New mad Tom of Bedlam. Or, The man in the moon drinks clarret, vvith powder-beef, turnip and carret. Tune is, Grays-Inn Mask. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription B06867 of text S1758 in the English Short Title CatalogTextual 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. 7 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 B06867 Interim Tract Supplement Guide C.20.f.7[298] Interim Tract Supplement Guide C.20.f.7[299] 99884365 ocm99884365 183074 2248519077

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 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. B06867) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 183074) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books; Tract supplement ; A5:1[158]) New mad Tom of Bedlam. Or, The man in the moon drinks clarret, vvith powder-beef, turnip and carret. Tune is, Grays-Inn Mask. 1 sheet ([] p.) : ill. Printed by and for A.M. and sold by the booksellers of London, [London] : [ca. 1690?] Verse: "Forth from my sad and pecksome cell ..." Cut in half, mounted, and bound with second ballad first. Reproduction of original in the British Library. eng Ballads, English -- 17th century. eebo New mad Tom of Bedlam. Or, The man in the moon drinks clarret, vvith powder-beef, turnip and carret. Tune is, Grays-Inn Mask. anon 1690 2 1050 2 0 0 0 0 0 19.05 C The rate of 19.05 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the C category of texts with between 10 and 35 defects per 10,000 words. 2008-10 Assigned for keying and markup 2008-12 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2009-12 Sampled and proofread 2009-12 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2010-04 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
The Man in the Moon Drinks Clarret . As it was lately sung at the Curtain Holy Well . To the same Tune .

BAcchus the father of drunken Fowls , Full Mazers , Beakers , Glasses , bowls , Greasie Flapdragons , Flemish upsie freeze , With health s●a●'d in arms upon naked knees Of all his wines he makes you tasters , So you tipple like bumbasters Drink till you reel a welcome he doth give , O how the boon Claret makes you live ? Not a Painter purer colour shows , than what s laid on by Claret , Pearl and Ruby doth set out the Nose , when thin small beer doth mar it , Rich wine is good , it heats the blood , it makes an old man lusty , The Young to brawl , and the Drawers call , before being too much musty . Whether you drink all or little , Pot it so your selves to whittle , Then though twelve a Clock it be , Yet all the way go roaring , If the band of bills cry stand , Swear that you must a Who — Such Gambols , such tricks , such fegaries , We fetch though we touch no Canaries : Drink wine till the Welkin roars , And cry out a pox of your Scores . In wine we call for bawdy Iiggs , Catzoes , Rumbillows , whirligigs , Campo get in Huff Cap vain , The Devil in the places you w●t were reign , Brave wine it thus tickles our Heels , Mull'd well in wine none sorrow feels , Our Moon-man & his powder-beef mad crew Thus caper thro' the liquor sweet turnip drew , Round about over tables and joint stools let 's dance with naked Rapiers , Cut the Fidle-strings , and then like fools kick out the fum fum scrapees , There is no sound that cares can wound , as lids of wine-pots clinking , There 's no such sport , when all amort , men cry le ts fall to drinking ; O 't is happy Geer , Would each belly was filled here , Herrings pickled must be tickled , Down to draw the liquor , The salt Sammon and fat Gammon , Makes our wine drink quicker , Our Man in the Moon drinks Clarret , With powder-beef turnep and carret , If he doth so , why should nor you , Drink until the Sky looks blew . Hey for a turn thus above Ground , O my Noddle too heavy doth weigh , Metheglin , Perry , Sider , nor strong ale , Are half so heavy , be they nere so stale : Wine in our Guts can never rumble , Down now and then tho' it make us tumble ; Yet scrambling up a Drunkard feels no pain , but crys Sirrah boy , ther pottle again , We can drink no more unless we have full pipes of Trinnidado , Give us the best it keeps our brains more warm than does freezado . It makes us sing and cry hey ding , And laugh when Pipes lie broken , For which to pay at going away , we scorn a Mustard token ; Never curse the sawcy Score , Out-swear the bar you 'll pay no more ; in these daies he is no Gallant That cannot puff and swagger , though he dare not kill a sheep , Yet out must flie his dagger : If then you do love my Hosts Clarret , Fat powder-beef , turnip and carret , Come again and again , And still welcome Gentlemen ,

Printed by and for A. M. and sold by the Booksellers of London .

New Mad Tom of Bedlam . OR , The Man in the Moon drinks Clarret , With Powder-beef , Turnip and Carret . Tune is , Grays-Inn Mask .

FOrth from my sad and darksome Cell , Or from the deep abiss of Hell , Mad Tom is come to view the world again , To see if he can ease his distemper'd brain : Fear and care both pierce the Soul , Hark! how the angry Furies howl ! Pluto laughs , and Proserpine is glad , To see poor naked Tom of Bedlam mad : Through the world I wander night and day to find my strangling Senses , In an angry mood I found Old Time with 's Pentarchy of Tenches , When me he spies away he flies , For time will stay for no man , In vain with crys I rend the Skies , For pity is not common , Cold and Comfortless I lie , Help , O help , or else I die . Hark I hear Apollo's Team , The Carman gins to whistle , Chast Diana bends her bow , The Boar begins to bristle , Come Vulcan with tools and with tackle , Shake off my troublesome shackle , Let Charles make ready his wain To bring me my Senses again . Last night I heard the Dog-Star bark , Mars met Venus in the dark , Leaping Vulcan het an Iron bar , And furiously did run at the God of war , Mars with his weapon laid about , But Vulcan's temples had the gout , His broad Horns did so hang in his sight , He could not see to aim his blows aright : Mercury , the nimble Post of Heaven staid still to see the Quarrel , Gorrel bestied Baccus Gyant like bestrid a strong beer barrel : To me he drank , I did him thank , but I could get no Sider , He drank whole buts till he crackt his guts , but mine were ne'er the wider . Poor naked Tom is very dry , A little drink for Charity : Hark I hear Acteons hounds The Huntsman hoops and hollows , Ringing Ryoster , Bowman Iowler , At the Chase now follows , The man in the Moon drinks Clarret ; With Powder-beef , Turnep and Carret , A Cup of old Malago Sack Will fire his bush at his back .