The Shufflers

The farmer that once in his cottage did dwell,
With his wife Joan and his daughter Nell,
By selling his corn so terrible dear,
Now is able to boast of his thousands a-year,
You scarcely can find out one true honest man,
For shuffling and cheating is now all the plan.

The forestaller tips the farmer a wink,
The farmer he twigs him, knows he has got chink,
Their signals they do so well understand,
That the bargain is made by a shake of the hand.

There?s the rogue of a miller and his man Jack,
They take double toll from every one?s sack;
And are not contented when they?ve got enough,
But they call out for more combustible stuff.

They care not what it is, you may bring what you please,
Let it be wheat or oats, barley or pease,
They grind them together, along with some straw,
And send them to market to stuff in our maw.

Now there?s the baker you need not fear,
Let who will come short he will have his share;
Tho? the bread it is now such a terrible rate,
He thinks it no sin to cheat us in weight.

Of the fat-gutted butcher we cannot say much,
But along with the rest we will give him a touch
He vows and he swears he get?s nothing by it,
But we know he?s a liar, — he cannot deny it.

The right honest publican we?d likewise forgot,
If you call for a pint he will score up a pot;
And if its disputed the answer he?ll make,
Is, I?ll call up the boy, sir, he?s made a mistake.

Then Gripeall, the brewer, he brings up the rear,
Instead of good porter he sells you small beer:
But that is not all, he has not forgot
To charge us a half-penny more in the pot.

So by one and the other we are shuffled about,
We are got so far in we can?t find the way out;
Then let you and I drink away dullness and care,
We shall live tell we die ? so never despair.

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