Full Lyrics
To all lovers of music, performers and scrapers,
to those that love catches, play tunes and cut capers;
With a new catch I greet you and tho' I say it that shouldn't.
Like a fiddle, 'tis music tho' the words are but wooden:
But my brother John Playford and I shall present you
e'er long with a book, I presume will content you.
'Tis true we know well the sale of good music,
But to hear us perform would make him sick, or you sick.
My maggot man Sam, at the first Temple Gate,
will further inform you, if not my Wife Kate;
From between the two devils near Temple Bar,
I rest, your friend and servant, John Carr
