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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=539485" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Chimney-Sweeper's Song</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hath Christmas furr'd your Chimneys,<br> Or have the maides neglected,<br>Doe Fire-balls droppe from your Chimney's toppe,<br> The Pidgin is respected,<br>Looke up with feare and horror,<br> O how my mistresse wonders!<br>The streete doth crie, the newes doth flie,<br> The boyes they thinke it thunders.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> Then up I rush with my pole and brush,<br> I scowre the chimney's Jacket,<br> I make it shine as bright as mine,<br> When I have rub'd and rak'd it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Take heed, ten groates you'le forfeit,<br> The Maior will not have under,<br>In vain is dung, so is your gun<br> When brickes doe flie asunder:<br>Let not each faggot fright ye,<br> When threepence will me call in,<br>The Bishopps foote is not worse than soote<br> If ever it should fall in.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> Up will I rush, etc.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The sent, the smoake ne're hurts me,<br> The dust is never minded,<br>Mine Eyes are glasse men sweare as I passe<br> Or else I had bin blinded,<br>For in the midst of Chimneys<br> I laugh, I sing, I hollow,<br>I chant my layes in Vulcan's praise<br> As merry as the swallow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> Still up I rush, etc.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>With Engines and devices<br> I scale the proudest chimney,<br>The Prince's throne to mine alone<br> Gives place, the Starrs I climb ny.<br>I scorne all men beneath me<br> While there I stand a scowring,<br>All they below looke like a Crow,<br> Or men on Paules a tow'ring.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> Then downe I rush, etc.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>And as I downeward rumble<br> What thinke you is my lott then?<br>A good neat's tongue in the inside hung,<br> The maide hath it forgotten:<br>If e're the wanton mingled<br> My inke with soote I wist not,<br>Howere the neate and harmless cheate<br> Is worth a penny, is't not?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> Still doe I rush, etc.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Then cloth'd in soote and ashes<br> I catch the maides that hast out,<br>Whos'ere I meete with smutt I greete,<br> And pounse their lipps and wastcote:<br>But on the Sunday morning<br> I looke not like a widgin,<br>Soe brave I stand with a point in my bande<br> Men ask if I be Pidgin.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> Yet will I rush, etc.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Mulsacke I dare encounter<br> For all his horne and feather,<br>Ile lay him a crowne Ile roare him downe,<br> I thinke heale ne'er come hether.<br>The Boyes that climbe like Crickets<br> And steale my trade, Ile strippe them,<br>By priviledge I, growne Chimney hy,<br> Soone out of towne will whippe them.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> Then will I rush, etc.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Strode">William Strode</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=539485" data-title="The Chimney-Sweeper's Song de William Strode" data-description="Hath Christmas furr'd your Chimneys,
 Or have the maides neglected,
Doe Fire-balls droppe from your Chimney's toppe,
 The Pidgin is respected,
Looke up with feare and horror,
 O how my mistresse wonders!
The streete doth crie, the newes doth flie,..."></div>
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