A _Cobler_ and a _Financier_.
There was a Droll of a _Cobler_ that led a Life as Merry as the Day was
Long, and Singing and Joking was his Delight. But it was not altogether
so well with a Neighbour of his, though a Great Officer in the Treasury;
for there was no Singing, nor hardly any Sleeping under his Roof: Or if
he happen’d to Doze a little now and then in a Morning, twas Forty to One
the Jolly _Cobler_ Wak’d him. How often would he be Wishing to Himself
that Sleep were to be bought in the Market as well as Meat and Drink!
While his Head was working upon this Thought, the Toy took him in the
Crown to send for the Songster. Come Neighbour, says he, thou liv’st
like a Prince here, How much a Year canst thou get by thy Trade? Nay,
Faith Master, says the _Cobler_, I keep no ’Count Books; but if I can get
Bread from Hand to Mouth, and make Even at the Years End, I never trouble
my self for to Morrow. Well, says the Officer, but if you know what you
can Earn by the Day, you may easily cast up what that comes to a Year:
Ay, says he, but that’s more or less as it falls out; for we have such a
World of _Holy-Days_, _Festivals_, and _New Saints_, that ’tis a Woundy
Hindrance to a Poor Man that Lives by his Labour. This Dry, Blunt Way,
took with the Officer, and so he went on with him: Come my Friend, says
he, you came into my House a _Cobler_, what will you say now if I send
you out on’t an _Emperor_? And so he put a Purse of an Hundred Crowns
into his Hand. Go your ways, says he; there’s an Estate for ye, and be a
good Husband of it. Away goes the _Cobler_ with his Gold, and in Conceit
as Rich as if the Mines of _Peru_ had been emptied into his Lap. Up he
Locks it immediately, and all the Comforts of his Life together with
his Crowns in the same Chest. From the time that he was Master of this
Treasure, there was no more Singing or Sleeping at our House: not a Cat
stirr’d in the Garret, but an Out-cry of Thieves; and his Cottage was so
haunted with Cares, Jealousies, and Wild Alarms, that his very Life was
become a Burden to him. So that after a short time away trudges he to the
Officer again; Ah Sir, says he, if you have any Charity for a Miserable
Creature, do but let me have my Songs and my Sleep again, and do you
take back your Hundred Crowns, with an Hundred Thousand Thanks into the
Bargain.
The MORAL.
_The Poor Man that has but from Hand to Mouth, passes his Time Merrily
and without any Fear or Danger of Thieves, Public or Private; but the
House that has Money in’t, is as good as haunted._