goes from doore to doore , And will not spend his money , but for the love of drinke , And grieves to give a penny , so well he loves his chinke . Too many such alive is , of whom I am sure he 's one , Cannot he remember Dives , and let Muld-Sacke alone .

The second part . To the same tune .

TEarme-frotting Petty-soggers , which are so fine and nice , Will drinke if they meet rightly , a cup of Ale and Spice , Yet must they take their Chamber , before they doe begin , And if they can but hide it , they thinke it is no sinne . When I in the stréets walke open , to the view of every one , Cannot they looke to their Clyents , and let Muld Sacke alone . The féering fléering Coxcombe , with hands behind his backe All day , which stands from morntil night to cry what doe you lacke , With scoffing and with taunting , will by the sleeve me pull ; What is 't you 'l buy he 'l to me cry , yet like a brainlesse gull . He 'l cast on me a scornefull looke , though harme I doe him none , Cannot he looke to his Shop-booke , and let Muld-Sacke alone . The Taylors sawcie prentices , as I doe passe along , They at my head will cast their shreds , though I doe them no wrong , The saying old hath oft beene told , it plaine doth verifie , Poore and proud still Taylor like , for they most féeringly Doe call me fudling Muld-Sacke , though drink I have got none , Cannot they kéepe their fingers true , and let Muld-Sacke alone . Also the féering Tripe-wives , which Puddings sell and Sowce , Cryes there goes fudling Muld-Sacke , doth wine and béere carowse , And with disdainfull spéeches , having no cause at all , Will taunt and scoffe and léer and laugh , and basely me miscall . And calls me fudling Muld-Sacke , though I am no such one , Cannot she scrape well her greaste tripes and let Muld-Sacke alone . The Clownish country Carter , will like wise with a féere , Point at me as I goe along , his head being fill●d with beere , Yet for his féeres I care not , but laughing lets him passe , To follow his Cart with gée , gée he , most like a witlesse Asse , For like a home-bred Clownico , good manners he knowes none , Cannot be looke to his Waggon , and let Muld-Sack alone . The Bakers in the Suburbs , with hearts devoid of pitty , Bread light and small they make for all , both Country and the City , And sometimes of in two penny loafe , of weight wants ounces three , As merrily I passe them by , they cannot let me be . They cali me fudling Muld-Sacke , when drinke I have got none , Cannot they looke to their conscience , and let Muld-Sacke alone .

Finis .