Poem by Alexander Brome

A Mock-Song (HAng up Mars)

HAng up Mars
And his wars,
Give us drink,
We'l tipple my Lads together;
Those are slaves,
Fools and knaves,
That have chink,
And must pay,
For what they say,
Do, or think,
Good fellows accompt for neither;
Be we round, be we square,
We are happier than they're
Whose dignity works their ruin:
He that well the bowl rears,
Can baffle his cares,
And a fig for death or undoing.

1. The New Mountebank
2. Made and Set Extempore
3. The Satyr of Money
4. The Holy Pedler
5. The New Gentry

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