All the workes of Iohn Taylor the Water-Poet Being Sixty and three in Number. Collected into one Volume by the Author [i.e. John Taylor]: With sundry new Additions, corrected, reuised, and newly Imprinted |
 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | All the workes of Iohn Taylor the Water-Poet |  |
The frontispice of Master Coriats Booke very learnedly descanted vpon, by Master Laurence Whitakers, and Master Beniamin Ionson.
Thy Shipping, and thy Haddocks friendly feeding,Thy Carting in thy Trauels great proceeding:
Thy riding Stirroplesse, thy iadish courser,
Thy Ambling o'r the Alpes; and which is worser,
After the Purgatory of thy Legges,
Thy Puncke bepelts thy pate with rotten egges.
When thou, braue man, assault'st to boord a Pinace,
As fits thy state, she welcomes thee to Venice.
Thy running from the mis-beleeuing Iew,
Because thou thought'st the Iew sought more then due;
For why, the Iew with superstition blind,
Would haue thee leaue what most thou lou'st, behind.
How with a rusticke Boore thou mad'st a fray,
And manfully broughtst all the blowes away.
The Turkish Emp'rour, or the Persian Sophy,
Can hardly match thy monumentall Trophy.
71
From whose warme confines thy retainers drops.
I stand in feare to doe thy greatnesse wrong,
For 'tis suppos'd thou wast a thousand strong;
Who all deriu'd from thee their happy breeding,
And from thy bounty had their clothes & feeding.
Thy lasting shooes, thy stockings, and thy garters,
To thy great fame are drawn and hangd in quarters.
Thy Hat most fitly beautifies thy crest,
Thy wits great couer, couers all the rest.
The letter K doth shew the brauest sight:
But wherefore K? I'm sure thou art no Knight:
Why might not L, nor M, nor N, or O,
As well as knauish K, thy picture show?
But saucie K, I see will haue a place,
When all the Crosse-row shall endure disgrace.
Who at the letter K doth truly seeke,
Shall see thee hemm'd with Latine & with Greeke:
Whereas thy name, thy age, and Odcombs towne,
Are workemanly ingrau'd to thy renowne.
Beleaguerd round with three such female shapes,
Whose features would enforce the gods to rapes,
France, Germany, and smug-fac'd Italy,
Attend thee in a kind triplicity.
France giues thee clusters of the fruitfull vine,
And Germany (layes out) t'adorne thy shrine:
And Italie doth wittily inuite thee,
And prittily (she sayes) she will delight thee.
But yet thy entertainement was but bitter,
At Bergamo with horses in their litter:
Whose iadish kindnesse in thy stomacke stickes,
Who for thy welcome flung thee coltish kickes.
Thy begging from the high-way Purse-takers,
Describes thee for a learned wiseakers.
Lo thus thy single worth is praised double,
For rare inuention neuer counts it trouble,
With rimelesse reasons, and with Reasons verse,
Thy great Odcombian glory to rehearse.
But yet, whilst they in pleasures lap doe lull thee,
Amidst thy praise egregiously they gull thee:
Th'art made Tom Table-talke, mongst gulls and gallants,
Thy book, and thee, & such esteemed tallants,
When they are tired with thy trauels treading,
Then hauing nought to do, they fall to reading.
Thy wits false-galloping perambulation,
Which ease the Readers more then a purgation.
But to proceed, I'l recapitulate
The praise that doth thy worth accommodate.
Thy Character in learn'd admired Prose,
The perfect inside of thy humour showes:
Attended with thy copious names Acrosticke,
To shew thee wisest being most fantasticke.
| All the workes of Iohn Taylor the Water-Poet | |