University of Virginia Library

I Sing the brave adventure of two wights,
And pity 'tis, I cannot call hem Knights:
One was; and he, for brawne, and braine, right able
To have been stiled of King Arthurs table.
The other was a Squire, of faire degree;
But, in the action, greater man than hee:
Who gave, to take at his returne from Hell,
His three for one. Now, lordlings, listen well.

It was the day, what time the powerfull Moone
Makes the poore Banck-side creature wet it'shoone,
In it'owne hall; when these (in worthy scorne
Of those, that put out moneyes, on returne
From Venice, Paris, or some in-land passage
Of six times to and fro, without embassage,
Or he that backward went to Berwick, or which
Did dance the famous Morrisse, unto Norwich)
At Bread-streets Mermaid, having din'd, and merry,
Propos'd to goe to Hol'borne in a wherry:
A harder taske, than either his to Bristo',
Or his to Antwerpe. Therefore, once more, list ho'.

A Docke there is, that called is Avernus,
Of some Bride-well, and may, in time, concerne us
All, that are readers: but, me thinks 'tis od,
That all this while I have forgot some god,
Or goddesse to invoke, to stuffe my verse;
And with both bombard-stile, and phrase, rehearse
The many perills of this Port, and how
Sans' helpe of Sybil, or a golden bough,
Or magick sacrifice, they past along!
Alcides, be thou succouring to my song.
Thou'hast seene Hell (some say) and know'st all nookes there,
Canst tell me best, how every Fury lookes there,
And art a god, if Fame thee not abuses,
Alwayes at hand, to aid the merry Muses.
Great Club-fist, though thy back, and bones be sore,
Still, with thy former labours; yet, once more,
Act a brave work, call it thy last adventry:
But hold my torch, while I describe the entry
To this dire passage. Say thou stop thy nose:
'Tis but light paines: Indeed this Dock's no Rose.

In the first jawes appear'd that ugly monster,
Ycleped Mud, which, when their oares did once stirre,
Belch'd forth an ayre, as hot, as at the muster
Of all your night-tubs, when the carts doe cluster,
Who shall discharge first his merd-urinous load:
Thorow her wombe they make their famous road,
Betweene two walls; where, on one side, to scar men,
Were seene your ugly Centaures, yee call Car-men,
Gorgonian scolds, and Harpyes: on the other
Hung stench, diseases, and old filth, their mother,
With famine, wants, and sorrowes many a dosen,
The least of which was to the plague a cosen.
But they unfrighted passe, though many a privie
Spake to them louder, than the Oxe in Livie;
And many a sinke powr'd out her rage anenst'hem;
But still their valour, and their vertue fenc't 'hem,
And, on they went, like Castor brave, and Pollux:
Plowing the mayne. When, see (the worst of all lucks)
They met the second Prodigie, would feare a
Man, that had never heard of a Chimæra.
One said, it was bold Briareus, or the Beadle,
(Who hath the hundred hands when he doth meddle)
The other thought it Hydra, or the rock
Made of the trull, that cut her fathers lock:
But, comming neere, they found it but a liter,
So huge, it seem'd, they could by no meanes quite her.
Back, cry'd their brace of Charons: they cry'd, no,
No going back; on still you rogues, and row.
How hight the place? a voyce was heard, Cocytus.
Row close then slaves. Alas, they will beshite us.
No matter, stinkards, row. What croaking sound
Is this we heare? of frogs? No, guts wind-bound,
Over your heads: Well, row. At this a loud
Crack did report it selfe, as if a cloud
Had burst with storme, and downe fell, ab excelsis,
Poore Mercury, crying out on Paracelsus,
And all his followers, that had so abus'd him:
And, in so shitten sort, so long had us'd him:
For (where he was the god of eloquence,
And subtiltie of metalls) they dispense
His spirits, now, in pils, and eeke in potions,
Suppositories, cataplasmes, and lotions.
But many Moons there shall not wane (quoth he)
(In the meane time, let 'hem imprison me)
But I will speake (and know I shall be heard)
Touching this cause, where they will be affeard
To answer me. And sure, it was th'intent
Of the grave fart, late let in Parliament,
Had it been seconded, and not in fume
Vanish'd away: as you must all presume
Their Mercury did now. By this, the stemme
Of the hulke touch'd, and, as by Polypheme
The sly Ulysses stole in a sheeps-skin,
The well-greas'd wherry now had got between,
And bade her fare-well sough, unto the lurden:
Never did bottom more betray her burden;
The meat-boat of Beares colledge, Paris-garden,
Stunk not so ill; nor, when she kist, Kate Arden.
Yet, one day in the yeare, for sweet 'tis voyc't
And that is when it is the Lord Majors foist.

By this time had they reach'd the Stygian poole
By which the Masters sweare, when on the stoole
Of worship, they their nodding chinnes do hit.
Against their breasts. Here, sev'rall ghosts did flit
About the shore, of farts, but late departed,
White, black, blew, greene, and in more formes out-started,
Than all those Atomi ridiculous,
Whereof old Democrite, and Hill Nicholas,
One said, the other swore, the World consists.
These be the cause of those thick frequent mists
Arising in that place, through which, who goes,
Must try the' un-used valour of a nose:
And that ours did. For, yet, no nare was tainted,
Nor thumbe, nor finger to the stop acquainted,
But open, and un-arm'd encounter'd all:
Whether it languishing stuck upon the wall,
Or were precipitated down the jakes,
And, after, swom abroad in ample flakes,
Or, that it lay, heap'd like an Usurers masse,
All was to them the same, they were to passe,
And so they did, from Styx, to Acheron:
The ever-boyling flood. Whose banks upon
Your Fleet-lane Furies; and hot cooks do dwell,
That, with still-scalding steems, make the place hell.
The sinks ran grease, and haire of meazled hogs,
The heads, houghs, entrailes, and the hides of dogs:
For, to say truth, what scullion is so nasty,
To put the skins, and offall in a pasty?
Cats there lay divers had been flead and rosted,
And, after mouldy grown, again were tosted,
Then selling not, a dish was tane to mince'hem,
But still, it seem'd, the ranknesse did convince 'hem.
For, here they were thrown in with'the melted pewter,
Yet drown'd they not. They had five lives in future.

But 'mong'st these Tiberts, who do you think there was?
Old Bankes the juggler, our Pythagoras,
Grave tutor to the learned horse. Both which,
Being, beyond sea, burned for one witch:
Their spirits transmigrated to a cat:
And, now, above the poole, a face right fat
With great gray eyes, are lifted up, and mew'd;
Thrice did it spit: thrice div'd. At last, it view'd
Our brave Heroes with a milder glare,
And in a pittious tune, began. How dare
Your dainty nostrils (in so hot a season,
When every clerke eats artichoks and peason,
Laxative lettuce, and such windy meat)
Tempt such a passage? when each privies seat
Is fill'd with buttock? And the wals do sweat
Urine, and plaisters? when the noise doth beat
Upon your eares, of discords so un-sweet?
And out-cries of the damned in the Fleet?
Cannot the Plague-bill keep you back? nor bels
Of loud Sepulchres with their hourely knels,
But you will visit grisly Pluto's hall?
Behold where Cerberus, rear'd on the wall
Of Hol'borne (three sergeants heads) looks ore,
And stays but till you come unto the dore!
Tempt not his fury, Pluto is away:
And Madame Cæsar, great Proserpina,
Is now from home. You lose your labours quite,
Were you Jove's sons, or had Alcides might.
They cry'd out Pusse. He told them he was Banks,
That had so often, shew'd 'hem merry pranks.
They laugh't, at his laugh-worthy fate. And past
The tripple head without a sop. At last,
Calling for Radamanthus, that dwelt by,
A sope-boyler; and Æacus him nigh,
Who kept an Ale-house; with my little Minos,
An ancient pur-blind fletcher, with a high nose;
They took 'hem all to witnesse of their action:
And so went bravely back, without protraction.

In memory of which most liquid deed,
The City since hath rais'd a Pyramide.
And I could wish for their eternis'd sakes,
My Muse had plough'd with his, that sung A-jax.