Cavalier Songs and Ballads of England from 1642 to 1684 Part 21

Until at length he met old Time, And then they both together Quite tear the cobbler's aged sole From off the upper leather.

Even so a while I may old shoes By care and art maintain, But when the leather's rotten grown All art and care is vain.

And thus the cobbler st.i.tched and sung, Not thinking any harm; Till out the angry vicar came With ale and pa.s.sion warm.

Dost thou not know, vile slave! quoth he, How impious 'tis to jest With sacred things, and to profane The office of a priest?

How dar'st thou, most audacious wretch!

Those vile expressions use, Which make the souls of men as cheap As soals of boots and shoes?

Such reprobates as you betray Our character and gown, And would, if you had once the power, The Church itself pull down.

The cobbler, not aware that he Had done or said amiss, Reply'd, I do not understand What you can mean by this.

Tho' I but a poor cobbler be, And stroll about for bread, None better loves the Church than I That ever wore a head.

But since you are so good at names, And make so loud a pother, I'll tell you plainly I'm afraid You're but some cobbling brother.

Come, vicar, tho' you talk so big, Our trades are near akin; I patch and cobble outward soals As you do those within.

And I'll appeal to any man That understands the nation, If I han't done more good than you In my respective station.

Old leather, I must needs confess, I've sometimes used as new, And often pared the soal so near That I have spoil'd the shoe.

You vicars, by a different way, Have done the very same; For you have pared your doctrines so You made religion lame.

Your principles you've quite disown'd, And old ones changed for new, That no man can distinguish right Which are the false or true.

I dare be bold, you're one of those Have took the Covenant; With Cavaliers are Cavalier, And with the saints a saint.

The vicar at this sharp rebuke Begins to storm and swear; Quoth he, Thou vile apostate wretch!

Dost thou with me compare?

I that have care of many souls, And power to d.a.m.n or save, Dar'st thou thyself compare with me, Thou vile, unG.o.dly knave!

I wish I had thee somewhere else, I'd quickly make thee know What 'tis to make comparisons, And to revile me so.

Thou art an enemy to the State, Some priest in masquerade, That, to promote the Pope's designs, Has learnt the cobbling trade:

Or else some spy to Cavaliers, And art by them sent out To carry false intelligence, And scatter lies about.

But whilst the vicar full of ire Was railing at this rate, His wors.h.i.+p, good Sir Samuel, O'erlighted at the gate.

And asking of the landlady Th' occasion of the stir; Quoth she, If you will give me leave I will inform you, Sir.

This cobbler happening to o'ertake The vicar in his walk, In friendly sort they forward march, And to each other talk.

Until the parson first proposed To stop and take a whet; So cheek by jole they hither came Like travellers well met.

A world of healths and jests went round, Sometimes a merry tale; Till they resolved to stay all night, So well they liked my ale.

Thus all things lovingly went on, And who so great as they; Before an ugly accident Began this mortal fray.

The case I take it to be this, - The vicar being fixt, The cobbler chanced to cry his trade, And in his cry he mixt

Some harmless words, which I suppose The vicar falsely thought Might be design'd to banter him, And scandalize his coat.

If that be all, quoth he, go out And bid them both come in; A dozen of your nappy ale Will set 'em right again.

And if the ale should chance to fail, For so perhaps it may, I have it in my powers to try A more effectual way.

These vicars are a wilful tribe, A restless, stubborn crew; And if they are not humbled quite, The State they will undo.

The cobbler is a cunning knave, That goes about by stealth, And would, instead of mending shoes, Repair the Commonwealth.

However, bid 'em both come in, This fray must have an end; Such little feuds as these do oft To greater mischiefs tend.

Without more bidding out she goes And told them, by her troth, There was a magistrate within That needs must see 'em both.

But, gentlemen, pray distance keep, And don't too testy be; Ill words good manners still corrupt And spoil good company.

To this the vicar first replies, I fear no magistrate; For let 'em make what laws they will, I'll still obey the State.

Whatever I can say or do, I'm sure not much avails; I stall still be Vicar of Bray Whichever side prevails.

My conscience, thanks to Heaven, is come To such a happy pa.s.s, That I can take the Covenant And never hang an a.s.s.

I've took so many oaths before, That now without remorse I take all oaths the State can make, As meerly things of course.

Go therefore, dame, the justice tell His summons I'll obey; And further you may let him know I Vicar am of Bray.

I find indeed, the cobbler said, I am not much mistaken; This vicar knows the ready way To save his reverend bacon. (97)

This is a hopeful priest indeed, And well deserves a rope; Rather than lose his vicarage He'd swear to Turk or Pope.

For gain he would his G.o.d deny, His country and his King; Swear and forswear, recant and lye, Do any wicked thing.

At this the vicar set his teeth, And to the cobbler flew; And with his sacerdotal fist Gave him a box or two.

The cobbler soon return'd the blows, And with both head and heel So manfully behaved himself, He made the vicar reel.

Great was the outcry that was made, And in the woman ran To tell his wors.h.i.+p that the fight Betwixt them was began.

And is it so indeed? quoth he; I'll make the slaves repent: Then up he took his basket hilt, And out enraged he went.

The country folk no sooner saw The knight with naked blade, But for his wors.h.i.+p instantly An open lane was made;

Who with a stern and angry look Cry'd out, What knaves are these That in the face of justice dare Disturb the public peace?